The Soundtracks of Our Lives

Play that funky soundtrack, white boy. They say the truest test of infamy lies in the soundtrack that accompanies what we do when we think no one else is listening. This is just another way of assuming that the soundtrack has left its earmarks on the listener's tympanic membranes, but I don't believe everything I assume. If hearing is believing, I choose to believe that Craig knows a thing or two about soundtracks, and said so, thus leading me to a "'quartet of solo harmonica tunes, with a "strong degree of unselfconscious spontaneity, glee, and abandon"' that made me cry like a baby, or would have, if babies had pink mustaches.

They don't, of course, and therein lie the rubs that ruined the tape heads on my own portable Panasonic cassette recorder, which is why the harmonica sounds like a kazoo. But it isn't, and anyone who says otherwise should wake up and smell the frosting, then find his own soundtrack instead of staring at mine all the time.

So this is goodbye, Charlie Lewis, wherever you are. Finders keepers, losers weepers, and that goes double for the photograph of someone who may or may not look exactly like me, but will have to do until the surgeon arrives. In the meantime, everyone should go to their rooms, because it's my soundtrack now.



  1. The harmonica and kazoo combined:

  2. Yesterday's tomorrow today is indeed a concept whose time has come, and gone, but that doesn't make it any less important in music. This is an instrument for all ages!

  3. Watching the sun come up this morning, it dawned on me that you have neatly killed two stones in the excavation process . . .

    2) You have unearthed the Omegaword soundtrack
    2) You have uncovered the duality of the apparatus used to make it

    . . . neither of which can properly be called stones, but that doesn't matter now. What matters is that both are alive and kicking sand in the faces of naysayers, none of whom were able to wrap their heads around the notion of harmonicus kazoology in the first place, not to mention their lips.

    I didn't stare directly into the sun.

  4. I acknowledge and accept your accolades absolutely. Acquiescing on my behalf is Thema Ritter, who deadpans, "It's not easy, you know?"

    Blame it on the "extended-release suspension" cough syrup ("contains no fever reducer or pain reliever"), but I so, so love how you worked in, "but that doesn't matter now. What matters is that ..." I need to find a way to work that into everything I say.

  5. Typo: I meant "Thelma" Ritter, with an L.

  6. I take full responsibility. Had I been doing my job, I would have refused to publish your comment until you're released from suspension.

    I'm sending myself to bed with no supper, or binky.