I’ll be forty-two in March, and I like it (I like it). I’d like to live to be eighty-four. If I’m lucky enough to get that far, I hope the second half of my life will be much better than the first half.
I’ve been more successful than I could ever hope for and yet I’m still not satisfied. Once you’ve done things you set out to do, you want to do them again. Then you want to do more. You want to succeed on your own terms. You want to be Sinatra and do it your way. That would be majestic.
“I feel like he took it way more seriously than the audience.”
Someone in the Louisville music scene said that about me back when I still did comedy rap. He said it to my friend, and probably in confidence too. Yet I couldn’t help but take it to mean that no matter how hard I tried, I would still be a joke. Watch out, everybody. Here he comes. Poor guy. He doesn’t know.
GAHHH WHY WOULD MY FRIEND TELL ME THAT? THERE’S PLENTY OF TALKIN’ STUPID SHIT THAT WE DON’T SHARE WITH EACH OTHER! BECAUSE WE HAVE FILTERS! WE AVOID FULL TRANSPARENCY BECAUSE WE DON’T WANT TO HURT EACH OTHER’S FEELINGS! WHO DOES THIS?
But was he right? Did I take it seriously? Too seriously? Why would he say that? Because I made comedy music?
He probably forgot about as soon as he said it. What does that say about me? Get over yourself, Mike.
It wouldn’t have hurt so long if he weren’t more successful than me. He did things I hadn’t done and never will.
I’m a dope from Ohio County. Someone like me should be on American Idol for twenty seconds doing that song from RENT while the judges cringe. “Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. . .”
Any success I’ve ever had is the result of God’s kindness. I was a Wesley Willis disciple who listened to the Beach Boys. Then I did comedy rap. I was in a prog band for thirteen years. I never fit in and I’m not cool. If I wanted to make it, I’ve done all it wrong.
I toured the US and Canada. I took Greyhounds between cities and used a debit card but I did it. I’m amazed that I pulled that off. When I was on that show on Comedy Central, I played my comedy music in a segment. I recorded a lot of songs I wrote with the help of people who believed in me. I take it seriously because it’s my life’s work. So what if a big chunk of it sucked?
If anything, considering what I did. . . maybe it’s everybody else who took themselves seriously. Not saying I didn’t but in a different way.
Now that I think about it, I was mad about that way too long. You got to let old wounds heal. Now I’m just hurt my friend (?) told me that. I don’t need to know when people are talking about me, especially something like that. What the fuck? I’ve been an outsider my whole life. I don’t need to be reminded.
Who gets to decide who the outsiders are, anyway?