I used to be troubled by my sexual attraction to marching bands but now I've come to terms with it, whatever it means exactly to come to terms with something. Marching bands. Okay it's not really marching bands, think of "marching bands" as a euphemism for something else. Do I really mean euphemism? No. Euphemism is not the word I want. If it were really about marching bands, which it isn't, then I could further say that I can now listen to Fleetwood Mac's song "Tusk" without squirming, without falling victim to unwanted arousal while scanning the FM radio dial in a Geo Metro or a Kia Spectra. The USC marching band is in that song, in case you are not familiar with it. The Trojans. Just thinking about it gives me a little thrill, mostly in my pants but also in my brain. A shameful frisson involving epaulets. Mallets striking the taut surface of a bass drum, the drumhead. I am translating everything into the erotic language of marching bands, bear with me. One of the painful facts of human life is that there are many more things to worry about than just the confusing allure of marching bands. The confusing allure of marching bands is child's play compared to what I am really talking about. If it only went as far as marching bands we could laugh it off, have another drink, sample a few more selections from the dim sum cart, if we happened to be in a dim sum restaurant while having this awkward discussion about the thing that isn't marching bands but something far darker, far more troubling. They simply count your little plates and your bill is ready. Those delicious spongy pork buns. Torsos twisting in unison, the glint of sunlight off the flared horn bells. White-gloved fingers depressing brass valves. When someone says they've come to terms with something I nod but actually I have no clue what they mean. I suspect it usually comes down to giving up, surrendering in exhausted defeat and calling it a truce. People have to live with themselves. How I gape at a freshman entwined in the embrace of a gleaming sousaphone into which he spiritedly blows. The unbearable intimacy of the sousaphone.