Father William Ulysses Tauchmeigh, affectionately known as Father Will U. Tauchmeigh has kindly consented to perform mass today. All kneel for the benediction please as he is quite short being only 2.5 inches tall.
When I first encountered the name Jimi Hendrix, the information presented to me said that he did fantastic things on the electric guitar and that his music had changed rock and roll. I was a curious 15 year old who grew up listening to the sappy sounds of The Carpenters, the infatuation of The Beatles and followed the billboard charts like a religious fanatic.
As I was trying to shed my wholesome image of playing the piano by learning to play guitar, Jimi Hendrix seemed like the best example to follow. So I went to the music store and bought a cassette tape of Jimi Hendrix and was pleased that the cover featured him with his eyes closed in a pleasurable trance, thinking that was what made him appealing to girls.
When my cassette player started, I heard a man who basically rambled during a song, with occasional spurts of singing. The guitar was out of control with feedback wailing like a sound check gone terribly wrong and I thought to my 15 year old self "Did I just waste $10???" Bear in mind, my virgin (yes I was a virgin) ears had never been exposed to loud music except when I turned the volume up on Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff". Terribly disappointed, I put the cassette tape on my shelf and backslided to the soothing strains of 'Billie Jean is not my lover..."
I don't recall how it happened but in less than a year, chart music became as banal as sliced bread to me. It just wasnt enough to sit down to listen; I needed music that would cause me to jump off furniture and slide on my knees. One hot afternoon during a community barbeque, my father requested that I manage the music while everyone was mingling - bad move. As I pondered how I would punish them, the Jimi Hendrix cassette tape jumped out at me from the stack on the shelf and I immediately grabbed it.
The mild mannered barbeque was instantly transformed into an unruly orgy. Well, not really. While everyone turned to each other with bewildered expressions for a moment, everything about Jimi's music made sense to me. He was a god wielding aural feedback and a range of guitar tones, creating out of chaos a music that rendered me quite aerobic.
In 2008, I decided to pay tribute to that time of discovery and preserve one of the memorable images of Jimi on glass. I present to you, The Jimi Hendrix Experience.
I was about 9 years old when we went on a vacation with my relatives to a resort up in the mountains. The hotel we stayed in was quite nice for the standards back then. There was a casino for the adults to whittle their time away while the children were given a little pocket money to deposit into the savings account ran by the arcade next to it.
Given that the money we received was in short supply, we had to become creative when we parted with our last quarters. I remember one afternoon, my cousin Eleanor whispered to me that she had a new game to play; that it was a secret only special children were privy to.
When the adults weren't looking, she pulled me behind the thick polyester curtains and motioned me to be silent with her finger over her lips. Naturally, I was a little excited because I had a tiny crush on her. Very quietly, she pushed open the window and I felt the cold air rush in; my breath became visible in the frigid air. She then produced a box of matches and I thought she was going to re-enact a scene from "The Little Match Girl".
Swiftly, she struck the match, uttered a hushed prayer "look!", and pitched the burning match out the window. We leaned over the sill to see the flame descend until it disappeared from sight. "I want to try one" I said to her confidently, and so she let me. All the matches were spent and we shared the biggest smile of satisfaction. "Let's get some more" became a very common phrase between us, until one of our uncles ratted us out. He saw us going back and forth the curtains being too happy and knew something was wrong.
Our cave people instinct was severely curtailed by stern warnings from both our fathers. My father promised me a terrible hiding when we would return from the trip; that was a big downer for a kid. We soon forgot about the matches as our parents realized the error of their ways in not providing us enough change for the arcade machines. Everyone was happy again and the incident was buried under.
When I reached home, I was living a new life without matches. Nothing could stop me from becoming the perfect child in the world. I was very close to minor sainthood, until I saw a box of matches on the kitchen counter. Without hesitation, I grabbed them and ducked under the very flammable curtains my mother had lovingly made to keep the light out of my bedroom window. Instead of being a mindless follower of my cousin's enlightened ways, I decided to seek my own path and not throw lit matches out the window. A miniature campfire was much more preferable to me.
I kept my activities mostly under wraps until my mother started cleaning the window sills and discovered the little campsites. After many beatings, I was almost cured of the habit but I still needed to light one up. My father experienced a variety of emotions from anger to fury to mostly wanting to strangle me in my sleep. Eventually he repeated calmly to me why he was so disappointed. Unbeknownst to him, he was wielding very strong magic. There is no explanation why I stopped after that. I was no longer a firestarter.
Have you ever been on a scooter or a convertible single seater space cruiser? Me either. The other day at the traffic junction, I saw this guy riding a pink scooter. He looked like a regular guy; jeans, t shirt, nondescript black helmet and then PINK SCOOTER.
As the light turned green, I went away wondering if he was really so self assured, or if he really needed a ride and borrowed his girlfriend's scooter. Who knows. I think might have ridden a pink bicycle if I was desperate enough to get somewhere without walking for miles. I am not sure if my pastel green leotards would clash with it though.
Anyway, I am wasting precious time. Here is the little scooter guy I made.
Birds are such pretty things. They chirp and sing, fly around like fairy folk, perch on your shoulder and make you feel like Snow White. Then of course someone has to come around to offer you a Washington apple. Don't buy apples from strangers. If you must, buy it from a reputable store because you really don't want to contract narcolepsy as it wouldn't benefit your career at all.
So back to birds. They eat horrible creatures such as insects and worms so that your delicate sensibilities would not be offended whenever you step outside of your comfortable home. We should have more birds around. Although, I have one small suggestion. Birds should not be allowed to defecate. Instead they should regurgitate a beautiful jewel every time they are done digesting a disgusting creature. This way everyone will be happier and no one needs a change of clothing.
There are some birds that really don't need to be seen; buzzards, vultures, turkeys, and other hideous ones. I saw a buzzard this evening as I was driving on the highway. It was perched on the railing as I passed by and I guess it wasn't too fond of me either, so it flew off down hill.
2 children (preferably a boy and a girl) Lots of candy Copious amounts of garlic Hot water A very big pot (my great grandmother called it a cauldron but *shrugs*) A ladle to stir with
Instructions: 1. Place candy all over on the exterior of your house 2. Wait for children to arrive 3. Tell the children they have a new game to play called "Find the invisible present in the cage". 4. Boil water in the pot 5. Throw in lots of garlic 6. Tell one of them that their spa is ready 7. Do not ever light your oven
Once upon a time, there was a little lion without a tail. When his mommy was preggers with him, she would hit the dance floor every night and groove till the sun came up. About 9 months later, she was dancing to a song by a certain British group called 'Right Said Fred' and the vigorous motions caused an immense contraction that resulted in the birth of the little cub.
He grew up a little and then stopped. It was because he suffered from dwarfism when his mother refused to take her folic acid on time. That was ok because he became an extremely talented dancer. One day he broke out dancing and was fortunately spotted by a talent scout. The rest is history. He now dances at the Co-co palm male strip club. Watch him go.