sparquelito

I want to die at age 82. Like this; After rescuing a litter of puppies from a burning building, and then riding my vintage Honda CR250 Elsinore motocross bike for an hour or two, I want to go home that day and enjoy a hot shower, some fresh clothes, and nice whiskey drink. I'll pick up my pine Telecaster, and enjoy playing some blues. The neighbor lady comes over. She's 80, but fit. She's a vixen. "Sparky, I brought you some of that coffee you like." "Well, thank you, Gretchen. You have always been a kind and generous friend. I appreciate you." "I appreciate you too. But I'm not getting any younger. I need sex, and I need sex now." "Gretchen, dear! And you with your husband not cold in his grave yet six months. Are you sure?" She drops her tennis whites, and reveals a stunning body. "My husband was a plastic surgeon, you know. He knew his stuff." "Well. I do have this epi-pen of Viagra III Turbo®...." We embrace, and the camera shifts to soft-focus out the window, and ocean waves crash on a craggy sea-side cliff. White foam everywhere. Later on, Gretchen gets up and makes me a sandwich, and goes back to her own place. We agree to meet like this about ever other month, no commitments, no entanglements. I have another whiskey drink, drop the needle on an old Neil & Tim Finn record. Just then, I hear an angry mob appears on the street outside, and angry voices begin blaring over a megaphone. "Alright, Sparky!! This is it!! We have had enough of your shenanigans!!" Sh1t. The local Homeowner's Association, again. "This business of riding your motocross bike across the Association golf course, and screwing all the widow ladies! This has got to stop!!" I shout out the window, "You guys can go screw yourselves! I pay my dues! I know my rights!!" I take a long pull off the whiskey bottle, and mutter, "I know my rights." Carefully punching a code on the keypad near the garage door, I slip into my flight suit. "Always knew it was going to end this way." Steel doors open horizontally, then vertically, and the hermetically-sealed aperture opens with a slight pop. The sodium lamps burble and sputter, and the outer chamber goes from darkness into bright light, and there she is in the center of my garage floor; My 1984 model AH-1S Cobra helicopter. Freshly gassed up, and loaded for bear. I climb up the side, crack open the back canopy door, climb-in, and strap myself in. I punch a few buttons in the remote control panel, and the hydraulic servos and pistons slowly open the garage roof like an enormous, sinister clam-shell. Glancing at the checklist, I flip a few switches, turn on the battery power, strap on my helmet, plug in my ICS cord, and pull the starter trigger. I monitor the engine EGT as the Kaman rotor blades begin to turn slowly at first and then faster and faster. I release the trigger at 40% gas turbine speed, and then close the canopy. I throttle-up to full speed. The engine howls nearly as loudly as the angry mob outside as I raise the collective lever and lurch upwards, out above the garage roof, and into the slate-grey sky. The neighbors are furious. They launch Bud Lite bottles and White Claw cans at my skids as I lumber up above their weapons range. My rotor wash causes three or four golf carts to upend and tumble over. One lady goes ***-over-teakettle into the neighbors yard. Once up into clean air, I climb into an over-watch orbit at 2,000 feet, and flip the Master Arm switch on. A small square light flickers yellow and then green, as the AGM-114Y Sub-Kiloton Nuclear HELLFIRE Missile sputters to life. As I swing out over the coastline, I enjoy the scenery and the sublime beauty of the Arizona coast-line one more time. (California had tumbled into the sea ten years earlier.) I take one last sip of whiskey from my flask, tighten my chin strap, and lower the nose sharply into a dive onto the final target and my last destination. I settle my gun-sight onto the street below, and repeat myself, "Always knew it was going to end this way." I pull the trigger and the missile leaves me in its fiery wake. A split second later, I feel a mild buffet, and then everything is blinding white. Myself, and everything and everybody within fifteen miles vaporizes. As my molecules disappear into the ether, I can hear tribal voices, and ukuleles softly playing. 😔

I have been to a lot of funerals lately. I just sang Amazing Grace at a funeral Mass yesterday morning. We are all (many of us) of a certain age. We have been through it. Our buddies and old classmates and chums are passing away. I confess that I have lost 15 friends and family members in the past 3 years or so. And only one of them went out peacefully and on her own terms. I have found myself reflecting on the nature and the absurd caprice of how we die, and where and when we might release this mortal coil. Especially since I have spent a lot of time with my wife's 92 year old father, as we have both borne witness to the passing of three of his seven grown children lately. Old Jim is very much near the end himself, and he has spoken to me and his surviving offspring about exactly how he wants his remains disposed of, and so on. SO. On that note. If you could choose the wheres and the hows and the details of your own passing, how would you want to go? This is a hypothetical and completely absurd question, really. If you could design your own perfect death, what would it look like? I'm tired and sleep-deprived right now, so forgive me this nonsensical query. But answer in your own way, if you have the time or inclination. 😑

Not a gig exactly, but I did play and sing, so; My wife and I drove down on Monday morning to UCLA (the Ugliest Corner of Lower Alabama) to attend a memorial service. Her younger sister had passed away late last week, and was cremated over the weekend. Five hours of driving south-bound. Lots of emotional conversation on the way down, regarding the hard life and tragic demise of Beth's younger sister. The whole family converged upon Dothan, Alabama and we all had dinner together Monday evening. The patriarch of the family is 92 now, and he's having a hard time getting around. Hard especially now for old Jim, after having lost a grown daughter now, a grown son six months ago, and another daughter three years before that. You're not supposed to out-live your kids. At 2:30 in the morning, the old fellow's wife rang me up, and needed assistance. Jim had stumbled out of bed and frammed his arm against the door frame. Nothing broken, but his arm was swollen, purple, and very much in pain. I drove Jim up to the local ER at 3:00 am, and we spent a few hours there getting evaluated and treated for a nasty blood-swollen hematoma. His Rx of blood-thinners was part of the problem apparently, but nothing could be done about that, but to wrap it up, keep him comfortable, and get him ready for his daughter's memorial service hours later. The service went fine, at the Catholic Church. It was a proper Catholic Funeral Mass, with all the associated rituals, prayers, songs, and the communion. The music was structured very nicely by the church's musical director and one of their singers, but (at the request of the deceased's daughter), they let me step up to the lectern and mic near the end of the communion and sing a song. I got up with my copy of a Gibson J-160E, and played and sang Amazing Grace. It went very well. A lot of the attendees wept openly and I got a little choked up myself, but I soldiered on thru it nicely. I think people were weeping because it was a beautiful song, and they knew how much the dearly departed had struggled with addictions for many years, and now she was in the arms of The Savior. Either that, or they were crying because they wished that I would quit singing and go sit down. One or the other I reckon. Afterwards, Beth and I drove straight north to get our 3 doggies out of the kennel, and back home where we all belong. Five hard hours of driving north-bound, making best speed. I unloaded the wife and the dogs and the overnight bag and guitar case, and put everything away. Stayed busy until bed-time, getting things organized and ready for the next day. I was so tired that after a hot bath, I locked up the house, fell into bed at 09:00 pm, and slept hard until 4:30 this morning. I am wiped out now, and so is Beth, obviously. We don't want to do that again any time soon. Please, Lord. 😔

Yes, the three-screw truss rod cover was a dead giveaway, but what caught my eye first were the screwdriver slots in the studs that the Tune O Matic bridge sets onto. Unless somebody can hold up an example of an odd one, I've never seen a genuine Gibson with anything but smooth stud tops. Oh, and the shape of the fingerboard inlays. There's that. 😗

Q: What did Jeffrey Dahmer say to Lorena Bobbitt? A: Say, are you gonna eat that? 😬

It IS kind of cool though. I like it. And for the record, I'm not blind, unless I take off my reading glasses. Then I can't see $hit. 😬

MAN, that sure is gold. Quite a rare and wonderful guitar! 🙂 This is gold, Mr. Bond. All my life I've been in love with its color... its brilliance, its divine heaviness.

That's a brand new Gibson invention, as it turns out. Just be glad that you got the prototype, and for free at that!! 😬

Welcome Andrea. Great to have you aboard! I would love to own a Les Paul Lite. Yours is similar to the standard Les Paul Studio, but came with no pickguard, and naked humbuckers. (A look that I am fond of!) She was built of a mahogany body and neck, ebony fingerboard with trapezoid inlay, black chrome hardware, exposed pickups, and was mostly available in Translucent Black, Translucent Blue (BU), or Translucent Red finish, and was discontinued in 1998. Worth, if you kept it nice and mint, right around €925 to €1,000. You can add €90 if yours has gold hardware and either the Heritage Cherry Sunburst (LPLT-HS) or Vintage Sunburst (LPLT-VS) finishes. I hope this helps!! 🙂

Yes. Like and Share my posting right now, and something wonderful will happen to you within 24 hours. If you pass and Delete it however, a puppy will die. 😑

That sure is one blingy, gold-plated guitar. Not my flavor, but then again, who am I to question Tom Petty? Or Batman even? 🙁

I loved Thin Lizzy, and their one radio hit. Phil Lynott seemed like an interesting Englishman, raised in Ireland, and proudly so. His Signature bass can be yours for just a few paychecks. 😑 https://www.sweetwater.com/store/detail/PBassCSLEPL--fender-custom-shop-limited-edition-phil-lynott-precision-bass-black-relic?utm_source=criteo&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=lowerfunnelnew&utm_content=display&utm_term=300x250&dclid=CKDjx62exe8CFYkzwQodIUsNFg

I just liked your post. 😬

I lived on the North Shore for a few years with my 1996 Gibson Les Paul Studio. It had gold hardware, and that soon turned to tarnish going rapidly green. I kept it for a few years later here in northern Alabama, and finally sold it to a lovely gentleman from Owens Crossroad who loved the 'reliced look' of it. Score. 😜

I appreciate all the insight and wisdom, guys and gals. Some things have become clear to me, after posting this grist for the mill sort of thread; * Everyone's perceptions and opinions on utility, functionality, performance, value, and luxury are all uniquely different. And that's to be expected, and even celebrated. * We all work hard for our money, and if we want something (and have even coveted it for a very long time), then by golly we should have it. And to hell with what anybody else thinks about how much we spent on it. and, * Most internet conversations, whether they need to or not, will always turn into an argument. On that note, please know that I didn't start this thread to assert that cheap guitars are better than expensive guitars. Far from it. (I am, this very week, about to drop quite a bit of money on a mint-condition, 30 year old Fender Strat.) I just wanted to hear from people who are willing to spend the top dollar on guitars about why they are willing to spend the top dollar. Years ago, in another life, I had a friend ask me, "Why do you buy your wife Cadillacs? Johnny, you know that the Chevy or Oldsmobile is just as good. And they cost less than half the price of that Sedan DeVille!" I answered, "Because she likes the Cadillacs. And I want her to have what she wants." Years later she got everything she wanted, in the divorce. Which was everything I had, and everything I had ever owned. And my ego, my pride, and my dignity. And half my military retirement. Q: Why is a divorce so expensive? A: Because it's worth it. Okay, I'm gonna shut up now. 😬

The magic of web forums. From 'what's the story of your avatar?' to 'the merits versus drawbacks of smoking weed' to 'I love KISS and and enjoyed seeing them perform live' to 'Gene Simmons is a ******bag'. The novel just sort of writes itself. 🤨

I just had a thought. (And this is rare, so hang on, it could get dicey.) The things we value in a guitar are fairly simple, right? We need it to work, from the get-go, and be dependable. We need it to sound great. We need it to stay in tune. We want it to be pretty. We want it to feel good. We want it to be cool. We would like for it to attract chicks, and turn the heads of fans in the audience. We would like for it to hold its resale value some day. Okay. So if you find all that in a guitar, on a great number of occasions over your lifetime, for 400 CAD (for example), for 600 Quid even, for 700 AUD maybe, or $1,200 at the outside, and those guitars clearly met all those above-listed requirements............. Why in the world would people spend $2,500 or £4000 or even €6000 on a high-end guitar? I have had (and I still own) $400 guitars that checked the block on all those metrics. Shoot, I have owned $200 pawnshop prizes that met most of those requirements. What is it about uber-expensive guitars that continues to drive and influence the market price? I must admit this much. I owned a 1971 Gibson Les Paul Deluxe. I have held and briefly played a $4,000 Gibson acoustic. I have had the rare privilege of trying out a $2,200 Fender Jazz bass. I have to tell you; I didn't feel or hear anything that knocked me out, or that impressed me more than the Takamine over there or that Ibanez bass right over here. So I ask you; If you drop a boat-load of money (more than $3,000) on a super high-end guitar, is it because it's supposed to sound and perform better than the pedestrian ones? Or is it because you savor the notion of owning such a prestigious instrument? Do we need to feel and know at some point in our lives that we have arrived, and that we deserve such a luxurious adornment? Because aside from bragging rights, I really can't feel or hear the difference between most $800 guitars and those $3000 guitars. I honestly cannot. I welcome your thoughts, and PLEASE do not take this posting as a condemnation of high-end guitar collectors. I just want your thoughts and opinions on the emotions, inclinations, and motivations for spending that much. 🤔

I sent a message to Customer Service to ask them the question about Lefty Kramers. Hoping to hear back fairly quickly. 😐

Wilcommen, GL. Nice to meet you!! 😑

That is one beautiful guitar. Congratulations! 😛

You ask a lot of questions, amigo. Why don't we start at the bar? And I'm buying. 😬

Much love to your brother and the whole family. Harry sounded like a great friend!! 😔

An unusual forum, or a boutique New Jersey Croque Madame with a glass of Clicquot? 😬

JR, That Les Paul Deluxe guitar was made at the Kalamazoo or Nashville Plant (can't tell by the serial number), in 1976 Production Number: 133622 She features a three-piece mahogany/maple body, deeper cutaway binding, bound carved maple top, mahogany neck, 22-fret bound rosewood fingerboard with pearl trapezoid inlays, widened black headstock overlay with pearl Gibson logo inlay and "Les Paul Model" silkscreened, "Deluxe" engraved on truss rod cover, three-per-side Kluson tuners with plastic double ring buttons, tune-o-matic bridge, stop tailpiece, raised cream pickguard, and two mini humbucker pickups. That finish was called Tobacco Sunburst. Worth now, used: Mint Condition - $3,000 Excellent Plus - $2,400 Excellent - $1,950 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The SG is most likely a Standard in Natural Finish, and was made was made at the Kalamazoo Plant on April 24th, 1978Production Number: 68 She's got a mahogany body, set mahogany neck, 22-fret bound rosewood fingerboard with small pearl dot inlays, black headstock overlay with pearl Gibson logo and crown inlay. Worth now, used: Mint Condition - $2,200 Excellent Plus - $1,750 Excellent - $1,425 I hope this helps. Sorry about the cereal box gag. I couldn't help myself. 😜

Staying home and tele-working today. Terrible weather in the deep South. 😗 https://weather.com/weather/radar/interactive/l/Huntsville+AL?canonicalCityId=a69a6e1e58d85f3374d14eccc0009a0ded9eb8d078f860e1830ef05eb7ebc856