I bought my first guitar the summer of 1996. I
had just driven cross country with two college girlfriends and would be home in New York for a few weeks before heading to Ireland for 6 months. I took a few lessons that summer to build upon the "lessons" I was given in my first two years of college by boys, who also offered all sorts of other lessons. From art, to literature, to drugs, and all that other good stuff. I was still very green and rusty when I decided to bring my guitar with me to Ireland. I played a little bit there, mostly also "lessons" accompanied by lots of hash and Cadbury Dairy Milk. When I returned from my adventures in Ireland, I moved to San Francisco to pursue a fine arts degree and along came my guitar. When I bought my first guitar I didn't have money for what I really wanted, A Gibson Hummingbird in Sunburst. Before you could find things you wanted on the internet, I came across an ad in the paper for a little music store down in Daly City. They advertised a single Gibson Hummingbird. One of a kind, 1976 factory second in cherry red. The body had a dark strip of wood running down the front and wouldn't take the sunburst stain, so Gibson stained the whole guitar cherry, which is very rare. The $870 cost was about all the money I had saved for treating myself to going out when I moved to the city. But this seemed more important. I traded in my old guitar for $75 off the price of the Gibson and took her home. She's been with me ever since and is still one of the most beautiful sounding instruments I've ever heard close up. She is the thing I will hold onto longer than anything else. She represents my solitude. Before him and her, and dogs, and homes, and things. Before I knew who I was or what I wanted, I knew enough to know I wanted her.

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