I love music.

I write about the music I like and have purchased for the benefit of better understanding it and sharing my preferences with others.

Hawk and Spit

I've been suffering of late from allergies and related sinus issues. Today wasn't too bad, actually, except that late in the afternoon I was noticing some mucus collecting in the back of my throat. The other day, driving home, I all of a sudden noticed a sizable amount of this phlegm that demanded evacuation (sooner than later, please). Having such bad luck spitting out of my window (it often lands on the outside of the car door), I decided to "spit into a tissue." I put it into quotes because it's been suggested before by a friend, and when I did it, I didn't actually do it well. I'm not a very good spitter. My father on the other hand is an expert. He can hoch (as I researched, I found out that a common spelling is hawk) and spit quite well. The first act, the collection of phlegm, gathers all of the thick mucus in the back of the throat, loosening it from the deeper confines of the throat, well into the mouth cavity. What happens next is a mystery. A violent thrusting propels the said phlegm and spit forward. Spitting far is an art. While I can evacuate saliva from my mouth, it more often goes dribbling down my chin, not far away from my body. It was with special trepidation this evening that the occasion hit again. Should I hold this phlegm until I get home, keeping my mouth closed, or stop and spit? Seems I was hitting every green light. What to do? I was encouraged by my riding companion to "just spit it out!" I rolled down the window, and the warm air hit my face. It teased me, a bit, saying "You can't do it! I'm the wind, I'm too strong. I'll thwart your every effort!" I was angry. If my father could hurl unwanted mucus from his mouth like an Olympian-class athlete might, then gosh darn it, so could I. I mustered all the strength I could while driving. I gripped the wheel hard, pulled back, turned my head, and I spit as hard as any one person could possibly spit. I felt great. All of that phlegm was expelled from my mouth. Yet, I had miserably failed. It landed on the inside of the door this time, all around the lock, and then dribbling down the door. It looked bubbly. "My God!" I exclaimed heavenward. "I spit like a loser!" That was it. I have since devised that this spitting technique isn't likely all about raw force, but around some kind of manipulation of the tongue. But, despite the allure of mastering a good hawk and spit, I think I will simply from this day on hold it until I do get home. The "open the door and spit down when you're at a stop light trick" works too, when you hit red lights. That is all. (And yes, mom, I cleaned it up with Clorox-brand spray after getting home.)

RV 576

Birthday Meal