C'mon and Celebrate: The New Year!

Dear Lovelies - how nice to find you again, all cozied up with a mug of mulled cider, reading my blog, like a kitten in the arm of a sleeping man! It's that time of year again, which is to say, Happy New Year! I trust that the close of 2009 was as spectacular and explosive for you as it was for yours truly (read: me). In the early hours of the evening I strummed my guitar and googled ex-lovers to see if they were lonely or now tethered to lesser men. Sad to report that none were available any longer. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not with those ex-lovers for a reason and the reason is that we were not "a good fit" (at least that's how they put it) but my heart despaired to find that my best hope at reconnection - Rhonda Gumm - has now apparently wed an orthodonist from Milwaukie, WI who specializes in "reconstructive and adaptive dentistry" and who has the unfortunate last name Spanker. Meaning Rhonda (while no longer attractive in the least) is now known as Rhonda Gumm-Spanker. Why should this depress me, while I am still young and vibrant? I'll answer you: It should not!

Hence, my young and vibrant unattached self wandered into the night, to drink down the last of 2009 with a bunch of friendly strangers in a bar near the edge of town. There was pool playing and bear hugs and raucous merriment! There was communal vomiting and unwarranted (but accidental) touches! At the end of it all was me, Taffy McKittrick, raising a glass up toward the spider-web strewn rafters and howling at the peak of my lung capacity: Okay Universe, this is my year!!!

Post Xmas: Malaise & Degradation!

Dear reader, does today find you in a sort of moribund and morose post-holiday malaise, wherein you question the unnecessary ordering of holidays such as they are to provide you with a blast of shining goodness and then allowing you to slide back into the morass of everyday life? Oh dear, it makes me sigh so. Down come the shiny baubles and trinkets and doo-dads reminding you of a fat man slithering down your chimney and the shiny twinkle of light-wrapped trees.

I know you have burning questions as regarding my last blog post so lets get to it: no, I did not ever find out what happened with regard to that van of women. I do not know who kissed me. It has kind of made me sad but there's not much say about it. I ran into Sprinkles on the apartment walkway the other day and he seemed curious, unable to look me in the eye, muttering something about 'under the advise of my probation officer I'm off to a meeting'. I looked at him and said "Oh, well what about that van of women?" and I swear his eyes began to tear up - most likely due to the memory of what we experienced that night, which he can recall and I sadly cannot. He stammered for a second and then said, as if it were well-rehearsed "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't think we can be friends" and then he got in his little Chevette and motored away. Very curious indeed. It's not particularly painful I suppose, I happen to be cut from a slightly anti-social cloth as it happens, this is the purview of the true artist, but still having a neighbor friend was a possible prospect that I considered for the coming year. Ah well, gone, like a puff of smoke.

On the actual holiday I woke up and played guitar, ate some cereal, wandered absently around the apartment with my bathrobe open. I live alone so I have that luxury. I decided that maybe the best thing to do would be to clear my head and enjoy the fresh air so I went to the mall. The cineplex was packed - everyone was all a-twitter about some movie that's the sequel to Titanic (? is that right?) but I could have cared less: I was going to see sweet Sarah Jessica Parker in "Did You Hear About The Morgans?" which did not disappoint in any degree. It was light, funny and charming which had the effect of drinking two cosmopolitans in quick sucession which is funny because that's my drink of choice after watching so much Sex in the City lately which naturally stars SJP. Perhaps you're judging me, thinking "hmm, Taffy that's not the most manly television option is it?" and I'd like to tell you that my response is: "Sir, I am an artist. I go where the heart takes me not where you're demographic literature and pinwheels and concentric graphs do". After the movie was over I wiped my tears with my popcorn napkin and sat up: the theater was empty. Noting my tears and sobbing body, an employee said: "Are you okay?". I took a deep breath and said: "I'm fine. I've just watched an amazing piece of cinema. That's all". The employee didn't quite know how to handle me so he merely said
"You're gonna have to go".
I got up and went back out to the ticket counter.
I cleared my throat and knocked on the glass. I said with a glint in my eye and Christmas spirit rushing up my body:
"One for "Did You Hear About The Morgans?" Please".
The ticket employee shot me a look, she could tell that I was in the throes of cinematic rapture, humming and vibrating with a sort of etheral charm.
She said "Didn't you just see that?"
I looked her in the eye and said "Yes m'lady. I most certainly mother-effing did"

Holiday Steamrollin': The Bells are a-Clangin'!!

Hello, my sweet and cuddly peeps! It's been too long since typed out my thoughts to you, hasn't it? I'll answer on your behalf: yes it has!

Today I want to address the unadressable: the holidays! What can be said about the arrival of the yuletide corridor, coming as it usally does with all the grace and dignity of a greased walrus slithering onto an ice-floe barking insistently to fornicate? Wherein we find a bevy of walrus cows trying to get way from him and go back to their meals of warmed carrots and sea-scallops. This is a question not easily answered.

I'll tell you what I can do without: the repetitive and squawking nature of commercials on the television blaring and bleating and rudely asking me to bow to the church of commerce and give my money away to buy diamonds and clothes from the gap. Let me clue you in to a little something jewelry industry. Move in closer and let me whisper my hot breath into your ear as I say this: I currently am without a lady lover or soulmate or woman but even if i become the person that obtains one of those 3 I want you to comprehend that I will not buy them jewels or diamonds. One, because they're expensive as all get-out and two, because I saw Blood Diamond w/ my main man leo dicaprio and as he famously retorted in that piece of cinema "In America, it's bling bling. But out here it's bling bang." Not only is that an incredulous and amazingly jaw-dropping piece of dialogue it happens to be tremendous and, now, famous. Take that jewelry industry!

In a related note, I drew Ed Poon for Secret Santa in the office. I'm considering giving him a box full of my morning excretions but I'm convinced that HR will have a fit about it. Let me put it this way: that's what he deserves.

New idea for holiday cocktail: The Basmati Maserati
2 parts beer, 1 part vodka and coke. throw 3 pieces of maserati rice in the bottom.
Drink up and enjoy!!

Tuesday: Birthin' Ideas! & Rockin' tha Mic!

Yo yo yo! My peoples! My hot and buttery blog-reading aficianados! Those masses whom love my words and songs: how are you! I had a great thanksgiving holiday because they gave me Thursday off at work and when I came in on Friday the only people there were those whom had to come in. As Priscilla Pulch put it (we call her 'Scilly') "only the dipshits, halfwits and underlings have to come to work the day after Thanksgiving" and I couldn't agree more.

(note: sidebar, she uses the nomenclature 'Turkey Day" instead of Thanksgiving and I really hate that so I changed what she said to Thanksgiving. Why do grown people call it Turkey Day out in public when they talk to other grown people? Like they're little infants or something! I hate baby talk so maybe I'm the problem??? Like when people say 'potty' instead of 'toilet'. That drives me bonkers. Donna, two cubes over, squeezed out an infant 5 months ago and now feels compelled every time she heads to the restroom to say out loud "I gotta run to the potty" instead of what she used to say which was: "I gotta run to the toilet". Hey, guess what Donna? How about you eat at Turkey Day and then go potty while the rest of us adults will be on the sofa watching VH1. Cool, you feel me? end of note and sidebar)

the great thing was though that I had absolutely no demands or plans on Thanksgiving. I got some turkey burritos and some mashed potatoes (just add water!)
and sat my thankful ass down to watch the 1st 3 seasons of Sex and the City in what I'd call "a Sex and the City marathon"! It was joyous!! Watching all those girls drink fancy drinks gave me a couple ideas:
1) I should be making up my own drinks and drink ideas and try to sell them to local bars and restaurants.
2) when in doubt refer to 1)

point being: I am going to make up my own drinks and drink ideas and try to sell them to local bars and restaurants. People really seem to get involved behind a great drink, don't they? So, drumroll, here are my ideas for two well-named delicious and easy to fall-in-love-with drinks (ie alcohol) that many local bars and watering holes will soon (fingers crossed) soon be serving.

I am soo excited about these!!!!! Here they are:

1) The Supersonic Gin & Tonic
this is like your standard G&T except it has a lime wedge on the side of the glass! so simple

2) The Burrita Margarita
b/c i love burritos so effing much, I thought: why not combine it with alcohol? This is a margarita that has some black beans mixed in w/ the ice and a dollop of sour cream on top. so effing delicious!!!!

What do you guys think? Please let me know!!!
I love you guys

Alarm Bell Ringing: Friday is Here!

Good afternoon to you ladies and gents, it is your humblest of humble guitarist/singer-songwriters/nascent famous person/bloggers here again to regale you with the happenings of all things and such regarding one Taffy "Sunburst" McKittrick, aka yours truly, ie me. Can I inform you of the warm glow that spreads through my insides when Friday arrives? Like a warm saline bath shooting through every hole in my body, ending in a sort of fantastic, spritzing spray in a pool wherein that lady from the 50's dives off diving boards and swims to the music of someone in the 50s in her bathing suit. Yes, that kind of day! Utterly amazing and jaw-dropping.

Today I am in the clutches of my evil day-job, doing some anodyne but misery-inducing data-entry, listening to idiots talking about a sale at JC Pennys wherein a giant serving tray ("would be great for this upcoming turkey day!") can be purchased for a small amount of dollars. Need I remind you that this sort of rampant consumerism is a vile blight upon my american sensibility? If you want to give your money away give it to artists (ahem, hint hint, ahem) and musicians (cough, ahem) not to turkey trays. Get with the program people!

Rainy Monday!

Dear beauteous and well-groomed blog-reading audiences, hello! It is a Monday morning and I am typing this lines to you surreptitiously from my perch at the day job where again I am assaulted by rivers of banal conversation (sample, just overheard: "Oh my God, this dry erase pen really rocks!") and rivers of fragrances, most of the putrid variety as factotums and corporate slaves microwave their coffee or their Jimmy Dean Breakfast Bowls and gobble their bananas ceaselessly, like so many garden monkeys. Well, as I have said to you about one-million and one-half times, I am an artist and I should not have to work so moments like this really activate a sort of office-rage in me. But we don't need to go there because you know where I stand on that issue and further, how it makes me feel.

Let me instead bring in a new modality of conversation and that regards the weather: rain. Buckets and sheets of gooey rain came a'rainin' down this morning early-like. I awoke in the autumn dawn, face down on the sofa, dvd still frozen on that triumphant frame at the end of "the mirror has two faces" where that lady runs out into the street to tell that man not to go. (side note: what can I say, I am an artist and I won't prejudge what I take into my body artistically speaking but I can hear you sneering from here about that movie. Well, I love it. So there). My bigger point - and I do have one - is that the rain awoke me.

Is there anything more like angels crying on your shoulder than rain-drops? It's one of those questions that can't be answered.

Delectable Monday: A Promise

Today Monday is playful with me, rubbing me under my chin like I am a good servant but also giving me hints of goodness, like the promise of perfection akin to a freshly-purchased chewy granola bar. This is how good it feels to be here in this planet on the present day. I am announcing this to you!!!

My 'day off' last week afforded me a rare perspective and allowed me to look inside my own head and heart, an introspection of epic and sonic proportion. A deep and penetrating inventory, not dissimilar to a body probe or colonoscopy, where it hurts yes, but afterwards you have discovered beautiful things about your self, your body, your world. I came to realize - after all those waffles - that there are certain things I enjoy about being alive. Waffles are one of them. Myself is the other. There is no enriching gift to yourself like your own self. Go on and look in the mirror and then begin to create art. It's the only way!

Waffles on Wednesday: The Arrival!

Good sweet morning to you my friends! I have recently arisen. Today, as you most likely are not aware, I have the day off from work. This is a cost saving measure wherein once a week people whom are classified as 'support staff', such as me your humble blog creator and reporter-on-all-things-Taffy, is - are given one day per month to go off and enjoy themselves and boost morale. This is an unpaid day and has the further indignity of counting as a vacation day so HR is bleeding me of vacation while at the same time gift-wrapping it and setting it delicately upon my lap. Put another way: I am enjoying myself today!!!

I woke up and decided - after the furious glory of yesterday's post might give indication of - that perhaps I might side-step the usual breakfast intake (microwave burrito) and explore some of the other bounty that Mother Nature has plopped from her womb onto the planet: which is to say I had waffles!! So freaking good!!! I dove into a plate of them, literally. My face and fingers right now are smeared and dripping with maple sauce but I don't mind. How could one mind really especially when they had put something flacky and delicate into their body, listening to the beautiful rumbles and gurgles as it made its way through canals and corridors?

Also, it's easy to make. It breaks down like this - first you open the carton of microwave waffles, then you put it in the microwave, when it comes out you slather it with their homestyle maple syrup and a hunk of it's-really-not-butter. let it melt for a second and then dive your face into it! Literally! How on earth can the rest of my Wednesday measure up? Anyone? Anyone?

Monday: Wasp-Stinging Rear-ward!

Yes my friends, a thousand times yes. Today the sun was a glistening orb in the guzzling sky and rain clouds threatened me but moved on as if to say "not today good sir! you carry on and continue creating songcraft and light and spread it across the world like so much savory nut butter". Sweet reprieves are wonderful things to receive: they provide you with the information that whatever you did or are doing is correct and appropriate. My point, as behooves the title of this post, is that I feel like i've been stung on the backside by a hive of angry wasps and I am now running away from them and toward the arms of Destiny.

To be more specific: things have quieted for ol' Taffy since "Dr" Albert Tubman took leave of me. I learned a lot from our interlude certainly. I think I've addressed some of those items in previous posts so I won't start testing your patients by doing it again. Here is a laundry list things that have rained out of the sky on me since he departed: furniture is back, check. able to buy groceries again, check. job is boring as usual bursting with people who think they know all about life and living since they can afford a mortgage or an electric car but who don't appreciate the simplicities of life like apples or buckets of fried chicken, check. a gorgeous honey-haired creature interning at the reception desk, check. Taffy mothereffing McKittrick about to unleash a malestrom of songs and bewitching tunes on top of your face like a turkey pot pie slathered with country-gravy, check!!!!

Punched in Face: Depression-Fist

Hello dear one(s). Again, we find myself at the edge of a junction and an intersection where I am drinking full pint glasses of Depression, letting it course through my body's arteries and veins and then once it has been processed and excreted I drink yet another pint glass down, straight no chaser. Why does the Depression-Fist hold such sway over me and have such powerful punches? Let's explore it in the following way: I am an artist. With a mother-effing day job. These two things should not exist in the same sentence, much less two sentences back to back, and yet there it is. There you have it. How can the world have somehow not gotten the summons that I-am-creating-art-down-here-so-I-get-a-free-pass!?!? This un-realization sometimes brings me to the brink of anger which mutates and gets transformed into Depression. As if that weren't bad enough (it is Taffy, i hear you all screaming, it is!) then we must explore and penetrate the deeper indignities and daily machinations of said day-job, wherein I - your hero - finds himself engaged in meaningless banter about office reorganizations, the best hue of file folder, the range of tastes in a corporately-processed yogurt, something called Lady Gaga, and, most punitively, the best new show on tv featuring a gang of models who pretend to go on a reality cooking show and design shoes for an ox-merchant. Whatever!! I cannot be bothered by it, by any of it.

Hey Universe: Listen up!:
I am a mother-effing artist! With a mother-effing day job!!

Thursday: Soarin' On an Eagle-Drawn Chariot!

sweet-hot and buttery biscuits, this here Thursday finds me - your humblest of humble announcers - announcing the very sturdy and strong fact that is that I am beginning to feel better. After my inter-dealings with "Dr." Albert Tubman left me swindled, bamboozled and emotionally flapping in the wind, operating - as Tubman might say - "like a little baby pansy, trembling with fear". There is no denying these things. It hurt and it stung and left me bereft of my money, my posessions, my dignity, and - most important of all - my honor.

Now, the hazy fog and detritus of my past is lifting, slowly but surely and in a steady fashion. Aided and encumbered by a kind soul at work whom let me take two advance paychecks out (at a mere 15% for his trouble) I was able to avoid eviction to the sidewalk at the Regency Tower. Granted, I don't have any furniture or anything (to be resolved soon!) but I have a toilet and running water - or rather I do now, after I had to pay through the nose to get the water re-turned on after I missed a payment (dear City Water, I was in jail! Hello!). Point being, if a man has a place to lay his head, whether it's on a pillow or on an old brown dessicated carpet w/ cracker crumbs in it, he has a home. This is a fact.

The most important piece of the puzzle as far as my artistic-ness goes for those of you who miss dearly my songs and songcraft, is this: Where is the guitar of Taffy "Sunburst" McKittrick? I'm certain it's been pawned and fenced and traded like so much rotten cornmeal throughout the seedy underbelly of this town. All by way of saying: its gone and that's fine but if i'm gonna rock this party like I'm Taffy-Old-School, I need a new guitar. When I have appropriated or found or stolen one, you better believe that my songcraft will be all over the internet again, like so many powerful viruses. This is how I give back. This is how I pay it forward.

peace
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!!!

Angel Breath, pt 2 (wherein the artist explains)

Okay so I will go ahead and admit that there is the teeniest sliver of unscrutability in my previous post. I get that. The hummingbird burrito probably threw you. (note to self: possible song title: hummingbird burrito) and you most likely require the artist to lay out all the specific strands that go into weaving this ornate sweater he is now wearing. I get that too. You're thinking I can't even see the sweater but let me promise something to you: there is a sweater.This is part of the artist being here and alive and right here in this moment.

You probably remember my post some weeks back, right? It was a post about my sometimes loud neighbor Ron Mealman (or "Fat Ron" as he prefers). We ran into one another inside a laundromat. It was a juncture wherein I for the first time loudly and unapologetically shrieked the triumphantness of my adopted nomenclature: Sunburst.
It is a very good post and you should reread it because it will provide you with so much understanding about the person I am trying so hard to be. Here is a link to that post. Now are you getting this thing people??

Angels Breathe on My Shoulders

Oh my friends! My delirious and fantabulous honey-soaked collection of bipedal organisms, what can I tell you? Where can I begin? What sort of endeavors will I endeavor to begin sharing with you? Which gift of mine will I employ to discuss the way things have been going? How many questions in a row will I ask?

Firstly, first things first: yes, I have been remiss in my upkeep in this blog that you love to read so much. Or let me amend: I have been remiss in terms of written updates. My sonic (meaning musical) upkeep has been at a respectable clip from hour one.

Secondly, I am humming and vibrating right now as I type this with the wondrement of hummingbird calls. Do you understand?? I wrapped a hummingbird inside a wheat tortilla and swallowed it down (metaphorical!)

Thirdly, angels keep breatheing on my shoulders. More to come.

Friday: And I am a Lovely Man!

Hello Team -
It has been far too long. Well guess why:? my nose has been up on the grindstone and I have been twirling about (metaphorical) and leaping (actual). Things in life sometimes bound around like a fleet of deer, skirting praries and grazing in meadows. This is the places where you'll find my head.

Items of a amorous nature - meaning love - have been popping up repeatedly like so many untreatable acne scars: I continue to be smitten with the idea of being smitten. I want to love and be cuddled so freaking bad. To that end I have written 2songs this week which I will be posting forthwith and forthward. The first is intitled: Here Come's Taffy McKittrick! and it announces me as a person of leisure, one to be reckoned with. The other is called: Pretty Please! and it deals with a woman who does not want me in her life but I think i can be if I ask nice. They are both solid songs!!!! Enjoy this gift of breathing and living love and life!

Welcome to Wednesday: the Love Greet

Wow and big buttery wham-bam wow! What a day I had yesterday. It is still moving and cursing through my veins, reminding me that I am right here breathing in the ether and how good does that feel! First things first: I stayed home sick from work yesterday and watched The Legend of Benjamin Burton (the brad pitt movie) which I am still bamboozled and reeling from in awe-faced stupefaction. So amazing that I am going to start crying if I think about it. A sweet natured black lady takes care of brad pitt when he is old and then he falls in love with Cate Hudson when he gets younger. There's more to it than that but that is the general thrusts. It's all about living and dying and breathing and how it means that you become an artist through the magic of life. You never know what's around a corner. Sometimes it's a nice black lady and sometimes it is you dying. Man, I'm not doing it justice because it's deeper than that though. Whatever, just go see it!!

The other big thing was that I had a blind date last night!! I met her online through the internet. We hit it off a lot in ways that I won't go into because I respect her privacy but she just came back from Tijuana and had a little bit of a cold. I know, I know, I probably shouldn't kiss ladies who visit mexico when swine flu is bubbling around this planet but I wanted to kiss her bad. This could be the start of something liquid and lovely. And yes, there is a song coming about her. Keep your ears pealed!!!

Fantastic Friday!

Greetings gang. The end of the work week has come to a blissful and eruptive halt, thank God! What a terrible time I have had working this week. Yes, I understand that I am grateful to have a job but I implore you to spend 1/2 hour doing what I do with the people here, who have maladies that range from 'smells like cheese' to 'blisteringly incompetent' and everything in between. Whatever, this is part of my life so this is part of my art-making. Everything goes in!!
New song in a bit.

Momentous Mountains: Friday!

Do you ever get that feeling, that tickle in your bones and loins, like some giant exotic bird of prey has landed on your shoulder, drifting down like a giant flapping piece of detritus made from a starlight explosion? Well, of course you do, you're human after all! But check it: I am all abuzz and atwitter this Friday. It's part caffeine, part Friday, part that people across the land are having a tepid love affair with my songs!!! All that hard work, from inside the walls of my apartment, all those burritos, all those dates that didn't happen and the pain they wrought. Now look and see! Just look!! I am on a mountain top and I am shrieking this to the world like some feral coyote who has just feasted on lamb (note: possible song lyric). Whew, it's nice to feel so good for a change. Yes sir.