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Blatant guitar abuse


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10 or 12 years ago I bought a cheap plywood classical from Brazil on ebay for $10. it was covered in stickers and held together with 2" packing tape. It was owned by a guy who lugged it around when he was doing missionary work in the US, Mexico, and parts of South America. It was junk. I peeled the back off, replaced some failed top braces, reglued the back, routed the back and replaced the destroyed wooden binding with new maple binding...did a horrible job that I am truly ashamed of (my first attempt at routing/binding) and did a rather hasty but ultimately successful and satisfying refret. I think I've broken my own record in refretting many times and this was one of the first 'wham-bam' fret jobs I did. I never even oiled the board afterwards and you can see the dirt where I DO play.


I left it out in the garage last summer. I'd sit in the lawn swing and plunk on it. I left a cigarette on the edge and walked away for some reason and it blackened the top a little (not shown). That was right before I quit smoking (again). I never did bring it in. The past week or so it's been 20 below at the house overnight. It's been out in the garage since June.


I discovered it yesterday laying under a pile of garbage bags of bottles I was taking back to the redemption center. I brought it inside and marveled at how quickly the condensation formed and the cold air that pumped out of the sound hole when I played it. The treble strings kept raising in pitch and I had to keep easing them back.


Marvelous tone. Wonderful. I feel bad for leaving it outside but I have a feeling that it's seen much worse in it's day. I don't want to say I forgot I owned it, but that's pretty close to the truth.


I think it should get played more. And abused less. I'll get right on that.



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Awe, wow. You'd better not let this get out daddy. Before you know it, the 'Guitar Welfare Agency' will be on to you. They'll deem you an unfit player and take him off you and put him in some foster care home. 20 years down the track they're going to find you in some run down tennement apartment building, 50lb's lighter, a half empty whiskey bottle in your withered hand, half crocked, lampshade on your head (oh...hold on, that's me)...minus the lampshade, rueing the day you let your baby go.


Oh, I feel a tear comming to my eye...or lyrics for a new country and western song being published.


So sad....[sad]

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