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Mr. Gibson

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When the great Al Gore first invented the Internet (along with fire and the wheel, I believe) I noticed an awful lot of bad behavior behind the keyboard due to anonymity. I decided to use my real name so I wouldn't be like the Tuff Guyz who were attacking everyone in sight. It's just easier to type without the space hence SteveFord.

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I have two daughters, Kimberly and Sarah....Kim and Sarah's daddy.

 

They were like 8 and 6 when I came up with that, now they're 25 and 23 but I don't think they're offended or embarrassed.

 

And yeah, it's used everywhere....

 

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I originally had "TM_Fisher"; Tom Micheal Fisher, which is a username I use all over the internet. But I changed to the current "Pesh" to be a bit less formal.

 

"Pesh" comes from a nickname of "Pesce"; the Italian word for fish. We've got a few Tom's in our circle, so Pesce was coined and then shortened to Pesh...nickname of a nickname...!

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I came up with my username because Autumn is my favourite time of the year, love the vibrant tones of the leaves on the trees. The 'light&shade', I 'borrowed from Jimmy Page. I only got back into guitars last year after watching "It Might Get Loud"

Something inside me was switched on again, and I just had to pick the guitar up again. :)

I also named my SG Autumn because of her finish.20150620_1227172_zps1glamddt.jpg

 

Emma :)

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Guest Farnsbarns

I've always had the nickname Farnsbarns with my parents. I'm called Charlie and there was a radio comedian called Charlie Farnsbarns. I can't remember when I started using it as an internet moniker but it was a long time ago.

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I use the name "Silvercrow" just about every where on the net. Yet I sign my "real" first name, Brian. Go figure?

 

Anyway, around the same time I was 'discovering' the gun and guitar boards on the internet, I was getting into "Cowboy Action Shooting". This is where a bunch of grown men and women dress up like cowboys and shoot (real) handguns, rifles and shotguns. To join the SASS (Single Action Shooting Society)which was a requirement to compete in many different shooting events, you needed a moniker.

 

The ones I most wanted: "Night Owl", "Night Shadow", were taken. I am 25% American Indian and I have long, thick hair (one of the only things not going 'south' at this point in my life) that went totally grey at about 40/41 years of age. So 'silver' for the color hair, 'crow' because Silver-owl just didn't sound right. Oh- I wanted something that sounded a little 'Indian" too- when we played cowboys and indians as kids, I was always an indian..

 

Brian

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I created the name merciful-evans for the SongStuff forum (it sounds like Merciful Heavens if you come from SE England).

 

I created the name (and character) to create such poor lyrics that it would shake members out of their ‘mutual admiration society’ attitude. Evan’s job then was to create really dull uninspired verse.

 

However, after a short while the work started getting good. In adopting another persona I had unexpectedly given free rein my working class means of expression. It was not for the faint hearted or the politically correct. I could never have written this stuff without creating evans first.

 

Here is a sample poem.

 

by evans: if only this wall could talk

 

I can wait until they die,

but more of them always come

and where do they all keep coming from?

 

It wasn’t like this in Solomon’s day

no way

Just look at the size of some of these fissures

Poking all those little notes in em wont help either

so stop it,

or you’ll cop it

coz if I fall down, Jericho wont be in it

 

squabble over Jerusalem all you please

there are loads of other places to bend your knees

for goodness sake

give me a break

I don’t have what it is you lack

so go away & don’t come back

or if you really have to stay

at least shut up for an hour a day

 

ladies and gents, get a grip on yourselves

so stop muttering, slow down

and try keeping your head still

your not a goose or a spoon bill

 

I can wait until they die,

but more of them always come

and where do they all keep coming from?

 

14-oct-2005 evans

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I played a lot when I was young. My left hand got cut at age 18, affecting my grip and 1st finger which made bar chording very difficult. I still played from time to time but without the intention of ever doing it professionally.

My guitars eventually suffered extreme neglect, even to the point of long stretches in the pawn shop, but a bad personal experience in the early 90s prompted me to ransom them in order to soothe my soul.

I came up with some tunes that gave me hope once again and enrolled in college with the aim of delving into classical guitar but my dexterity was still lacking and my studies were short lived.

(I found out several years later that I also have a touch of Carpal Tunnel) In 2006 I was severely injured by a bull calf working on my folks' ranch.

Building and repairing fences was great for improving my grip but the injury had pinched nerves in my neck, which had already been hurt twice in the mid 80s.

I heard many horror stories about spinal fusion so I stubbornly refused until it became so bad I finally relented. I had the surgery in December 2012 at 53 years of age.

 

My fingers are better than they've been in many years and my picking is too so... now I'm an old fart who is a bit late for the show!

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She was in Morocco more than a few years ago, ostensibly ‘vacationing’ near the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. In reality, she was on a covert-Op to gather intelligence on the illegal arms trade between the Basque and the Algerians. Her only contact was a mysterious character code-named, “Sparquelito”.

 

Sparquelito had been rumored to have played the snare and brushes for Django Rheinhardt and the Grande Bouche Swingtette at the Hot Club of France, back in the early days of the resistance. He was a shadowy figure, and no photographs of him were known to be in existence.

 

She dropped into a small jazz club, and ordered a gin, neat. As she savored the sensation of the DH Krahn on her tongue, she swirled the remnants of the clear fluid around in her shot glass. Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the vicinity of the small stage to her left.

 

"You'a fohkking a'people keep a listening to 'dat Britney Spears or 'dat aMadonna, you'a all goin' to HELL! I'm not a'kiddin!!”

 

The house guitar player was shouting at a pair of departing tourists, both of whom sported the ubiquitous iPod and earbuds hanging from their ears. Clearly, gypsy swing guitar was not their cup of tea.

 

“A fokking touristes,” the musician muttered. “They donna know a jack shitta bout dat music!”

He returned to fingering his care-worn Gibson guitar, and rendered a tasteful arpeggio in C minor.

 

Ah. Tears, by Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grappelli.

 

“Say, friend. Can I buy you a drink perhaps?” she offered.

 

The gentleman looked up from his reverie. “Mebbe. They gotta cold Becks Dunkel here-a. Woulda go down good right now.”

 

The sparse files she had on Sparquelito had revealed that he had spent some time in West Germany. Figures he would go for a Becks, given the choice.

 

She secured a couple of cold bottles from the bartender, and sat down with the sage.

He played, and they both talked.

 

OK, he mostly played, and she mostly listened.

Few words were exchanged, and the substance of that conversation would not be of particular concern to the visitors to the Gibson Forums.

Suffice it to say, she got the information she needed on the Algerians. And she learned a few tricks on the art of the jazz guitar from a true master of the fretboard.

 

After a few more beers, she finally stood and gathered her things. She dropped a few hundred Moroccan dirhams in his hat, and mumbled her thanks.

 

The man spoke, “Say, bubkin. I like-a you. You hang out and sing with me mebbe?”

 

She was startled. This was an extraordinary gesture on the part of a normally shy and retiring gentleman.

 

“Eh,” Sparquelito remarked. “I’ma prolly gonna get outta thisa here game. Move back to the States mebbe. Somewhere warm. Warmer than dissa here place. Alabama mebbe. Time to retire I think. You sitta down here now, sing a song wit me. Hava one more beer.”

 

She grinned. “Sure,” was all she said.

 

They sat down with the bartender, and then all three traded that Gibson back and forth all evening. Much dark beer was consumed, and I’m pretty sure they closed the joint down.

 

Anyway, it was a great weekend, and the flight back home wasn’t all that bad either.

She got some good sleep somewhere over the Atlantic, and as the moonlight danced across the airliner cabin, she dreamt of Tears, by Django.

 

[mellow]

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I came up with my username because Autumn is my favourite time of the year, love the vibrant tones of the leaves on the trees. The 'light&shade', I 'borrowed from Jimmy Page. I only got back into guitars last year after watching "It Might Get Loud"

Something inside me was switched on again, and I just had to pick the guitar up again. :)

I also named my SG Autumn because of her finish.20150620_1227172_zps1glamddt.jpg

 

Emma :)

 

 

That is quite possibly the most beautiful SG I have ever seen.

 

[love]

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  • 2 months later...

I came up with my username because Autumn is my favourite time of the year, love the vibrant tones of the leaves on the trees. The 'light&shade', I 'borrowed from Jimmy Page. I only got back into guitars last year after watching "It Might Get Loud"

Something inside me was switched on again, and I just had to pick the guitar up again. :)

I also named my SG Autumn because of her finish.20150620_1227172_zps1glamddt.jpg

 

Emma :)

 

That makes me want an SG :wub:

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