Doun Doun Doun Doun

Forgot to mention: my doundoun has arrived! (The long delay is the fault of some overzealous US Customs agents, who were so excited about opening the package that they managed to cut through the drumhead as well. So the drum is from Guinea, but the heads are — actually I don’t know where they came from, but they were put together in New Jersey.)

It’s big (almost waist-high), it has a dark side and a light side — just like duct tape! — and it’s loud. It’s very, very, very loud. When I first got it home, I had to show it off to Emily by giving it two or three good whacks — which were followed immediately by the skittering sound of Frank’s claws as he scrambled to the other side of the house as fast as he could run.

It’s been here a week and he’s still terrified of it: if I so much as reach a finger towards it, however slowly, he backs away and looks worried. It’s hilarious, and kind of sad. And hilarious. And sad. He still won’t come into my office, despite the fact that the drum isn’t even sitting here anymore — I guess the carpet still smells like cowhide. Poor pathetic little guy.

Anyway, now I guess it’s just a matter of time before I get a sangban and kenkeni — it’s more fun with the complete set, after all. (Drums are like tattoos: after you get your first one, you have to get another, and another, and eventually you’re covered in ink. Or something.) I also need to start talking people into coming here to play with me, because the sucker’s far too big to carry around…







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