The Weezer Snuggie, aka: The Wuggie

Filed under amusingly ridiculous marketing tie-ins:

Over a decade after their first album, Weezer is no longer into sweaters.

In which I reflect on what I did from Wednesday, October 28th to Wednesday, November 4th

I feel like hell right now. For nearly a week, I have been running on a continuous high of adrenaline, but now that I've stopped and been still for a bit, the chemical stew has withdrawn and I feel enervated. What is the lesson? If you can help it, don't stop; don't ever fucking stop.

And I would have gone on if that had been a viable option. Unfortunately, at present, my music remains an expensive hobby and not a means for supporting myself. Now and again, the thought occurs to me as to whether or not I really want to turn my passion into a viable career. Consider the number of famous musicians claiming that they hate music - it's no longer art (if ever it was), it's job to them. On the other hand, if one loves what one does and gets paid to do it, then it does not technically qualify as a "job" or "work," correct?

Presently I am not paid to do what I love. I pay to do what I love and I do it all too infrequently. Attempting to become a player in the business of music is much like gambling (or, playing the stock market). It's stupid, risky and more often than not lacking in a big, if any, payout at all. Despite the counterintuitive nature of the exercise of attempted self-promotion, there remains to compulsion to push ahead. Give up? Fuck off!

Nearly two weeks ago, I stood at the threshold of three weeks of paid vacation from my place of employment. It had been a long, hard, rough and bloody road to get to said three weeks and when I woke up on Monday, October 26^th, the sweet smell of freedom hung upon the air which filled my lungs. It was glorious indeed. It also meant that I only had two days remaining in which to prepare for my tour.

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