sparquelito

I'm fond of my white 2011 Gibson Melody Maker SG. It's a hard-tail with a single humbucker and a volume knob. But other than that, it's exactly like what the OP wants to build. 😬

Is there even a remote chance that an intergalactic meteor struck your guitar, and an alien life form, The Blob, emerged into your Boveda desiccant pack? And you pulled it out right before it became sentient, and spared yourself, and the entire community from a horrible, monstrous end? Just thinking out loud. 😬

Agreed. 😑

Slept in late (4:17 a.m.) Had coffee. Fed the birds and did some surveying in the creek after the sun came up. Took the wife to meet her dad and stepmother (after Mass) for brunch at a great local joint. Took the wife and dogs out to the airfield to let all three dogs run free inside a huge fenced-in area. Noticed the van was dirty. Went for a cardio swim at the Wellness Center. Took the van thru a carwash, and vacuumed her out. Came home, fired up the motorcycle, and took her for a spin. Gassed her up with 93 octane premium. Came home again, and went back down to the creek with a cold beer, and enjoyed a campfire for awhile. I smell like smoke now. I'm enjoying some more cold beers right now, for the record. 🤫

Glad to hear it was a great show, Californiaman. And really glad to hear you had an awesome time. Live music is such a treat! 😃

I lost interest in the Olympics when they began to allow professional league/corporate athletes to compete against the pure amateur competitors. NBA and NHL 'Super-teams'? Downhill skiers with NASCAR-like endorsement deals worth millions competing? Meh. Hard pass. 😶

FZ Fan, I have this strange compulsion to kiss you right now. I don't know why. It's curious. And I'm not even a P-Funk fan particularly. 😔

A good topic for discussion. Thank you for this, SGLPFB_Lover. I can recall when Gibson endeavored to produce a line of affordable, made in the USA Gibsons, just six years ago. The S Series. You would have thought that they would be enthusiastically received, widely praised, and would sell like hot-cakes. Nope. Sure, they sold, eventually. And now they all fetch, used, two or three times the original MSRP on Craigslist, eBay, and Reverb. (I own two of them myself.) But when they came out, the S Series Gibsons were panned, criticized, and ridiculed. "What's this cheap junk here? " "Gibson has lost their mind!" "How dare they call this a Les Paul!!" Too funny. For the record, my S Series Les Paul and Firebird are two of my favorite guitars. 🙂 Modded Les Paul Custom Studio. Bone-stock Firebird Zero.

Simply splendid. So good. 😃

Eric Carmen's 1975 hit All By Myself, which borrowed heavily from the second movement (Adagio sostenuto) of Sergei Rachmaninoff's circa 1900–1901 Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Opus 18. The tasty guitar solo was performed by studio guitarist Hugh McCracken. The song was later covered by Celine Dion. Without the tasty guitar solo. 🙂

After hours of working in my creek this afternoon, I went and frammed my toe into a motorcycle kick-stand this evening, right before bedtime. Shoot. That's the separated toenail there. 😐

I will listen to it on the radio. Since it's Westwood 1, the legendary Kevin Harlan will do the play-by-play , and Boomer Esiason will serve as the color commentator. (I don't know where Kurt Warner is gonna be. He's usually outstanding when he calls the game with Kevin Harlan. ) Mark Malone and James Lofton will be the sideline reporters. UPDATE AT GAME TIME: Kurt Warner is calling the game as well, with all three gentlemen in the booth. I got bad information earlier. I sort of feel like Cincinnati is going to pull a bit of an upset win. Joe Burrow is such a capable young athlete. I will happily not be listening to the half-time 'entertainment'. 😉

. A limerick then, and an accompanying photo of all my cases. (I have many more gig bags than cases, but they weren't requested exactly, so I left them in the music room.) Avast ye swabs, here's my cases They hold this sailor's ukulele, guitars, and basses We been long at sea at least a month or three Home we'll soon be, with all God's good graces 😬 Okay, I'm gonna shut up now. 😑

I quit eating chocolate (and indeed, all sweets of any sort) many years ago. But I still love the smell of fresh donuts, cake, and chocolate. I don't eat it mind you, ever, but I love the aroma. 😛

There's a sliding scale for me, when it comes to guitars and gear; The older it is, the more it's cool that it smells like a smoky bar. I don't know why that is. A nearly new instrument that smells like an ashtray is a no-go. But a 1991 Firebird is allowed to carry that 'just came in from The Long Branch' aroma into my house. No good reason for it, I reckon. 🤫

It was Niccolò Paganini who could really shred. 😗

In my opinion, it's the finger vibrato technique of Andy Powell there that accounts for the sustain you hear in that performance, not the thickness of the neck. The only measurable, quantifiable sustain that you might determine from the construction of the guitar would involve putting a given guitar into a jig or vice, having a machine pluck a string in a standardized, consistent fashion, and then taking readings from an oscilloscope. Measuring of course the waveforms but more importantly the time from pluck to decay and silence. Just sayin'. 😗

I agree. You bought a guitar, for some considerable cost, and it's not right. I would ask for my money back, or a brand new replacement.

Oh boy. Here we go. I once joined this guitar web forum We never could achieve a quorum Opinions were many but consensus scarce any with abundant breaches of decorum They really should take away my driver's license. ☹️

*ahem* There once was a Sarge from Nantucket His G string he did often pluck it Though he favored a Martin He’s opened the odd Gibson carton From Bozeman they did surely truck it Okay, I’m gonna shut up now. 😔

My Case is pretty old, but it still does the job. 😙

And a nice limerick at that. 😄

A brilliant coda, good sir. 🙂

WUHAN (a poem) I once traveled to Wuhan with my brother Stan I said, “Stan, man, why are we here in Wuhan?” He said with a grin above his whiskered chin, “I’m looking to sin at the Holiday Inn in Wuhan, my identical twin.” I was taken aback, reluctant to unpack my bag and rucksack at the Holiday Inn on that cul-de-sac “But Stan, man, that’s a dangerous plan. It could shorten our lifespan to cavort in Wuhan!” But unpack we did after paying 200 Quid to a hotel clerk named Lee and he handed the keys to me I was in Room 301, Stan in 303 there was just a companion door between him and me I shouted, “Say, there’s shampoo and conditioner for free, and the minibar has brandy and Chablis!” But Stan had dropped bags and was gone and I was woebegone not an uncommon phenomenon This had happened before in Paris, and in Milan So I sighed and rang up room service feeling just a bit nervous And I ordered the ragout fin and decided to stay in After supper and a shower I read the Bible for an hour I had cut myself shaving and there was certainly no saving the towel and the washcloth and the blood-stained curtain swath I prayed the Lord my soul to keep And Stan’s too, and I began to weep As you sow, so shall you reap and I went to bed, and fast to sleep I dreamt of dark images and unholy, carnal scrimmages Bodies writhing in pleasure and agony even, in equal measure There was a mysterious lady too with a black dragon tattoo I woke with a start at half past two My pillow and bedclothes a bloody stew The hotel door crashed in at 2:32 and into my room two Policemen flew “There he is!” the clerk Lee hissed, trembling from pointed finger to shaky wrist “Don’t try to run, and don’t you resist!” “You unner arrest, Mister,” the head cop cried “People been hurt, and one lady has died!” “But I’ve been right here,” I loudly protested “It’s not right that I should be arrested!” “Don’t you lie, the blood is all around you!” The cop didn’t lie, the blood stains would astound you. “I know it looks damning, but I cut myself shaving!!” The police were unconvinced, and I was beyond saving. “We have a living witness, and she knows your face.” And so then a small woman entered the place. She was dressed all in black, she was someone I knew And on her person was a black dragon tattoo “But it wasn’t me, it must’ve been Stan.” Though somehow I knew, they had found the right man. The desk clerk grinned like a wry Chinese elf, “There was no one else, you checked in by yourself.” And so they hauled me away, they shackled me tight They ID’ed me in a line-up, and read me my rights Now I sit sadly in a cold Wuhan prison Nobody vouches for me, so savior arisen I ponder this thought from my small prison bed; Will Stan come to save me, or was he all in my head? 🤔