Look for the Voicebox on Tuesday afternoons in the Birch cafeteria, to anonymously “voice” your “opinion” on any “topic.” Introverted alternatives include emailing your opinion to voicebox@capilanocourier.com, or texting (778) 886-5070.
“How
does someone write an entire article on the Zelda Symphony Concert and not once
mention the original composer, Koji Kando?”
Hi,
Koji, thanks for writing in. I found this question quite interesting for two
reasons. First of all, you write in, and don’t even mention the composer’s name
yourself. Believe me, I just spent six minutes Googling various endless
combinations of “Zelda”, “composer”, “Music”, “symphony”, and the only thing
that turned up was your letter! Weird, right, since it hasn’t even been
published yet?! Anyway, more interesting is the fact that you assume I know which
“Zelda Symphony Concert” article you are talking about, leaving me to think
you’re a bit hypocritical not citing which specific article you’re dissing while
simultaneously calling us out for doing the same thing. Nice try, Koji.
“Is
it true that Australia is extremely racist?”
From
what I hear, yes. But, I heard that from a Nonstralian, so it could potentially
be blamed on them being AA (Anti-Australian). There’s actually a good rule in
determining if anything/anyone is "extremely racist": If you have to
ask, yes.
“Fun
Fact: The music video for Sisqo’s 'Thong Song’, gave me one of my first and
most uncomfortable erections. This was before I discovered masturbating.”
Wow.
That’s a good share. I had a friend in elementary school, Timmy, who lived near
this weird tunnel that had a stowaway of old Playboy magazines which he
stashed away there. Except, just to "fool" adults like our parents, anytime
we spoke about these pornos in public, we would call them “peebs”, as if we
were really hiding anything. Hilariously stupid. He told me I could take one
home, and I did. I don’t think I really understood what masturbation was. I
went to a Catholic school! They didn’t teach us that kind of shit. Anyway, my
friend demanded I take this magazine home. Little did he know I was a FH
(future homosexual), and I ended
up trading the Playboy to one of my other friends for TLC’s Crazy Sexy Cool.
My dad also tried to get me on to women by buying me the Drew Barrymore Playboy for my
birthday one year – how mortifying. A few weeks later, he came home and asked
me what I “thought of” the magazine. “Well, dad,” I told him, “I really enjoyed
the interview with Jean-Claude Van Damme.” I was 11.
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