I like to sit on my squeaky chair and rock back and forth. The faster I rock the higher the squeak, the slower the lower. As I rock I can make up tunes by varying my speeds and rhythm – that’s how. Vibrations and rhythms make up music, but you also need a conductor with long poofy hair standing at a podium in a monkey suit, flailing his head side to side, waving its tinted flags, snapping and crackling in the air until his stupid head fall off.
At a gathering of orchestras, some call a musical festival, journalists sit in their own private box drinking booze and timing how long each conductor’s head stays put before his frenzied hair flapping causes his head to snap off his neck and drop into a special box his mother weaved for this important occasion.
While boozing it up, the journalists wager money on whose head falls either first or last.
Maestro McSnod’s head tumbled after three seconds while Maestra Whoosie Soozie’s head held steadily in pert position for seventeen minutes until it loudly cracked off its stalk and rolled onto the floor.
Little Soozie’s mother lost her hands to methamphetamine addiction, and since she can’t weave with her feet, her daughter’s head fell directly to the floor. Soozie loomed high above the orchestra which provided her head with the kinetic energy needed to roll it several feet before stopping.
All children should learn as much as they can about music, the queenie of all the arts. That’s why I took the time to tell you about My Squeaky Chair.