Everyone should have a chance to play the cymbals in public just once. If I showed you how to do it (there is kind of a technique, believe it or not), and you were standing in a band playing the National Anthem, you could totally do it. Right now. With no music.

(“Oh say can you see (crash) by the dawn’s early light (crash) what so prou-dly we hailed (crash) at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars (crash)…”)

The awesome thing about them is that they are so loud that everyone can hear them, and they are a blunt object, so it’s hard to screw them up. Plus, if you go to the symphony, who looks to be having the most fun? The percussionists. If you go to a concert, who gets laid? The drummer. (Alright, the lead singer, but out of the musicians, it’s the drummer.)

I played the cymbals, as you might have guessed by now. I played them, among other percussion instruments, in marching band because I played the oboe, which is a non-marching instrument. If you have heard an oboe, you know that this is because:

1. Double-reeded instruments are hard to play, let alone play and walk at the same time.

2. The oboe, while a versatile instrument, is predominantly a sad, moody one. I like to say, loudly, “OBOE” when I am watching a sad movie, because inevitably the background music when someone is dying/leaving summer camp/breaking up is oboe-heavy. And we oboe people like to point out when we hear an oboe.

3. Oboists are usually weird, and are better suited to banging gongs and slapping vibraslaps and clashing cymbals than they are to marching around in band uniforms, playing peppy marches.

Speaking of peppy, I was doing all of this cymbal-playing in my cheerleading uniform most of the time because I was also a cheerleader. But that’s another story.