Let me set the scene for the day... I walked outside into a cool drizzle. The clouds had the sun blocked-not badly-but like a thin white sheet over a bright bulb. The light still radiated, it just wasn't so present. I spent the afternoon in my living room with the modest grey clouded sky shining in on my while I played on my guitar for a while. Then I picked up my natural Stiletto Custom 4. It's dings were more prominent today. The love just wasn't there. Even though I've tried a couple times to sell it, it has been my turn to bass for every band I've played in / with. It's like a nagging woman-you sometimes wonder if it's worth it, but then there's those nights where you know it's worth it. (Forgive me for that one! I HAD to! ) So... what's so special about today? I would describe it as one of my best bass-based days in my life. I took time after a first guitar lesson with a new student who has a lot of potential to go out. This was because I accidentally walked in on my room mate right after she got out of the shower. She was embarrassed. I didn't really care-I've seen too many friends of mine naked. When I stepped into Guitar Center it was a day like any other. There was the spiky-haired clerk who's unyielding in giving any decent prices except the time he offered me a 2008 MIA P-Deluxe with the bridge humbucker for $1k. (I'm so sad I didn't take that deal!) Back in the rear, nuzzled between the acoustic room and the sound room, there's the used gear / very expensive gear room. Sitting, all one one wall, nearly side-by-side... Rickenbacker 4003 (arrived that week) Warwick FNA Jazzmaster 5 '73 Fender P-Bass Modulus Quantum 5 (For sake of my talking, we'll assume the Gibson SG bass I played a few mintues later at Sam Ash was here.) It started with a 15" Markbass combo that was sitting there. The Rickenbacker seemed to jump into my hand. I played it for a good twenty minutes. I realized quickly that it didn't appreciate my often rough playing style. It would clip the amp, especially on the bridge, if I got too rough or did any hammer-ons or pull-offs. It felt so right when I'd run my fingers up and down the board with some fast blues runs and even a touch of jazz. I wasn't in the mood to love a bass right then. I wanted something rough and raw. The Warwick and I were staring down each other the whole time the Rickenbacker was in my arms. I knew it was wrong, but it had to happen. The Rickenbacker got put back on the wall. Some crazy funky things started to happen. I'm not one for the pops and slaps. You see, I'm a traditional man. I'm not into that kind of thing...but it happened. A lot. And it was really, really good. It just felt right. I was even tapping. I was that guy. I was ashamed. We were doing it right in front of everybody. I let it all out and the bass just worked with me perfectly. Everything was in sync. We were perfect. But... Sometimes, you just have to realize when it's not love. Along came the '73 P. She'd been around the track more than once. Her looks told me that. She felt as good as any woman. She had her scars and bruises. Someone used her. They didn't love her. She didn't care. She wept in my arms and I held her. I know it's cliche... but we made beautiful music. Then she told me if she wanted me to bring her home tonight it would be $2200. F--- that! I can find a real woman. Just to spite that worn in, well used P I grabbed the nearest bass to her. The Modulus Quantum 5 looked the part. We never felt right together, but you couldn't tell. The way I played her, the sounds she made. I've never heard a bass that makes sounds like she did. That slapping, it came back to me. It was wrong, but it sounded so, so right. I was that guy, again. I couldn't be that man. I can't have a bass who makes me feel that way. It's not me, it's her. She brought out the worst in me. Or at least the slapper. I had to leave. I found a new place. Sam Ash. It was new. It was fresh. There were Laklands on the wall. I wasn't interested in them. There was a short slim little lady on the wall. An SG Bass was calling my name. The story there isn't long. She was a rebound. She put me off of basses for the rest of my trip. I'm ashamed, but the others, they ruined me. I'll never be able to afford a bass like that. I'll never be satisfied. I'll die alone, empty, and with really, really bad GAS. I guess that makes me... a true bass player.