On The Inevitability Of Rejection

I’m watching MTV “Cribs” out of the corner of my eye this afternoon at work, and I see Blink-182’s drummer showing off a sick, amazing pad, and, like, a dozen cars in his driveway. I’m like, “Where did he get all that coin? Do Mark and Tom share publishing credit? Have they sold that many records?” And Jennifer, who’s watching with me, whispers, “You have to get signed.”

Ugh. If only.

I’m in a dark zone right now, working way to hard at the day job, spending time entertaining relatives, running around doing real life shit like getting more teeth pulled. But mostly, it’s work. The music thing takes 150%. I’m lucky if — beyond writing songs and strumming my guitar after work — I can make a call and book a show. It’s not really that difficult. It’s just making call after call after call after call. After call. But I’m never by a phone, and the inevitable rejection and apathy of whomever is on the other end is bone crushing.

So this micro-level of success may have to do: shows here and there, sporadic CD sales, a new release every few years, and midnight website updates. Not that I like it this way, it’s just awfully dark, and awfully hot outside.