A Biology of Clare

This page is dedicated to the biological structure of Clare, as well as some of her accessories. My unending love aside, playing an instrument (the clarinet, especially) is quite an annoying pain from time to time. One discovers that there's more and more stuff to lug around, and the epitome of devilish creations must be reeds, oh those little devils. . . you'll see in a minute.

Metronome and Tuner

Like Simon and Garfunkel, Tom and Jerry, Timone(sp?) and Poomba, the Metronome and the Tuner are best buddies, even in a slight homosexual implication. Sorry for the lousy pic that doesn't even show the metronome. . . (I have one of those little Seiko things that have an INFINITE amount of battery power. Geez. . . that tiny lil' silver disk has lasted for two years now, with no less than an hour and a half of usage every single day! Most people have a fancy Dr. Beep or something. But the impoverished (lazy) Rabby has financial (willpower) trouble to get himself one of those lil' gadgets) Anyway, these are essential in practicing. The metronome, especially. . . well, maybe when I can actually play the notes in time, I'll start worrying about the pitch.

Cork Grease

Look, isn't it cute? *Awwww* Well, as the name implies, the cork grease greases cork. It kinda looks like chapsticks. . . I've always wondered if chapsticks and corkgrease is interchangeable. Never had the guts to find out, though.

Reeds

Yup. there they are. All lined up looking innocent, batting their bamboo eyelashes. These, my friends, are the source of evil everywhere! Reeds and black squirrels, that is. You see, a clarinetist's life very much depends on his (or to be politically correct, herhis, hrsie, ersie or rseei) reeds. While Clare is as beautiful as anything can ever be, these reeds are like her voice. The source of sound. And these fickle lil' bastards refuse to cooperate when a major audition or performance comes up, always falling limp and lifeless the night before something important happens. You see, reeds, like all of us, die. Sometimes they come back to life, but most of the time they just enter reed-heaven and refuse to return. In a box of 10 reeds (that cost at LEAST sixteen American dollars) perhaps only two or three will sound great. The others just become cannon-fodder as I pound away on the Baermann scales book. *Sigh* I have that fancy case because it's dry here, and they tend to curl up into themselves if not kept down flat.

Sandpaper

Even though I should know better, I still mess around with my reeds. Sandpaper, reed rush, (a mysterious plant that grows by the lake and acts as high-grade sandpaper) and a small mirror (to provide a flat surface) sums up my reed-messer-upper kit. The reed makes a sound by vibrating. And when it's thick and hard, it doesn't vibrate unless you pump air like a. . . um. . . airpump. Then you use the reed-rush to sand away bits of the reed that are too hard. The back of the reed also has to be perfectly flat. So you put a piece of sandpaper on the mirror and flatten the back of the reed. But, as arbitrary as reeds fundamentally are in nature, these efforts often are futile, and the stubborn reeds pass away to reed-heaven despite your tears.

 

Dark secrets of Clare revealed. . .