I was a skinny, goofy ballet dancer raised Catholic in Buffalo, NY. Even though I attended mass regularly, my churches were New World Record and Record Theatre. Playing vinyl in my mother’s studio apartment at Summer Street and Elmwood Avenue was a religious experience, and one of my most creatively formative from childhood. Whether it […]Read More ON VINYL.
Music’s my kryptonite. Performers, audiophiles, composers, and band geeks hold serious power in my universe. A solid mix tape’s been known to blow back my red cape and steam up my glassy heart. My ideal evening with a fellow nerd includes copious amounts of album listening (loudly) and analysis of lyrics, melody, mood, and memories. […]Read More ON MIX TAPES.
The week had been a perfect storm for both Noelle and me. As we’re prone to do when at our collective wits’ end, we gathered at the dinner table with Q; filled our plates with yummy comfort food; put on The Beatles, Deee-Lite, and Dire Straits for singing; and laughed as only three hamalama hambones […]Read More ON THE THERAPEUTIC NATURE OF TEE SHIRTS.
It’s daunting to return to a project after a prolonged hiatus. Over the years, my homecomings to eatingatme have been cloaked in a self-inflicted pressure to create content that elicits a reaction from readers similar to the first time they heard Darth Vader cry, “Luke, I am your father.” I can tell you with certainty […]Read More ON BEING YOUR OWN BEST LOVER…OR ANYTHING ELSE.
The universe enjoys posting prompts at the oddest times and in the quirkiest places to elicit reflection. This morning’s no exception; my inbox and Instagram feed slapped me silly with thought. I’m the consummate late bloomer. My mother took pleasure in reminding me of this (I assume because she knew it’d serve me well, ultimately). […]Read More On Balance.
Hey hey, y’all! How’s your day of rest progressing? I’m doing laundry; I’m that person. Every Sunday, on Facebook (search “Rebecca Emily Michael Gaffney” to be friends with the gal with the world’s longest name) and Instagram, I present a topic and explore what’s eating at you, me, and the global collective around that idea. […]Read More On What’s Eating At You.
My bowl of cherries hasn’t been empty this year, just sour. I took bites anyway; nourishment’s nourishment and I’ll be damned if 2020 starves me of all hope. There’s something about having already battled depression, when the outside world was seemingly sunny, that has made the challenge of battling a depressed outside world doable. 2019 […]Read More On Taking A Bite.
Conspicuous truth has curious timing. (Hi, y’all. It’s good to be back.) While reviewing the first draft of Wanderlings The Zine : Issue Two :: JOYRIDE with the editorial team (of which I’m a member), I quietly pulled focus for a moment. On pages 62 – 63, we ask the reader: Who are you becoming […]Read More On Being.
Ten years ago today, I celebrated the vivacity of my mother among beloved friends and family. Her passing was the launch of a new journey for me, and her salute was a North Star imbedded in my heart for the remainder of my days. One year ago today, a man, with whom I was falling […]Read More On Zero.
Hi, Mom. I currently lack the elegance and poise necessary to begin this correspondence in a manner civilized enough for honoring the 10-year mark of your passing. After a decade of mining, sorting, disinviting, grieving, and rebuilding… I’m fucking tired. But you knew I would be. You always said, “Some things are worth losing sleep […]Read More On Ten Years.