Glissando

Glissando: A 'glide' from one pitch to another, a rapid scale progression made by 'sliding'.

A glissando is generally not performed by many wind insturments, being that there isn't the capacity for a wind instrument to 'slide'. I have had a gliss written into my musical notation before, but us Trumpet Players kind of have to fake it. You know which wind instrument can really make the glissando work? The Trombone.

And that, my friends, is why Glissando is the musical term for the day.

"Trombone?" You're asking youself. "I have not heard mention of a Trombone since this blog started."

Yah, well. I haven't really considered the Trombone since starting this blog. But you see, I had this strange dream last night and it involved a Trombone player.

Okay, dream starts: enter this punky looking guy in a black and red T-shirt, and some track pants. He has kind of messy brown hair and he's done something that really ticks me off. I think he crossed my sister somehow, but I can't really remember the innerworkings of this part of the dream. Anyways, I have been beating him up, hitting him over and over until he's bleeding and in really bad shape. And I am not the violent type, so it's kind of shocking that I even dreamt that I did that to someone. But I did. On a cruise ship no less. And I said some pretty terrible things about him being worthless, and incapable of anything.

Fast forward: I am in my elementary school, standing on the stage behind the curtain while a group of people are fanned out on black plastic chairs on the gym floor. There is an audience watching this group (even though apparently it's only rehersal). The main attraction of this group though? A Trombone player who just happens to be the same guy that I had beat up and insulted earlier. He is an AMAZING Trombone player, hitting notes I didn't think a human being could hit. And then, he chokes. He bites it, hard.

I find him after the performance/rehersal and I apologize profusely about what I said to him. (Though I guess the whole, me beating him up thing, didn't actually happen, and he didn't do anything to cross my sister.) I tell him that he is an amazing player, and then I call him on the reason he choked.

"You were thinking about me, weren't you?" I say.

Note: I am not this self absorbed in real life, and even if I thought someone was thinking about me I probably wouldn't call them on it. I feel the need to clarify that.

He says that yes, he had been, and I reassure him that he's going to do amazing in the performance.

And then apparently we're in love with eachother, and we're looking out this window at this crazy lightning storm. Like--intense. The sky is purple and there are these weird celestial wisps of white floating through the air, with shoots of lightning every now and again. And this tornado starts to form really slowly, which totally freaks me out, but this Trombone guy is letting me know that everything is alright, and I don't have to worry.

I run anyways, dropping down this creepy sandstone tunnel from the bedroom, and trying to get away from the tornado that is potentially going to hit the house (?) that we're in. The Trombone isn't coming though, and I backtrack, and wait out the storm with him.

The room is actually really cool. There's this bed, and these huge floor to ceiling windows that make up the whole far wall. Except the room is kind of octagonal, and edgy, so there are mutliple 'far walls' but the whole thing is just windows on that side anyways.

Anyways, I wake up with this Trombone player in my head. And I feel like I have to blog about it apparently.

I just, found it to be a weird dream. I don't dream about guys very often, or Trombones (though in the dream it had valves and a slide, so it was kind of more like a Trombet). Other musical instruments are a regular occurance and even tornados rear their ugly head a lot. But guys that are in love with me and Trombones? Not so much.

What do I think it means? I don't know. Maybe it's a gliss from one thought process to another. Maybe I have to rapidly slide away from Amoroso to some unknown Trombone. Or rather, maybe I should be waiting for some unknown Trombone and therefore not putting a bunch of time and effort into Amoroso. Maybe it's a symbollic representation of facing my fears for love. (Though I hope not, because even just typing that makes me want to puke. I'm not really a romantic, so that's a little over the top for me.)

Maybe I'm dreaming about it because I've been bashing someone that has real talent and potential, and I'm making them choke. Maybe the fact that it's a guy has no significance. Maybe the fact that he played the Trombone has no significance.

Maybe it was just a dream. What a wacky thought!

I'm a bit of a dream fanatic. I love dreams, I love to dream, I love to remember them, I love to write them down, and I love to read into them. That's just the way I am. I've been thinking about maybe starting up a seperate blog to make my online Dream Journal.

Wouldn't that be something?

But, to spare those of you who aren't dream fanatics like I, we shall move onto other things.

The Glissando perhaps?

I've actually been making a bit of a gliss, in a good way. I have been sliding from Amoroso to French Horn. For those of you who haven't been following my every post, because I'm really just not that interesting that you want to read every day I add something new, that means I'm going from "I'm totally head over heels about you Amoroso" to "I'm going to be a friend to you French Horn, because you're a cool person."

Note: Amoroso and French Horn are the same person, the names just differ with the way I choose to think about him.

And it's been a lot more freeing. Now if B Flat wants to hang out with him, I can shrug it off and go home and blog about weird dreams, and actually study because Finals are coming up. I don't have to obsess.

Though you know what's really irritating? I seem to mention my French Horn in just about every post I make, and that irritates me. I don't want to talk about him every day! But somehow he just always seems to come up in my posts in one form or another.

That bothers me. *Picture me making the most unimpressed face you can imagine right now.* And I mean, I know some of you are thinking "Then just don't mention him."

But what I need to blog about somehow involves him. I mean, how could I talk about the gliss, without talking about the mental glissando I've been making? I just can't. You'll understand one day. When you find that person, and you're trying to understand if they're an Amoroso or a French Horn. It's a really irritating place to be.

But right now he's a French Horn so I don't even care.

I'm not blogging about him right now though, I'm blogging about the Glissando.

My word of advice to you is to be open to it. You may not be a Trombone player but that's okay. You can gliss (or fake it) even if you're another wind instrument. It has a cool effect. And I don't mean be willing to slide from one way of thinking to another with every wind of doctrine that comes your way, but be open to a bit of a mind change. It's refreshing when it's supposed to be. Trust me, if you're making a gliss in the wrong spot, it will sound wrong. You'll know. At least, I imagine that you will. At some point, it'll become apparent.

Well, that's my useless ranting for the day. Again, I miss being an intelligent blogger that doesn't sound like a complainer, whiner, star crossed lover. I'm sorry to admit that I am now a blogger who flits back and forth from legitimate concerns to boy trouble. And the legitimate concerns are quickly becoming fewer, and farther between.

But on that note, our toaster is broken and that feels pretty legit to me. There's this cinnamon raisin bread in the fridge and I'm trying to imagine it toasted, and I can imagine it would be pretty awesome. But I can't find out for sure because, first world problem, the toaster is broken.

Wow. I have to leave before I lose my dignity altogether.

-Trumpet Player (who feels kind of like a kazoo player* today)

*Kazoos, and their players, are kind of crazy. Either that or they're five years old. Both seem to adequetly surmise the degredation of my recent blogging, and the reflection that seems to have on my intellect or lack thereof.