| “You can say that again.” “Here, take a look at this.” I held the camera up and towards John so that he could see. “You know who Jimi Hendrix is right?” Despite his younger years of about 22, he promptly acknowledged that he knew of him. “Look closely at this video I took just before sunset when most of the tourists had left and just the vendors and the people who live on the beach were milling around getting high. Look at his guy I filmed and listen to his guitar playing. He has an electric guitar and is carrying a small amplifier over his shoulder with a harness. Who, who does that look like and sound like to you, John?” John watched the short choppy film clip with concentration in his eyes. “Wow! That’s amazing. That dude looks just like Jimi Hendrix and he sings like him and plays like him, too. What’s even more amazing is that I’ve been here in Venice Beach for two years and I thought that I’d seen all the performers and weird people who hang out on the boardwalk, but I’ve never seen this guy. You come here for a few hours with your video cam from New York and you catch this guy on video and I swear, like you, that he’s a dead ringer for Jimi Hendrix.” “I think he is Jimi Hendrix.” I feel mellow from the Cabernet and I want to say what I feel. “Mike, he’s wearing roller skates.” “I know, man.” “Jimi Hendrix is wearing roller skates.” “Look closely at the video−it’s a little dark. I was shooting into the purple sunset and sometimes all you can make out is silhouette but I captured all the audio of him playing “Purple Haze”. But look at the people walking by. Nobody else is paying any attention to him as if he’s not even there. It’s just me and him and I’m making this video and it’s like nobody else is seeing him or even hearing him and it’s Hendrix, Jimi Hendrix.” “Wow, that is freaky, Mike, really freaky. The ghost of Jimi Hendrix on roller skates on the Venice Beach Boardwalk and he appeared to you.” For a few moments neither one of us spoke. We both took time to let what we had just spoken of sink into our own realities, or lack of conscious reality, whatever the case may have been. Pictures It occurred to me that I had not eaten any spinach pies yet and that they might be getting cold. Like Fried Calamari they too are best consumed while piping hot out of the oven. The thin pastry covering was light and crisp and not greasy at all. Inside, the soft mixture of chopped spinach and mild goat cheese blended together perfectly, one taste complimenting the other. These small Greek specialties complimented the Napa Valley red and the fried calamari with spicy marina dipping sauce. John the waiter had left, to check on other tables, I presumed, so I slowly ate my meal taking turns between bites of Spanikopita, rings of calamari and sips of wine. It was completely dark outside except for a faint glow from the intense Hollywood lights which had continued turning night into day just around the corner. Why not just film the scene in the day time, I thought. There must have |
| Jimi Hendrix (continued) |
