Here's a mello little number from good 'ol Jimi Hendrix. Enjoy.
Strange enough, I've been listening to French musicians lately. Well maybe perhaps not entirely French, but certainly a hybrid of French. Dimitry From Paris, Stereolab and Bran Van 3000 are among the current artists cued up in I-Tunes.
While I've never been to France, nor do I understand the language, I do find their culture intriguing. Oh yes, and I have Vania. My French Connection.
At one time, we use to have French automobiles in the American market.
Renault left the American landscape when they sold their interest in American Motors back in 1987. Renault stopped importing the Eagle Medallion (Renault 21 in Europe) to the states in 1989. Renault has since partnered with Nissan and there have been persistent rumors that they may one day return to the market. Don't hold your breath considering current economic conditions.
Peugeot, another French manufacturer, soldered on until 1991 with their 405 sedan. These cars are very rare in the United States. One is more apt to see the larger 505 executive sedan which was introduced in 1979. The 505 was something of an BMW 5 Series. To this day, they still have a stately presence.
The first to leave the United States and perhaps the greatest French manufacturer however is Citroën.
Citroën was once a great innovator of automobiles. Exuberant engineering costs and NHTSA bumper regulations caused Citroën to leave the U.S. market abruptly in 1974. In 1972, Citroën won Motor Trends Import Car of The Year with their Citroën SM personal luxury coupe. These coupes are very rare, but a beauty to behold.
More accessible today however is the timeless design of the Citroën DS.
It's been said that Cadillac bumpers in the mid 1950's resembled as certain part of the female anatomy (Dagmars), but the Citroën has it own bit of sexual charm too. The front fenders flow back into a tightly drawn interior compartment. This design is not unlike the Porsche 911.
Apparently Trix aren't just for kids. My cousin Martyn served me a full bowl via the Internet this morning. "Have you seen the atrocity that was created on the 2009 TL?" That was the blurb that came through my email. Goodness, had all hell broken loose overnight? I religiously read Internet automotive sites and had heard nothing regarding the official debut of the 2009 Acura TL. This was strange. I popped over to Autoblog to catch a glimpse. Nothing. Then it was off to Car Spy Shots for a viewing. Zilch. How about Jalopnik? Nada. Perhaps Left Lane News might have something. Nope. I then took the time to fully open the message that Martyn had sent me. It stated that he had seen a picture at Car & Driver. I immediately gave this a second thought. Car & Driver is a monthly magazine and the sites listed above are blog & forum type sites. This wouldn't make sense that C&D would have pictures and the others not. Perhaps C&D broke an embargo and released the pictures early? So over to Car & Drive I go. Sure enough, there seems to be a article on the 2009 Acura TL. To the right of the article is a picture of the new TL. Something doesn't quite seem right. I click on the caption that promises additional photographs. I click to enlarge the single photograph of the 2009 edition. Underneath the picture it says Acura TL illustration. It's nothing more than a chopped and Photoshoped picture of the TSX. Martyn was trying to feed me a bowl of Trix bright and early. Not so fast, Mr. Bridgeman.
It's seems I have a new member to my Vox neighborhood.
Actually, he's not new to me, he's my cousin Martyn. He's the young child seen gripping my brother in the post Starfish & Coffee at Circle K. We've been exchanging messages behind the scenes during the past week. It's always nice to catch up with family. I'm a good 15 years older than Martyn and still remember when he was just a mystery blob inside his mother's womb.
Once the blob matured and plopped out, we started molding him into what we thought he should be.
It's funny how we pick up all sorts of nicknames. Martyn was no exception. During his first stage of external development (the oral phase), we named him The Drool Baby. Actually, another cousin of mine, Terrence, came up with the name. Martyn was a very lovable baby and people would readily volunteer to babysit him. He had big, beautiful brown eyes and he loved to smile. Nevermind that the child didn't have any teeth. He was just happy.
Right about the time he discovered what his mouth was for was right about the time we named him The Drool Baby.
You could put an object near his face and instantly his mouth would open. Seconds later, a pool of drool would form and a long trail of translucent saliva would pour forth from his mouth. We'd put all sort of things in front of his face to see what would trigger his response. A baby rattle, a small Hot Wheels car or his uncle's Millennium Falcon would all cause his mouth to open in the same manner. He was fun, but a messy little infant.
Then he grew a little.
Just like Baby Alive, what went into the mouth readily had to find it's way out. In this case if it were something edible, it found it's way out through the 'ol brown eye.
Right about the time he discovered what his other hole was for was right about the time we named him FM; Fartin' Martyn.
To be quite honest, I don't remember any fart noises coming from the child. What I do remember was a constant release of gas in the form of vapors. You know what I'm talking about. Babies have that distinct odor to their gas. Martyn sure did.
There is one story that I always bring up whenever I see Martyn.
One evening in 1987, My cousin Marcus and I were watching Martyn. We had just returned from the store or some place unimportant. I can't remember if The American Music Awards or Miss America or what was on TV, but it was good. I took Martyn out of my car and placed him in the kitchen, still buckled into his car seat. There he sat on the kitchen table in his seat while I played with his pudgy little legs. He was laughing and having a good 'ol time while I stared forward and tried to watch the TV.
Then it happened.
I was startled back to reality when I felt something wet on my fingers. Just a small light was on in kitchen at the time, so I couldn't readily see what it was. I called for my cousin Marcus to come in and turn on the main lights. And there it was, this green chocolate sauce all over my hands. Martyn's poo pie had broken loose of his diaper and ended up all over the car seat, his legs and most importantly, my hands.
Nasty.
I remember hauling Martyn at arms length to the bathroom. I made his uncle pull off the diaper while I held him in the air. Marcus did so reluctantly. My rationale was that he should do it since his was closer relation to Martyn than I was. The dookey juice was everywhere, but we managed to get him cleaned up.
Through the whole ordeal, Martyn smiled up at us with his Bambi-like, gentle brown eyes. Isn't that just like a child blissfully content in poo?
Here I am still traumtized and scarred some 21 year later.
Incredible.
More incredible is the fact that I haven't even gotten to where I had intended to start writing today.
That was quite the purple haze I just traveled through.
Please welcome my latest member to my neighborhood, Martyn.
Actually, it's Sunday night. I have written an entirely different piece but have yet to post it. It's sitting in another browser waiting for me to finish it. Instead, I'm here posting this little piece of crazy in it's place.
And crazy it is.
Anyone over the age of 35 should have no reason to know this music. The title still holds recognition however.
What is this that I speak of with no name?
Jesus Christ Superstar.
Specifically, The Motion Picture from 1973. I was maybe 4 years old when it was released. Even at the time, I knew that it was something controversial. "Jesus Christ Superstar, Do you think you're what they say you are?" Even at that young age I had an understanding that you don't ask God what the hell it is he's doing. Same goes for his son too. And these people weren't just asking, they were singing about it too. All who were in earshot of that music surely must surely be granted a one way trip to hell, right?
Yeah well, whatever.
Time marches on. Things that challenge convention tend to become convention. I never actually saw the movie Jesus Christ Superstar. It being Sunday and all, I decided to Google the movie and see what I could find.
YouTube had a full selection of clips from the movie.
I pick the clip entitled Superstar.
I press play and then the 70's music begins to play. Ok, this is entirely what I expected. Afros, bell bottoms, white people with afros, questionable hygiene. You know, all the stuff you would put on left over hippies from the 60's.
We're treated to Judas (played by Carl Anderson) singing to Jesus. Anderson has quite the dynamic voice. This alone is worth the listen. Listen we do as Judas questions Jesus.
And then it happens.
2:14 seconds into the clip we are treated to something scandalous. Scantly clad poontang comes marching in to the sound of crashing cymbals. I could hardly contain my laughter and had to run the clip back just to make sure I caught everything. The first 2 sets of women have on flesh colored bottoms so it almost looks like their naked from the waist down.
Incredible
.
Do you see anything below the belt yet?
Getting closer...
Be careful, Bambi, Thumper and Cottontail are late for their Las Vegas show!
The white-haired, afro chicks with kick boots get my vote.
I had intended to post two more portions of Streetwise, but decided to post the remaining four parts instead. If you haven't had a chance to see the beginning of this series, scroll back to my previous posts and check them out. Taken as a whole, Streetwise is a powerful film that should not be missed.
