Snack Attack: Front and Back!

Let me begin by introducing a series of observations that may entice, amaze, flatter and astound you: I do not like having a day job. There, I've said it. Last evening found me on the couch in a sort of stupefaction while I watched something named Kelly Osborne on Dancing with the Stars, twirl around and mangle the foxtrot. She most resembled a drunken horse looking for oats at nighttime, flopping and flailing with reckless abandon. It was at this point a tickle of depression washed ashore and let me bathe in it. The only thing that would cleanse my palate of this was a program of microwave burritos and beer which tasted even better than I just made it sound.

Life is a cloud of cottony goodness with varieties of fragrances and tastes. They all surround you and you give yourself over to them in little ways. Come on, think about it!!

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!

Office Luncheon: Halloween Version: Friday!!

Holy shitoly ladies and gentlemen I am fresh from the annual holiday lunch party at my place of employ (and by holiday I mean halloween) wherein Jim Coggins from accounting is dressed as a bloody accountant and Tammy Ledbetter from HR dressed as a bloody wraith that closely resembles Tammy Ledbetter from HR. Also, it's something of a potluck so right now my stomach is rumbling and gurgling in a ferocious manner because I have just injested cakes and pies and salads and little dainty ham-sandwich squares. Oh, and my boss's boss brought something that was a dip for tortilla chips that tasted fair enough but then I overheard the recipe ("2 cans of chili, one brick of cream cheese") which to my thinking didn't sound particularly healthy-minded and as I sit here and type these lines I am pretty certain that the layer of chili dip has settled to the very bottom of my intestines like so much black
deep-sea sludge. I, your humble narrator and blog-post updater, did not dress up and so was taken to task by Ed Poon (something of an ass) who said loudly for the benefit of the room "what are you supposed to be Taffy? an incompetent office aide?"
This got the whole room roaring and set the tone of the mood for the rest of the fiesta. For awhile my ears were steaming but I consoled myself with some sugar cookies that were shaped like jack-o-lanterns. (They are currently resting on top of the sea-sludge). The scariest thing of all, no surprise, was the conversation. Man, my co-workers are real effing dumb. (no offense!). The best part of all this was the different ideas for songs that it gave me ideas for songs. Another way to say it is: Happy Halloween!

Thursday: Put on your Punching Goggles!

Prepare to be punched ladies and gentlemens! A punch of the sort that hits your throat and windpipes so you can't do much but stagger backward into a store display of canned peas and corn, knocking it backward, cans a-twirlin' because you can't freaking believe it. Yes, that's the kind of punch that Thursday is delivering to me with a ruthless power. For some reason I have been travelling down well-traveled corridors of ancient memories and lost loves and women I slept with but who don't sleep with me (or near me) any longer. Why!? This is a question that I can't answer. I did my best to provide a sturdy structure of love to hang my jacket on so that bliss could erupt and flower, like so many erupting flowers in the dew. But, sigh, no, it was not to be. Can somebody explain to me - please - why certain people choose to love you and how certain people get as far away as they can from you? I am beginning to take it personally.

Oh, what a bother. I should probably just let this all go. I mean frankly it's been many a moon since anyone chose to lay their head near me (and no, my 3 nights in County jail are not in this equation) and I find myself wondering 'how come' and also 'why'?. I have many things to give and provide to the table. Where love is concerned I am a waiter with a silver platter and a towlette draped over my arm, bringing juice glasses flowing with palate cleansers and light sparkling wines to a bounty of women but they are all ignoring me, choosing instead to tear into their pork loins and potatoes with a carnivorous and animal-like oblivion. Hey Ladies! Don't forget who is here to serve you! Like you've never gotten served before!!!

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!

See You Next Tuesday!