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D. Baker, Multi-Instrumentalist
When I was younger, I was very promiscuous.
I remember as a toddler, my mother would dress me up in frilly outfits and take me to the park, only to watch in horror as I’d rip off my clothes and run through the sprinklers in my underwear.
I had a thing for older men. The older the better. One man was sixty years my senior. His name was Grandpa. I’d sit on Grandpa’s knee and flutter my eyelashes as he told me stories about the good old days. I gave him sloppy wet kisses. He gave me dollar bills and scotch mints from his pocket. He also let me hold his dentures. It was really romantic.
The summer before I entered high school, my parents sent me away to a Christian music camp. Camp Kenosee’s motto was “Play it, don’t pray it. God wants the tunes, not the blather.”
It was there that I discovered my passion for woodwind instruments. From the first moment my lips touched the headjoint of my erect wooden recorder, I knew it was fate. Soon, I was tonguing the shaft like a seasoned professional.
From there, I went on to learn the skin flute. Then the hairy clarinet. After that, the flesh trumpet.
My music teacher was very supportive. Mr. Burgess told me that because of my tremendous talent I shouldn’t limit myself to one instrument. He said that in doing so, I was denying other instruments the chance to be played by me. He even offered to give me private lessons to help me hone my craft. He said he could watch me play for hours.
Eventually it came time for me to wrap my talented lips around a bigger, denser instrument. That’s when I started playing the beef whistle.
By the time I got to high school I had made quite the name for myself. The football team would ask me to play for them in the boys’ locker room after practice. I’m not going to lie, the pink panflute was my most challenging instrument to date. But 0nce I got the hang of it I could play for hours.
Sadly, my dreams of turning my passion into a career ended when I developed a severe case of lock jaw. After surgery, my mouth was wired shut for four months. The only good thing to come of it was that I was finally able to fit back into my favorite pair of Osh Kosh overalls.
I decided to cut my losses and go into medicine. Turns out I had a gift for that as well. In less than six months I had earned my “Medical Office Assistant” certificate. It took my classmates almost eight.
These days, I only play on special occasions. Like a co-worker’s stag. Or, the annual staff Christmas gathering. When I hear the Doctors yell “Round of hummer for the boys!” I know that’s my cue.
At my last performance evaluation, my boss offered me a promotion. Now I have the added responsibility of learning the rusty trombone.
It looks like I’m going to have to invest in some new knee pads if I want to continue to climb the corporate ladder.
Just Making Convo 
Your mastery of such instruments is amazing. Perhaps my wife me become inspired by your life achievements. And thanks so much for the pic and video.
Think nothing of it, Doc.
If only everyone felt the same way you do, the world would be a much happier place for approximately 50% of the population.
I am also musically inclined. My music instructor was weird though. No matter what instrument I studied, I ended up playing with her maracas.
I believe the politically-correct term is “rumba shakers”.
I play the recorder myself and have never once got lockjaw. Are you sure you were blowing rather than sucking?
There’s a difference?
I don’t play any musical instruments. I just have sex with my wife. Too blunt?
Not at all.
Had you added an accompanying home video…well, that might have been a little much.
Look at my gravatar. I am not sure people are into box robot sex… or the guy typing this sex either ;-)
There’s a market for everything.
Trust me, I checked!
Whoa! I think I could give a good hummer if I found the right drummer, but i haven’t and that’s a bummer.
I’m sure with your charm and brilliant mind you never had to resort to that sort of thing to get ahead, no pun intended. Anyway a gal can play as many flutes as she likes, nothing wrong with that as long as she’s happy and hits a high note for a happy ending to the concerto.
PS< That is the coolest header ever. It reminds me of Ghetto Pool.
I know, right?
I was going to use the pool with the trailer park sign, but I couldn’t get it to fit…
Ha! “Get ahead…”
Oral sex puns are the punniest.
I have a friend who claims to have gotten through University with her virginity intact by using her fellatio skills. Oddly enough, she’s an engineer.
Hmmm. I see. Well, we all have to hang up the woods sooner or later.
I find I play best after a night out. My lips are looser and my neck relaxes. There’s something about the buzz from the red wine that just makes the fingers more nimble, and the music flow.
I do not enjoy, however, being asked to play- Every.Single.Night. I’ll pick up and play when I’m good and ready. These things can’t be rushed. If I cave under the incessant pleading, my performance suffers. My heart just isn’t into it. Fortunately, my audience of one could care less if I’m into it, but it matters. It matters to me.
http://dontmakethatface.com/2011/02/22/breaking-news/
Both your comment and your post are the things dreams are made of. My dreams, at least.
Don’t go changing.
this is great n all, but where the crap is my neil diamond post
Touching youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good!
Blunty,
Masterpieces like this take time. I only put crap on my own blog.
I promise you, it will be worth the wait.
“hairy clarinet” Did the curtains match the drapes on that one too….bllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaahahaah
Whatever.
Maybe drapes mean armpit hair. Did you ever think about that?
My guess would be no. Because you are a man.
This post has me speechless
as my mine rolled through the
dark forbidden gutters of my life
As your what rolled through the dark forbidden gutters of your life?
Sounds like you’re channeling the spirit of the late Vodka and Ground Beef, may she rest in peace.
Bless your musical heart!
Thank-you, David. Like I always say, music is Echinacea for the soul.
(Actually, I never say that.)
My head was so much in the gutter reading this that when I got to the section of how Mr. Burgess helped you ‘hone your clit’ I hastily realized you actually wrote ‘hone your craft.’ My apologies Bschooled.
Ha! Is there such a thing? I only know what I read in the Urban Dictionary.
I’m innocent that way.
I am ecstatic there are real women out there who still practice the fine art of the woodwind instrument. It means I can relinquish Viagras’ hold on me . . . at least for awhile.
Oh, and the knee pads? Excellent touch.
Thanks Jammer.
Where I come from, rug burn is a serious problem.
Now that is what I call talent…I didn’t get to play an instrument till I was at least 13 yrs. old…some people have all the luck
Haha!
Well, think of it this way…at least you made up for lost time! ;)
My son played the French Horn at school. Is that why he’s gay?
I’m pretty sure that’s exactly why. If he’d played the oboe, then he’d be straight. I think.
I think you might be right. In fact, I can’t stop thinking that you might be right.
I need a hobby.
I’m only adept at rapid fingering and down-strokes. Maybe I chose the wrong instrument.
I take it you play the harp?
What’s the proper term for a horn player? I’m thinking “horny.”
It’s like you can read my mind!
Let’s start a band.
I have a guitar, that right i like to play with strings.
My favourite is the open G.
We should make a duet. ha ha ha ;D
Count me in!
I wonder if we can somehow incorporate the accordion? (Only because I’m really good at it.)
Hmmmmm..I have always enjoyed being around women that were so enthusiastic about their craft. You should try being a male organ player sounds like you have the stroke for it already…that might be your finale going for the money shot oh i mean shot at the money….zman sends..
Ha! Not to brag, but “Money Shot” was my nickname in college…
(I majored in Finance.)
Please forward Denny his/her pager #.
Stay gold.
She doesn’t have a pager, but you can reach her via morse code.
(she loves it when you call her this: — — ·-· ··· · -·-· — -·· ·)
This is bullshit.
Harmony! It’s good to see you!
You sound upset. Bad hair day?
I was in a dreamy haze of Easter indifference when I woke up but you sure got my full attention with this post. It was like being beaten over the head with a giant, pink, throbbing orchestra and the conductor was waving a dildo. And the audience was filled with porn stars that were all going down on each other all over the place.
So great job!
(Can you really become a Medical Office Assistant in only 8 (or 6) months? I’ve been thinking of breaking into the medical field to support my, um, love of health care.)
Pink Throbbing Orchestra was the name of my first band!
We were really tight.
(…?)
ps. I can get you one in three days. (Just send me a JPEG of you doing something “medical-like” and I’ll take it from there.)
Not gonna lie, I’m both frightened and disturbed by this story.
Ha! That’s what my mom said.