Hard to get proper ingredients around here. No prosciutto
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Thunderbird Club
- Thread starter TBird1958
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- club thunderbird
Hard to get proper ingredients around here. No prosciutto
Or just look for this. But sausage my be your bigger problem.
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Yes, but many years ago. The guy at the centre of the story was an Australian artist, who lived in the Blue Mountains just west of Sydney.
- Mar 13, 2008
- 18,894
- 142,211
- Disclosures
- Endorsing Artist Mike Lull T Bass pickups, The Bass Shop, Seattle WA.
Are you at San Luis reservoir?
Good eye! Pic just came up...,take it you came over the hill that way huh?
White pedal Wednesday! Had some GC points so scored this for a great price! In very good condition too.
- Mar 13, 2008
- 18,894
- 142,211
- Disclosures
- Endorsing Artist Mike Lull T Bass pickups, The Bass Shop, Seattle WA.
Yes, the second time we came down, it made more sense as we were staying in Hollister. It's very strange to find a lake at the top of a long climb as you head west from I-5 - quite beautiful. I recall the trip downhill as quite steep in places too.
Don't need it. Not as long as you don't stop.
Work well and like it so far?White pedal Wednesday! Had some GC points so scored this for a great price! In very good condition too.
I have a Polytune pedal and a clip-on at home.
I use one too, pretty much the standard I think for that form factor, think I paid 50 for mine....great tuner, my only beef is when playing outdoors during the day, it's sometimes hard to see the LEDs...
nice score Andy!White pedal Wednesday! Had some GC points so scored this for a great price! In very good condition too.
yes, it's actually man made powering a dam PG&E hid really well hence the power lines....Dinosaur Point is not far from there, cool bones and stuff there......the road you speak off is called 156 and cuts right through Pacheco Pass, and yes, a steep incline on the Hol side, boat came off the hitch (twice!) on that bottom dip.....
.....pretty scary, thank God for chains.....
Something I've been noticing the last couple of months or so--during some songs and often during softer parts like intros, bridges, mainly where there is no singing--I notice when playing a note and it rings out and sustains, I'm thinking I wish the note decayed quicker. I find my self about once a week or so wishing a note would fade instead of hanging out there and always recall conversations about sustain. I generally move my finger to on top of the fret to dampen it a bit so it decays a little quicker. Tonight I stuffed some foam under the DTFs on the '64 Pbass to see how I like it. In the past when I've used foam, I didn't notice much of a difference. Always sounded better at home with just me. Unfortunately a couple people couldn't make practice so we canceled so I'll have to wait. As much as anything I find it odd that I notice myself even wanting some notes to decay. An interesting and unexpected self-observation.
do you use effects? volume pedals can be your friends..
Caleb's having girl trouble AGAIN- he just had a fight with Lenore, the ship's sentient computer, so he headed for the gym to decompress with a holotheme ride on an elliptical machine, choosing a Northern European latitude- except there was more there than evergreen trees and Northern Lights-
A bit more context:
Initially he went down a vague trail through the woods that began to gradually widen and become more distinct, until he arrived at a village with Nordic folk dressed in the style of the mid-first millennium AD and engaged in various activities associated with the period. One that caught his eye was a tall, lissome redhead dressed in leather and pelts of various animals. She was honing arrowheads by a fire over which hung a black iron pot of stew. He dismounted, hoping that the images would yet remain, and amazingly they did. Captivated, he watched her work. Wanting to stay, he crept a bit closer and sat down by the fire. She continued to work, apparently oblivious of him. He lay back, basking in the warmth and crackle of the fire, and the rhythmic scurring of the arrowheads on the sharpening stone.
“Vil du ha noe å spise?” a female voice asked.
“Wha …?” Caleb asked, startled.
She repeated herself, smiled, and indicated the firepot.
Though inclined to refuse out of caution, he didn’t wish to insult his hostess, and he was quite hungry. He smiled and nodded gratefully.
She went into the hut behind the fire and returned with two wooden bowls and utensils. She filled one and passed it to him, then served herself.
The stew was not only real but quite tasty to his mild surprise, given the circumstances.
It was a silent repast, interspersed with the occasional shy glance from Caleb, each of which were requited with an intense appraisal by the ginger’s striking greens.
Upon finishing, he rose and thanked her, then offered to clean their dishes.
“Nei,” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand, then regarded him with an intense stare.
Caleb shakily set his bowl down, desperately trying to think of a gracious way to excuse himself.
“Du er søt!” she said, stepping close to him and running her fingers through his hair. She indicated the entrance of the hut behind them. “Vil du ikke bli natten?”
“Nei!,” he responded then bolted.
He arrived back at the trail only to find that the elliptical machine was no longer there. “Hei! Hvor, skal du?” he heard, followed by footsteps close behind as he desperately searched for his former mount.
Branches lashed his face and shrubs tripped him as he blindly ran through the forest for what seemed like an eternity. He finally came to the entrance of his quarters where he paused for a moment to catch his breath and regain his bearings. That is, until he heard leather clad footsteps coming from the direction of the gym. He swiped his hand across the ID pad several times before the door finally allowed him entry. Shaken, he leaned against the door, only to feel the vibrations as a fist pounded it, accompanied by the demand “Åpne døren!”
Unable to move and afraid of the unknown, he remained at the door until the pounding ceased. He lay down on his bunk and buried his mind in the past as he buried himself in the covers. Sleep came slowly as he adjusted to the past day’s events.
Lenore leaned against the bulkhead outside Caleb’s quarters and slid to the deck, laughing as her long red tresses segued into her usual platinum bob. “That’ll teach you,” she said and laughed again before a complimentary, “My, aren’t you the innocent one!”
Du er søt! Vil du ikke bli natten?
A bit more context:
Initially he went down a vague trail through the woods that began to gradually widen and become more distinct, until he arrived at a village with Nordic folk dressed in the style of the mid-first millennium AD and engaged in various activities associated with the period. One that caught his eye was a tall, lissome redhead dressed in leather and pelts of various animals. She was honing arrowheads by a fire over which hung a black iron pot of stew. He dismounted, hoping that the images would yet remain, and amazingly they did. Captivated, he watched her work. Wanting to stay, he crept a bit closer and sat down by the fire. She continued to work, apparently oblivious of him. He lay back, basking in the warmth and crackle of the fire, and the rhythmic scurring of the arrowheads on the sharpening stone.
“Vil du ha noe å spise?” a female voice asked.
“Wha …?” Caleb asked, startled.
She repeated herself, smiled, and indicated the firepot.
Though inclined to refuse out of caution, he didn’t wish to insult his hostess, and he was quite hungry. He smiled and nodded gratefully.
She went into the hut behind the fire and returned with two wooden bowls and utensils. She filled one and passed it to him, then served herself.
The stew was not only real but quite tasty to his mild surprise, given the circumstances.
It was a silent repast, interspersed with the occasional shy glance from Caleb, each of which were requited with an intense appraisal by the ginger’s striking greens.
Upon finishing, he rose and thanked her, then offered to clean their dishes.
“Nei,” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand, then regarded him with an intense stare.
Caleb shakily set his bowl down, desperately trying to think of a gracious way to excuse himself.
“Du er søt!” she said, stepping close to him and running her fingers through his hair. She indicated the entrance of the hut behind them. “Vil du ikke bli natten?”
“Nei!,” he responded then bolted.
He arrived back at the trail only to find that the elliptical machine was no longer there. “Hei! Hvor, skal du?” he heard, followed by footsteps close behind as he desperately searched for his former mount.
Branches lashed his face and shrubs tripped him as he blindly ran through the forest for what seemed like an eternity. He finally came to the entrance of his quarters where he paused for a moment to catch his breath and regain his bearings. That is, until he heard leather clad footsteps coming from the direction of the gym. He swiped his hand across the ID pad several times before the door finally allowed him entry. Shaken, he leaned against the door, only to feel the vibrations as a fist pounded it, accompanied by the demand “Åpne døren!”
Unable to move and afraid of the unknown, he remained at the door until the pounding ceased. He lay down on his bunk and buried his mind in the past as he buried himself in the covers. Sleep came slowly as he adjusted to the past day’s events.
Lenore leaned against the bulkhead outside Caleb’s quarters and slid to the deck, laughing as her long red tresses segued into her usual platinum bob. “That’ll teach you,” she said and laughed again before a complimentary, “My, aren’t you the innocent one!”
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I’m happy you did, too!
Thank you, my friend. Me, too! Tone for daaayyysss…stoked you got that Bud.......beautiful bass guitar....Miles-Tone...
Maybe you should go less than 120mph when it’s that wet.
