Guitars sometimes have names, especially female ones.  George Harrison (one of my favorites, the author of While My Guitar Gently Weeps, inspired by a line from the I-Ching) named his red Les Paul Gibson, Lucy, after redheaded actress Lucille Ball.  BB King named all of his black Gibsons, Lucille, after a dance hall fight between two men fighting over a woman with that name.  The fight knocked over a barrel filled with kerosene and a fire ensued, engulfing the hall with fire.  Realizing he left his beloved guitar behind, he rushed in to retrieve it and the legend was born.

I’ve had four guitars, but only named one.  Jet black, I acquired it after watching Antonio Banderas play the opening song in Desperado with a similar model (he is one talented singer).

I named her Maria.  She wasn’t a top model, but she sounded good.  And looked the part.  I never played her in concert, only in practices.  She still made her presence known.  I performed with her in my pseudo-philosophy class my senior year of high school with a friend (Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight, Gin Blossoms’ Allison Road – miraculously with the soto, and a song I wrote).  I was so shy and unconfident, but I get through.  To my surprise, my classmates applaud at the end.  A few girls come up to talk to me after class.

I gave Maria to a student at church who I taught guitar to.  It was special for him as his sister shared the same name.

I really should name my red one, the guitar I’ve had the longest and played the most, and the one I hope one of the kids will pick up.  Just never gave too much thought to it