sparquelito

We had a traditional New Years Day supper, black eyed peas with ham. They cooked in the crockpot all day, and the outside temps were positively Arctic, so it was a good meal. (Inside, where it's warm.)

I am not sure if that is exactly what you have there. It's a Beretta, for sure. But the FX404SX's that I have seen have a more modern (think 1999 or 2000) headstock shape. Made in 1987, if my research of similar models (with a variety of stickers and icons on display) are worth anything. But who know? Gorgeous example of what Kramer did best. I myself own a Kramer Ferrington from 1986.

She is definitely an unusually-collectible Gibson Les Paul, of that there is little doubt. Very handsome and attractive! :)

The links aren't working.

I threw slabs of pork shoulder in the crockpot this morning, along with some vidalia onion and chunks of apple, and a measure of Stubbs Spicy Barbecue sauce. And black pepper. It's been going all day on Low heat, and the house smells good. Later on we are going to have some low-carb wraps with flour tortillas, butter lettuce, pickle slivers, pulled pork (lots of it) and a dash of mayo and Famous Dave's Rich & Sassy bbq sauce.

Some random thoughts; * If you order a guitar, whether it be from a retailer, or from Sweetwater or one of the other music supply houses, you can't be assured of getting exactly what you wanted. * If, on the other hand, you purchase a guitar that you took the time to hold with your own hands, in person, and checked out thoroughly before laying the money down, there are no unexpected surprises or disappointments. I myself am attracted to Gibsons and Fenders, but I am wide-open to nearly every other brand of guitar. But I won't mail-order them, I'll travel to hold them and check them out in person before I spend the cash. For some reason, I am NOT attracted to PRS guitars. I know they are well-reviewed, and many headlining artists swear by them. But they have just never turned me on. Same with most Dean guitars. And Squiers. And the sleek Floyd Rose shred machines. And the only Epiphones that will generally turn my head are the Casino and the Dot. In the end, and no insult to the original poster, I find it counterproductive to take a stance that 'this is the only brand I'll ever own, and I reject all Gibsons because I had some bad experiences with mail-order'. It just seems kind of knee-jerk and overly-restricting. Can I say definitively that I will never own a PRS or Dean? Heck no. A guitar addict never says never. :unsure:

Steve Hunter.

Our Saturday in the park was one very long hot day. I was driving to load-in at 05:45 am, setting up and sound-checking in the first few hours of the morning, running sound and pre-recorded music for the introductory events and the local Army brass band until 11:00, and then we played solid sets (with a few short breaks) from 11:20 am until 2:20 pm. And then, of course, hard hours of breaking-down, loading the rental truck, and then delivering gear to various band members, and then turning in the big truck. 5,000 or more in attendance, so it was worth all the effort. We got a few people asking us (on breaks) about details for hiring the band for future events, so it was pretty nice in that regard. :huh:

I'm headed to Bojangles this morning on the way to work. Three scrambled cheesy eggs with two of their cajun chicken filets on the side. Lots of Texas Pete's hot sauce, and *boom*, that's breakfast!!

No apologies necessary. Your chapter was sublime, and (come to think of it) all my bits were a form of hijacking something that probably should have been deleted anyway. I take great pleasure in writing stories and songs, and when inspiration strikes, you have to go with it, no matter where it leads you. I once woke up with a song in my head, and I wrote it down and recorded immediately (sang it into an iPhone, of all things). It's a really good song, come to think of it. Dierdrre agrees, by the way. :)

Brilliant!!

Okay, I'm gonna shut up now. :( [unsure]

Deidre entered, and paused to greet Sparquelito. “Hello, Uncle. It’s been far too long. She kissed him on the cheek, and then turned and faced the Master of the house. She spoke. “My Lord, I know ye have a lot on your plate, but here it is plain and simple,” she paused and gulped. Her eyes were fixed forward on the wall. “I have an opportunity to better myself, and I would ask your blessing to depart this house, and to attend the University. I have secured a scholarship, and if all goes well, I will in two month’s time, be in studies at the local college, and that will remove me from my duties here, sir.” She gulped, and continued on. “I would ask for your support in this endeavor. You have always been so kind and benevolent, and since the passing of me Mum, and most tender and good-hearted in all things large and small. I ask for more of the same, good sir.” The man was floored. He blurted, “Of course you have my support, and your leave of this place, though disconcerting to me personally, will pay dividends far beyond our mundane and even selfish routines here at Gibson Forums. Please know that you will go to school with both my blessing and my heartfelt wishes for much success!” He halted in his speech, and took the time to blot a tear from his eye. “And you may go forward with this endeavor knowing that we will personally cover all your miscellaneous expenses, such as books, lab fees, and meals.” The man then directed his gaze at his old friend John. “And we will be most grateful of you would continue to reside here, and allow all of us in your circle of family to assist in your studies and preparations for exams.” He continued to stare at Sparquelito. “It was rumored that your father was quite the academic genius, though a bit of a rogue and a renegade cadet.” Deidre gave pause. “My father, sir?” “Yes, I think it’s time that you came to know who it was that sired you, and who romanced your mother, the chief of staff of the kitchen of this good house, and then who departed so unceremoniously not long after you were born.” The girl blinked. “I’m not sure I understand, my Lord. My father, though not one to admit openly his paternity, was very much present in this good house, all the way until his passing just four years ago.” The man blurted out, “What in blazes are you talking about, girl? Your dad is standing right here in front of you!” Sparquelito advised, “Steady, old sport. Things aren’t always as they seem.” Deidre softened her tone. “I apologize, my Lord. It appears that the entire house has gone out of their way to spare you this disconcerting revelation. But the truth is……” She took a deep breath, and endeavored to elucidate. Sparquelito spoke up instead. “My old friend, Deidre’s father was your father. You and she are brother and sister.” He coughed. “More like half-brother and half-sister. But whatever the case, she’s not my daughter. Deidre is the offspring of your old dad, the creator of this entire enterprise, and Gertrude, the mistress of the kitchen staff. Everyone knew, including your long-suffering Mum, but they never informed you for fear of harming your lofty opinion of the grand old patriarch.” He chuckled. “It was easy money to blame the parenthood on me, considering my reputation for wandering about with the ladies, and my great affection for Deidre’s mum. The man slumped in his leather chair. “My God, how could I have been so blind? All the signs were right there in front of my eyes, and I never caught on, never once!” He swallowed, and then rose to his feet. “Deidre, come here, girl. And please accept my apologies for my ignorance and my blindness. I have always loved you like my own kin, and here it is that you are very much my own flesh and blood!” The girl fell into his arms and he embraced her with enormous affection. He kissed her forehead, and murmured, “And to think I have been operating under the assumption that Uncle John was your real father. And holding him accountable for horrible crimes of negligence, a lack of caring, and cavalier nonchalance. My sweet baby sister!” He stared into Sparquelito’s eyes. “John, can you forgive me all this, my old friend?” “I already have,” exclaimed the dusty wanderer. “Now, can we alert the kitchen that it’s time for a grand supper? I am getting hungry, and I think that the Gibson Forum staff is more than ready to accommodate a long overdue celebration!” :lol: :P :o :)

The two men chatted amicably, though warily, and eventually enjoyed a lunch of sausage, kippers, brie, and thin, lightweight rice crackers. With a bottle of white wine from the Nahe Valley of Germany. At one point, the man folded his napkin, enjoyed a swig of the Müller-Thurgau, and then cleared his throat. “So, there’s just a bit of the website business, and then we must really address the topic of your daughter.” “What’s on with Gibson Forums? She’s the flagship of the guitar web enterprises, to be certain? What on earth might come about with it that you should make it so that I were dragged here in the boot of a Citroën Bertone Xantia of all things? And after nine years away, no less!” Sparquelito was clearly agitated, and poured himself another glass of the white. The man leaned forward, “What is on is that we have had yet another of the cryptic postings that begin with one thing, end with zero content, and then follow with an admonition to simply delete the original thread altogether. It stinks of Moscow, and either the KGB or the Spetsnaz (Russian: спецназ) web interlopers.” “And so what’s that got to do with me?” “You spent many years traveling about in and out of Ukraine and Siberia. You know these people. What’s your take on it, John?” Sparquelito smiled, and helped himself to a daub of brie on a double stack of rice crackers. “These communion wafers really are quite tasty. Much better than the ones we served to the flock as altar boys back in the mid-1960’s.” He chomped the lovely mixture, and swilled some more of the wine. He continued, “Serving Father Walter, as I recall. A lovely man, though overly fond of the Scotch whiskey.” The man at the oak desk blurted out, “They were all given to the drink, John. As are the two of us, truth be told, to this day! What’s that got to do with the curious web postings, the requests to delete, and the KGB-tainted IP Addresses?” Sparquelito leaned forward, “Nothing, good and dear friend. My advice is to let it go. Just assume that some sad chap began a fresh web posting with all good intentions, and then changed his mind about it. Do the right thing. Delete it.” “Can you guarantee that there is nothing untoward going on, nothing that threatens the sanctity and integrity of the Gibson Forums??” “I can guarantee that much. Yes. Just delete the damned thing, and you may sleep the sleep of the righteous and just web forum owner and chief executive.” The man sat back and digested the information brought to him by his old school-chum and former web forum partner. He sighed. “Right. And so now we must discuss Deidre, and what is to become of her. She really deserves the opportunity to finally learn who it is that………” At that moment, the girl herself rapped on the heavy door and entered the man’s chamber. “My Lord, may I have a word?”

The late morning sun cut through 16th century glass, and illuminated the dust motes on the bookshelves, dancing odd, prism-like shards of colour across the man’s desktop. The writing paper was most posh, and each sheet of parchment spoke of old money and glaring sun beams on white Egyptian cotton. He squinted and longed for a brandy drink, but knew that lady of the house kept a close ear to the gossip and the slur and innuendo of the hired help. And he knew just how much they disapproved of his love of the spirits. “Best to just wait until noon,” he remarked to no one in particular. He drummed his fingers on the stout oak desk. Suddenly the door to his chambers burst open with a stout thump, and two rough men entered with a vagabond figure. The taller of the two men threw the unfortunate fellow harshly onto the floor. Both employees turned on their heel and began to exit, but the shorter henchman lurched back, picked up the reprobate, and then threw him to the floor yet again. “Teach you to make a run for it, you scurvy fopdoodle!” The testy man stood then erect, straightened his cap, and departed the room with his surly partner in tow. Sparquelito brought himself to his feet, and then righted his top hat and his dusty Inverness jacket with great care. “How are you, John?” inquired the man at the large oak desk. “I have been better,” the scuffed-up wanderer offered. He turned his head slightly then, and contemplated the view out the window. “But then again, I have been much worse.” He paused, and then remarked, “I love what you have done with the parade grounds. Yer dad would be proud.” “Yes. He would be.” “And the house is in tip-top shape. And the web forum, I hear. Everything in Bristol fashion.” “Yes.” “And Diedre. She has grown to be quite the young lady.” “Yes. John, listen to me, speaking of Diedre, she ought to be afforded the chance to get to know her father. You know?“ “The hell you say.” “Don’t bandy about with me, old friend. You have been out and about on the Continent long enough. Germany for the past few years, or so I heard, right?” “Jawohl, mein lieber freund.” The wanderer then brightened. “Say, speaking of Deutschland, what say we have a bit of this? It’s Asbach Uralt from the Rudesheim bend of the Rhein river. The very best brandy ever.” He produced a bottle, set it on the man’s desk, and uncorked it. “Will you join me?” The master of the house gave with a sigh, and bent over to his lower desk drawer, and produce a stout pair of drinking glasses. “Okay, I’ll have a drink with you, and then we must get down to business. Do you hear me, John?” Sparquelito poured an even measure into each glass, and then raised one of them in a toast. “I hear you, old friend. Here’s to getting down to business.” Outside, the hounds began to bay, as though some disturbance had arisen on the grounds.

The girl knocked tentatively at the door, and then rapped just a bit harder. "Come," was all she heard. The young maid opened the massive oak door and let herself into her Master's chambers, juggling her tray. She presented herself to the man with a brief nod, and offered, "Good morning, sir. Your coffee, eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes". "Just set it there on the corner of my desk, Diedre. I will get to it directly." She did as directed, and left the silver cover over the breakfast offering, so that it would remain reasonably warm. He resumed his pensive study of the computer screen. "Something troubling on this morning, my Lord?" she queried. "Ah, it's this blasted new thread, entitled, 'Delete'. A new poster began to write something, and then apparently thought the better of it." "Most vexing, then." "Yes, indeed." The man paused to gaze out the window at the dawn arising. The staff and cadre of Gibson Forum moderators were at their morning exercise, and were about on the vast parade ground, snapping through their calisthenics with military precision. He smiled. Comforting to know that things were in order at the grand old website, this morning as ever. She ventured, "Your Dad, he started this web forum, sir. How would he have handled such a thing?" "The Old Man? Ha, I venture to say that he would have deleted the blasted thing without another thought. But still, there's something about this thread that merits further contemplation." His finger hovered over the Delete button, gently wavering. Finally the girl relieved the moment. "Here, sir. Let's just you have your morning meal, and put this off until later. Give it an hour or two to stew in the backdrop. What's the worst that could happen?" She set about making his tray. The aroma of rich Columbian coffee and crisp, apple-smoked bacon brought the man out of his reverie, and he smiled. "Yes. What's the worst that could happen?" :mellow:

NO!! This thread deserves to live!! :o

Jenny, My band and I are in for the uptempo humorous song. PM me any time. www.capshawroad.com We don't care if we make any money off of it (we rarely have ever before) but we would enjoy the challenge and the enjoyment of working on somebody else's songs. :)

Man. When I get home from a gig, there ensues about an hour and a half of putting the gear away, followed by an hour or two of drinking good beers or better whiskey. If I try to go to bed too soon, I'm wide awake and buzzing all night. :blink:

Planning to go motorcycle riding with the wife later on, and catch an early lunch somewhere in town. Just to tide me over, I had some low-carb goodness for breakfast; Ham slices wrapped around dill pickle and cheddar cheese, dipped in guacamole ranch dressing. Good stuff!! :)

Crimson And Clover - Tommy James and the Shondells. :)

The pizza I can get behind. The raw egg, eh, not so much!!

I just diced up a tomato and stirred it together with some sliced celery, ranch dressing, greek dressing, sunflower seeds, shredded cheddar, and black pepper. Great breakfast salad at 4:45 a.m.!

I agree. A Parker Fly fits all the requirements. Problem is, in a band that plays mostly country music, it would stick out like a sore thumb. Unless you go for one of these koa models.