Yeah, Mike, I'd seen a guitar like some of those I saw in Tijuana about twenty-five years before at Barry Olivier's shop in Berkeley ("The Barrel"). Barry had a variety of instruments for sale, and I was looking at a guitar he had there with all kinds of mother-of-pearl inlay around the soundhole, along the edges, and up the fingerboard. I commented on how flashy it looked, and Barry said," That's strictly a wall-hanging. I'd never sell that as a guitar. Take a look inside." So I peered through the soundhole, and you could see sap oozing out of the wood. The wood in that guitar must have gone from the tree to guitar in a matter of a few weeks. No aging or curing at all.

Oops! Sorry about the thread drift.

On another occasion, back in Seattle, I was driving through downtown on the way back to my apartment fairly late at night, and I had to get up at about five-thirty in the morning to get to work (Boeing Everett plant, 7:00 a.m. shift). I stopped at a red light at 4th Avenue and Pike Street and was preparing to take a free right up Pike when an attractive, well-dressed young black woman tapped on my passenger's side window and made window-winding motions. I reached over and wound the window down to see what she wanted. She said, "Hi. Want a date?" I blinked, then responded, "Sorry, but no thanks. I've got to get up early to go to work." She smiled and said, "Okay, see you," then waved and stepped back on the curb. I turned the corner and went on home.

Once again, she was well-dressed, well-groomed, and quite attractive. I would never have taken her for a hooker.

Don Firth