Today, I received the parcel from Carlton Gill-Blyth my Irish buddy, which is the stuff he traded me for the 'Revelator' and other things referenced in the previous post.
All I can say is WOW!
I love the little Banjolele. It is so cool. I'll polish that sucka a little, lay on some new strings, fix the two little dings I knew about, and off I go to 'Hawaii In My Mind'.
The long-necked goose (wasn't that lyrics from a Big Bopper song? -- 'You know what I like'!) is awesome! I don't have a clue what in hell it is, but I can tell you one thing, it is going to become the coolest long-scale bass lowbow on the planet. The hand carving is so unique, and the overall design is outa sight.
The ale sign has to hang in my bar with a photo of Carl. I thought for about a second about making a resonator guitar with it, but can't do it . . . it was a surprise in the care package from Carl, and deserves special treatment.
And, Carl has to be a damn mind reader! I've been looking long and hard for a Triumph motorcycle tank emblem to use on a custom guitar body, and lo, I open the box and this little number falls out. I couldn't believe it, but, I cannot wait to get started on that rascal. My first bike was an 500cc basket case I got from an old guy fifty years ago. It didn't have brakes or throttle. No mufflers, just four-inch megaphone pipes that would blow doors down. The front forks were shot and when I would goose it real hard the front end would lift to the max and not re-settle, which made for a thrilling ride.
But, the funniest thing was the day when my future father-in-law and I first cranked that sucker over. My brother-in-law-to-be was only six years old at the time, and he was a real pain in the ass . . . always hanging around the garage and giving me a hard time. It was early spring and cold out, so the garage doors were closed . . . little guy was trapped inside with us. I stomped on the kick starter a lot to no avail, and all the time, the little guy was crowing, "It'll never run!" He was walking around continuing his rant, when it finally started, and all hell broke loose. The throttle stuck, smoke was pouring out of the exhaust pipes, the noise was over the top, and the little guy was running around in circles shouting, "Shut the son-of-a-bitch off!", over and over, until we could stop laughing long enough to hit the kill switch. The kid ran from the garage to the house howling like a rabid wolf. Then came his mother to put the hex on us, because he was cursing. There's no escaping the influence of a mother-in-law.
Check out my new toys.