[Our man JD Mader is either sick or avoiding his bookie. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. Anyway, to keep folks from going into Mader withdrawal, here is one of his early articles for Indies Unlimited. If you haven’t read it, it’s new to you. If you have read it, go ahead and brush up. There may be a test later. – Hise]
Jealousy is a terrible thing. And I was guilty of it for a long, long time. Of course, I still have my moments, but not like before. I have never been jealous with women. I have never wanted someone else’s car, motorcycle, or fishing rod. My problem was being jealous of other people’s successes. I’m not proud to admit it. I’ve had friends get raises, and I really wanted to be happy for them. I’ve watched bands I played with become international superstars…I really, really wanted to just feel glad. Too often, I didn’t. I could care less if someone drives a better car than I do, but when someone succeeds in a professional/creative field I take pride in…man, that ugly green-eyed bastard just shows up. I used to open my New Yorker with trepidation because I knew if anyone I knew got published, I would have to kill myself. The green bastard was in control. Or he used to be. I changed things up on him.