Monday, November 17, 2008

And Now We Get to M...

I realize that I am about to lose any cool I may have managed to accumulate by being a blogger, but it has to be done.  NaBloPoMo is a harsh task master and if you don't give out with the good stuff, Eden Kennedy will track you down....

When I was thirteen, I joined a marching band.

And it's just now occurred to me.  Do you suppose that was the reason I didn't date much in high school?  The purple serge uniform (with spats!), the tall fake fur white hat (with gold-esque chin strap).  And, oh yeah, in grade 9?  I got glasses. 

There is a photograph in existence somewhere of me in full uniform, holding onto my french horn.  I will not rest until it is tracked down and destroyed.

Yes, I said french horn.  On its own, it is one of the most beautiful-sounding instruments in the world.  Why do music arrangers treat it like part of the percussion section?

I practiced diligently.  And what wafted up from the basement was a half-hour of "Ooomp" (rest) "oomp" (rest) "oomp" (rest).

My poor parents!

I was supposed to memorize the music for the parades.  How?  How are you supposed to memorize a hundred and thirty "C" quarter notes interspersed with quarter rests, followed by a page and a half of total silence aaaaaand back to the "C" quarter notes?

It's confession time.

For the two and a half years I was in that band?  I faked the whole thing.


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