“Hey Paul, check your passport. I though you were Canadian, but I guess now you’re Rushin’”
“How do you make a trombone sound like a french horn? Stick your hand in the bell and miss every second note.”
“What’s the difference between a ‘57 Chevy and a Tenor Sax? You can tune a ‘57 Chevy”
“When Pierre goes to France, he’s Offenbach.”
“Keep your Papas to yourself” (Papa is a saxophonist)
“What did the drum kit say as it fell down the hill? Ba-doom chick”
“What do you get when you throw a piano down a mine shaft? A flat minor”
“Yukiko, I though you were Japanese but you’re wearing a Thai”
“Wow, Jason, your feet can touch the ground!”
“Laird looks like Harry Potter”
“Mark likes to march in the rain”
“Chapin smokes pot.”
“In music class, spit happens”
“Brendan, you’re playing so weakly that it sounds like you have Ahernia” (Brendan’s last name is Ahern)
“What did the Aliens say to Liszt? Take me to your Leider”
“Ana Costi? She’s a pick-up, you’ll find her hanging around the bar.”
I think I have chronicalled every single joke that my band director has said in the past for years. He repeats them a lot, using different variations.
But my personal favourite band joke, one that a senior player told me in my first year, one which he would never repeat, is:
“What’s the difference between a moose and a band? The moose has its horns in front and its ass at the back.”

Operation Teach-A-Teacher was a success. In return I received:
- one meal, including struddle, Chartwell’s monstrosity on a bun, and chocolate milk
- one dorky looking Strait Regional School Board pin
- one Strait Regional coffee mug
- one non-functioning cheap pen in a silver box,
- one bookmark demonstrating the cultural diversity of the area
Now completing operation Apply-2-University and operation Get-Drivers-License.

On Friday I played the Remembrance Day ceremony band hymns for what I hope is the last time in my life. While they may be very easy to read, you need to go for about sixteen measures without taking a breath and play very loudly to make up for the open air, and then sit outside freezing through the speeches which try to inspire pacifism in a bored crowed, yet always end up being pedantic.
This year’s ceremony was particularly bad. The host kept making stupid jokes about aging, the mayor of our town compared the veterans to hockey players, and during the two minutes of silence, rap music from a car stereo could be heard in the distance. I could see the mounties twitching in their red coats.
The legion has complained about businesses putting up Christmas decorations before Remembrance day has passed. But, said a veteran, that they went to war so that Canadians can celebrate Christmas whenever we want.
This might be my only entry for November, so I’ll just fill you in on some of the details:
I’m reading my poetry at the Fine Arts Showcase tomorrow after school.
I’m going to Mulgrave on Friday with Papa to talk about the CSC at the teacher’s conference.
I’m making a presentation at St. FX on Cosmology called, “The Universe: a Biography”.
I’m working on the fourth issue of the newspaper for the year, the cover story will be an interview with one of the South African AIDS activists from X-Tending hope.
The mural that I’m working on is about half-way done now.
There are 1402 spam messages on this blog.
Mom has learned how to play the Saxophone,
and our Emachines Computer crashed and died for what must be the hundredth time since we’ve gotten it, though this time it may actually be dead and I may have lost all of my newspaper files.