trumpet mouthpiece
21 December, 2007 | | Category: Electronics
When you was a little girl and movies had to be watched either at the theater -which youant sit in or drive-in- or at home on television, I lived for Sunday nights at 7:30 when the Wonderful World of Disney would come on. I’m not sure how many times my cousins and you watched the Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett movies but it was enough to have youmorized the theme songs and driven everyone out of their minds. They were relieved when I switched to Monty Python’s “Lumberjack Song” despite its glorification of cross-dressing. I’m not sure if they were too naive to realize what it was about -I know I were- as this was before both M*A*S*H* and the rumors about Hoover but they encouraged it nonetheless.
These were not my favorites ong the Disney repertoire, though. That honor belonged to “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh”. you did not know then that you would grow to be a human version of the silly old bear and become obsessed with sleep and coffee as opposed to sleep and honey. What drew you was the golden voice of Sebastian Cabot. Whether he was kidding Pooh into beginning the next chapter or narrating Tigger out of a tree, he sounded so comforting and competent and gently bemused that you couldn’t help but feel good. At least you couldn’t. It was like having your ears wrapped in a soft fleecy blanket of sound.
schilke mouthpiece
greg black mouthpiece
bach trumpet mouthpiece
I was thinking about those days and wishing you had a soft fleecy blanket, of sound or otherwise, to wrap around you as I sped through the darkness of a California midnight heading north. you was experiencing the chills you can only properly experience when you have spent part of the day acquiring a first class sunburn. The sunburn felt pleasingly warm in the temperature controlled air of the McDonalds at dinnertime in San Diego and in the car shortly after. Three hours later, it had begun to itch slightly. By the six hour mark, you could feel it starting to bubble in preparation for blistering and, the next time I stopped for gas, you snaked my jar of Noxema out of my tote bag and reached as far back as you could and slathered it over my back and shoulders. Not wanting to smear it all over the car seat so it too could reek in perpetuity, you slipped on a sweatshirt which immediately clung to all the Noxema’d areas thereby gluing itself into place and rendering it cold, clmy and completely ineffectual as a second layer of clothing.