I have always enjoyed a good comic book - it’s a portable, colorful adventure. I have even been described as a “comic book kind of person”.

Quite a few times. Hmn.

Anyway, comics are great, but they are not my favorite kind of book.

Of course, NOVELS, who doesn’t like a thick, engaging novel to get lost in? Or POETRY - inspiration to the very soul, essential expressions of the human spirit! I humbly respect all forms of the literary arts, but there is one category I find the most intriguing, most mysterious, and most fulfilling.

Instruction manuals.

Not the ones that come with new appliances, I mean the books filled with “do-it-yourself” instructions, the “how-to” books that demonstrate how to repair things or build things with little pictures and diagrams. I absolutely love them.

The trend really got going in the 1950’s, when home improvement became a craze across the US, inspiring thousands of weekend carpenters and mechanics. The good people at Time-Life Publishing fueled a nation’s dreams of more abundant shelf space and superior rain gutters and finished basements. Our copy of “The Reader’s Digest Do-It-Yourself Manual” was a buffet of multi-level self-sufficiency, unraveling step-by-step the mysteries of simple plumbing, basic electricity, and the inner workings of a full stable of home appliances.

These books balanced capitalism’s ever-present seduction of acquisition with a desire to create on one’s own, reminding us that things could not just be bought, but built. We have a book containing full instructions for building an entire house from scratch, from the foundation to the roof - all you need is the raw materials. And the land, permits, heavy machinery, and a willing crew.

Easy as making Jell-o™.

Beyond the subject of home construction, I have collected how-to books on electronics, knitting, filmmaking, magic tricks, farming, cooking, first aid, fine art, and science. I have been a subscriber to both Martha Stewart and The New England Journal of Medicine, and always enjoy putting together new IKEA furniture because that little man shows me just how to do it in that newsprint pamphlet included in the flat pack box.

“There is always something to learn!” my mother used to tell me, and still does today if any conversation steers that way. Thus I have always tried to learn something new or get better at something, and these books are a part of that.

I have repaired our dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, and kitchen sink, along with the vacuum cleaner and the oven. I mean, we live in an apartment building where there’s a guy who’s supposed to do that, but it takes three weeks to get an appointment. I never attempt to repair anything that could be dangerous or in any way ultimately litigious, but a new toilet float here and there isn’t that big a deal.

I’ve got books describing much grander projects, but I’m never going to build a pyramid - I just don’t have the time - yet the general principles are useful when making stacks of books on my bedside table or interesting cupcake arrangements for PTA functions.

While enjoyable to read, there are many things that a how-to book cannot effectively teach. One of those is how to play the guitar.

As a youngster, after a non-encouraging introductory lesson at the local music store, I opted for the Mel-Bay™ series of manuals, along with their newest offering which included a cassette tape to play along with! But even after completing the course I did not feel that I could actually “play the guitar” as my personal music taste veered more toward Michael Jackson and less toward “Michael Row The Boat Ashore”.

I used the chord charts to figure out how to play other songs, and eventually wanted to progress to the majesty of an electric guitar.

In the musical temple of “Big Dude’s Music City” was a Yamaha model that caught my eye. Yes, Yamaha, the trusted name in dirt bikes and outboard motors, had produced an electric guitar that was, unsurprisingly, available at a tremendous discount.

I paid 20 dollars a month for it on lay-away for almost a year. I finally got to take it home. I took it out of the case and played it.

plink. plink. No sound. plink. plink.

I could not afford an amplifier, but thought I might be able to pick one up later on, maybe as a high school graduation present to myself. plink. plink.

I tried to learn scales, followed all the diagrams, but the sounds were just a series of varying degrees of plink, offering neither the smooth tones of late ’70s soft rock, the comfortable twang of country hits, or the gnarl and crunch of early ’80’s punk.

plink.

My grand-aunt used to gift me odd finds from her local Salvation Army store, and had recently left us an old electric blanket. Out of musical desperation, I hooked up one of the control units to our living room stereo with the input from the guitar fed into the other end. There were still no cool effects or distortion, but with the volume turned up ALL THE WAY, I could JUST hear the guitar amplified through the speakers. I was blissful.

slightly louder plink. slightly louder plink.

I feel it appropriate to express gratitude to all powers, influences, and entities involved in the intersection of electricity and dumb luck at this point, as this could have been an unmitigated disaster and the most bizarre lawsuit the Yamaha Corporation had ever been tangentially associated with.

A friend of a friend saw me practicing scales, and asked if he could see the guitar. As he stood there playing like a lost Van Halen brother, I realized that I not only lacked an amp, but his fingers.

He bought the guitar from me (at a tremendous discount), but later that year sold it back to me to get the money to buy what he must have identified as “a real guitar”. I resumed my practice with dedication, but little real gusto.

I blame this slight disappointment in my youth for my mid-life crisis slash COVID lockdown action of purchasing an actual Marshall™ amp and an assortment of guitar pedals. And a better guitar.

The problem with how-to books is that they are, for the most part, purely theoretical. One is not doing the thing, merely reading about doing the thing. Instructions do not equal instant accomplishment, whether in cookbooks or The Constitution - and mastery of any skill set requires focus, trial and error, and a significant amount of practice, even with the directions laid out right in front of you.

As it would happen, the how-to book I am currently reading is “The Best of Jimi Hendrix”, and yesterday I, for the very first time, successfully played an entire song from this volume, through my real amp, and in his authentic tone.

All it took was that songbook. And 40 years worth of practice and gear.

As the last note faded into legend, I felt extremely satisfied to have stuck with this whole thing long enough to finally have reached my post-plink era.

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