Large Announcement: Yesterday My Life Began: Day One!

Whoa and Wow! I can hardly type this because my arms are quaking and my body is moving, squirming around like that breakdance The Centipede. I am alive with an electric white-hot sugar beam, swirling over and around me as I fully contemplate all manner of existing and what it truly means to be Taffy "Sunburst" McKittrick!

Okay. Deep breath. I don't want to get all rambly on you. Therefore, I will center my thoughts and excrete a calm and cogent stream of data toward you, as I instruct myself to do, and I will tell you all about yesterday, which was Day One of the rest of my life! It was my first full session with Dr. Albert Tubman.

Here is how the day went down:

I woke early from a thick sleep that had me dreaming about living in a castle made of stone, with torches and knights and what have you. The sun bled thru the blinds and I was half-asleep as I walked from the futon toward the kitchen and so I picked up my guitar. Yes, it was early, not quite 7am but I remembered that a big key being a recepient of Life-Coaching is to recognize the urges that compel you. (Keep in mind I am an artist so it's a one-two punch). The guitar was speaking to me so I picked it up and began strumming a loud and sturdy strumming shuffle in the key of E7with a walk-up to G#m and then over to Bb#7diminished, all the while my foot counter-tapping in syncopated bursts. And then the lyrics: they fell out of my mouth like so many baby birds: Livin' in a Castle made of Stone/With Torches and Knights and What have you...and so on. It was like I was another person, like the dream Taffy was controlling the awake Taffy like a marionette. Before I knew it I was shrieking out more lyrics at the top of my lungs: Dead in the Castle/Sorry for the hassle! over and over, until it became sort of a meta-self-referencing thing and before I knew it my neighbor in the next apartment was banging on the wall (keeping perfect time with my syncopated foot)!! Such is the power of unguarded art!!!!

Whew. Okay:

I bathed and dressed and drove to the Lakeshore Mall. I was to meet Dr. Tubman in the Food Court. I sat for an hour or so and there was no sign of him. Plenty of commerce-minded people were shopping and carrying bags and eating sausage biscuits and whatnot but no Dr. Tubman. Just as I was getting nervous and thinking that perhaps I had my days mixed up, he arrived. He was wearing a backwards baseball cap and a leather jacket and a pair of denim shorts that went to his knees. I don't know a lot about fashion but I don't think many people could pull that look off. Dr. Tubman did. He had a suave nature about him, gliding across the food court, like a gazelle. He approached the table and snapped his fingers:
"Waiting long?"
"An hour"
"Good, I was afraid it was much longer. It's been one of those days already and it ain't 9:30" he said.
I began cackling out of empathy but he shot me a look that urged me to cease this line of laughter.
"Shall we begin" he asked.
"Yes" I said.
He sat down and looked at me. It was quiet for a moment and I thought he was doing some jedi-life-coach staring thing so I didn't say anything. Another moment passed and then he said:
"You know, a venti latte would be frigging killer right now".
I went and got it for him and sat back down. He was calling the shots so I watched as he blew on his drink and sipped it. More time passed and then he looked right in my face and uttered:
"Taffy" he began "Tell me about your fears"

Well, as you can imagine, this is like getting punched in the gut with a sledgehammer and a jackhammer all at once. I think my reticence was glistening on my face because Dr. Tubman looked at me and said: "This isn't going to work if you don't go to the dark places Taffy".
A whole minute passed. I swallowed. I couldn't meet his eye! Finally I moaned:
"I'm afraid of the dark" I said.
"Good" he said. "That's real good to hear. Let me ask you a question. You're an artist, right?"
"Yes"
"Just like Jim Morrison?" he said, referring to the singer from the 80s band The Doors.
"Yes"
"What'd Jim Morrison think of the dark? Did he run away from it like a little girl?"
I thought about it. "I guess not"
"Did he prance away like Little Lord Fauntleroy? Did he put ribbons in his hair and wear a dress like a little girl at a tea party"
I thought some more "I don't think so"
"No dipshit, he didn't. What did he do?"
"I don't know"
"I'll give you a hint: He sang about it".
There was an awkard moment here because it appeared that what Dr. Tubman said was the whole of what he wanted to say, not a hint. I wasn't sure what to say, if anything. So I reapeated his last words, as if they were a question "He sang about it".
Dr. Tubman broke into a fancy grin here, from cheek to cheek.
"Pardon my french" he said "But you're starting to get the hang of this shit Taffy"

Presenting: A Huge Announcement!!!

Well, my sweet and sun-kissed blog readership, I have news of an epic nature to present to you for your current consideration. You have probably been wondering why my epic gush of songcraft has dwindled to a mere mountain stream, a trickle that can benefit no one really and I'd like to tell the reason for this: I have been up to something.

Yes, I am being deliberately mysterious at the present moment and I'm merely teasing you, not unlike some fish-stuffed cat using sharp claws to bat around a catnip-mouse (or whatever metaphor you deem suitable to insert here) and I know I'm stalling so here it is:

I, Taffy "Sunburst" McKittrick do hereby solemnly admit to swear that the reason for my going into hiding in the month of July is as follows:
- In an interest to better serve my listening (and blog-following) audience, I have procured the instruction and tutelage of a Life Coach.
- After a couple attempts with various Life Coaches whose approaches did not mesh nicely with my artistic and creative sensibilities, I have at last landed on the best Life Coach: one Albert Tubman, a former Navy SEAL and aspiring orthodontist who has used his muscles (mental and physical) to get me into shape.
- Yesterday was in fact the first meeting with Dr. Tubman and it went effing swimmingly!! (note: though not an actual MD yet, Tubman prefers I use the sobriquet "Dr." because he is the architect of his own existence, because he sets the perception of his own self, because he wants it this way).
- We met at a Starbucks. He arrived late and sat at the table and asked for a Venti Latte. I retrieved it for him and we began discussing my agenda as a human being but more importantly as a creative entity.
"How bad do you want it Taffy?" he asked me.
"Pretty bad" I said. "Like the hummingbird wants the dew". (note: I'm not certain if hummingbirds want dew or are maybe allergic to it but it fell from my mouth and Dr. Tubman seemed to agree.
"Well then." he said "You are on your way".
And an electric tingle surged up my leg, all the way to my head and heart.
"What next"? I asked.
Dr. Tubman looked me in the eye and said: "Are you committed to putting all your trust in me"?
I nodded vigorously.
"This isn't an easy fix necessarily" he murmurred. "It can take time".
"I realize that" I said.
"And money". he said.
"It takes money to make money" I shrieked, not quite certain how I meant it.
And at that Dr. Tubman broke into a grin. He knew in that moment that he had me.
That I now belonged to him....

To Be Continued

update: not belonged to him in a bad way, but in a cosmic Navy Seal way.

Carnival of Horrors: The Party I Attended

I am an artist so it goes with out saying that sometimes I do'nt want to be around other peoples, (not that there's anything wrong with that!). Sometimes the Artist needs to sit at home and marinate in his own juices, creatively speaking, and not worry about the vagaries of inter-personal annoyances (ie hygenie, ie politeness, ie diction) or how much small-talk you can spew out in a quarter of an hour. Sometimes the Artist needs to just sit and eat burritos and have a beer or three and play around on his guitar, taking firm note of what may (or may not) plop out. Okay, where am I going with all this? Look no further than the next paragraph.

I went to a party last night that I could not get out of. I don't want to name names or be specific because the many people who read this blog regularly will be able to discover which party I meant but let me just call it "Sandra's" Party. "Sandra" is a person that I know, maybe thru work or maybe not, and "she" decided to throw a party for "her" cousin "Rudolf" last night. There was no way I could squirm away. My whole point being, the Artist doesn't want to go to parties in the first place but when forced the Artist will attend (if only for free food and alcohol) and then slip out the back. Well, the Artist found himself cornered in the kitchen, between the fridge and the table, away from the alcohol while "Rudolf" yammered away ceaselessly about French Movies. Sorry French Cinema. Are you effin' kidding me!?

"Rudolf" apparently considers "himself" a nascent screenwriter/director which is all fine except that "he" has a habit - birthed from his ambitions no doubt - of tieing every possible bit of conversation into a film reference. Herein and hereforth follow some examples to putrefy and turn your stomach:
Me: Good party, eh?
"Rudolf": Eh, yeah like a Rohmer film by way of Assayas.
Me: Okay...So..."Rudolf" how do you like it here?
"Rudolf": Ah, you know. I feel a little like Antoine Doinel in "Bed & Board"
Me: Oh. Actually I don't know what that is --
"Rudolf": You don't!!? Oh My God!! You have to immediately - like tonight! - go onto netflix and put all the Antoine Doinel's in your queue. They are so mother-effing awesome!! Oh My God!!
Me: Huh. I'll have to check that out.
"Rudolf": You know what Godard said to Melville about "checking things out", right?
Me: No.
"Rudolf": This was back in the "weekend" days, oh wait, it wasn't Melville it was his DP Raoul Coutard...

And on and on and so forth and so forth. One of those people who only talks about himself and has no consideration of other people's feelings and thoughts and Artistry. never once was I asked what I did or about the songs I've written or which songs I think are my best, only if I've seen this or that and do I get the Truffaut reference in "Jules & Jim" and where do I rate Agnes Varda and which Godard heroine is most unlike the others and yammer yammer blah blah madness!!!

At long last I was able to squeeze out the back door, pretending to run to the car for just a second, a bottle of wine under my arm (my due, methinks!) and I made it safely home and am now working on a new song about this horror-show party which I will most certainly share with you when it comes.

Holy Crapola: The Artist Thinks Aloud

Dear sweet gummy-bear textured and sweet and delicately wonderful blog-reading audience, hello!! My thoughts have begun to gush like so many underwater geysers, spraying steam and heat and steam-heat and I am afraid at times that the parameters of what contains my mind has a minor tear or perforation and that I can no longer be contained. It's frightening but also wonderful! This is what it is to be an artist.

Right now I am having a mother-effing love affair with this thing we call America. So sweet and tender and soft but also delicate. This is a fragile thing with tiny shoots and buds, not fully yet grown, but we continue to celebrate the majestic nature of it on every July 4th! This is the day, you'll recall from history's annals, that the Constituition was caesarian-sectioned out of the collective birth-canal of the fore-fathers. Can I be fully honest with you? I get a little moist around the eyeballs ever year around this time. This effing country allows me to be me and me to be you. I can dream and think and say whatever I want! I can walk up to you in the supermarket and start spouting song lyrics or my private thoughts and guess what, you can't do a effing thing about it, because this the American Dream!!!

Sarah Palin: Au Revoir & Bonjour Heartache!