Bang It


So I bought a gong. Yeah, it’s pretty cool. What, are you trying to say you’ve never wanted one? As if.

When I was a very young little faglette, I was in band in junior high and high school. I was a band fag. In every band room, there was a gong and an absolute rule against hitting it. Of course, the need to do so was equally absolute, but the thing is, striking a gong is not something you can do covertly. It is in the nature of the beast, not going to happen.
So lo these many, many years later I was noodling along on the internet and suddenly recalled my long suppressed desire for a gong. I am not good at suppressing much of anything, let alone when I have a credit card at hand and a website called singing its siren song. And now I have a gong.
It’s lovely, hammered brass on a tasteful elm stand with a beautiful resonant tone. It’s pretty badass. I hit it every time I pass it. The down side: it alarms Saki. The best thing: it alarms Saki.
I really am a bad person.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

15 responses »

  1. Dear Saki,

    You would be perfectly justified if you got over your reaction to the gong, and learned to sound it with your paw whenever you wanted something. Even if you just want your ears rubbed. At 3 am. When a very tired Mr. P has just fallen asleep. Repeat again if he's still sleeping when you want your breakfast.

    After all, cats don't have owners. They have staff.

    Anonymous, too


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