A Girl After Our Own Heart (She’s So Getting a Book Deal Out of This) – You’re following the really good staffer/blogger-in-a-DC-legislator’s-office-gets-fired story, right?
I’ve never been a huge believer in Jack White and the White Stripes. I always thought there was too much schtick, despite the talent. But wow, that Jack White is an amazing producer. Listen to what he’s done with Lorretta Lynn on Van Lear Rose. He’s taken a cue from from Rick Rubin, plugged her in, and saved one of America’s lost treasures. Her singing and writing are put front and center, pretty (“Miss Being Mrs. Tonight”) and honest and proud (“The Story of my Life”) and yes, happy. She’s not drowning under the weight of lazy Nashville studio cheese played by wired studio sleazes, bored waiting for Glen Campell to come back with the eight ball. The band is great, rough, ragged and ready to put the pedal in pedal steel, whoever they are. It’s scary at times, (“Mad Mrs Leroy Brown”) like the blues and old country are supposed to be because of the real energy and the wild side tha’s underneath all the best rock and roll when you strip away the studio crap. It’s a straight rush of pure, pure talent, right up from the holler and you’re right there. All thanks Jack White. Remind yourself how it should be done and welcome Lorretta Lynn back. But, she never really went away, did she.
Interesting realization today, driving home from work after 11 hours, trying to get through traffic, late again: I might be stuck in the 50’s. With some new responsibilities at work, it’s getting tougher to get everything done in a 9 hour day and I’ll be working later than I used to (while still working earlier, stretching the day on both ends). She’s trying to be patient with it, but it always seems like we’ve got mismatched expectations for “work” side of the “work/life” balance and I’m the one that needs to recalibrate the scale. I guess, in my Ward Cleaver mode, I always had it figured that working hard meant sometimes working late and working hard was desirable but it’s clear, after a couple years, that’s not the case. So, I’ll never get a “pass” from Andrea for working late. In her mind, working late does not equal working hard and working late is always working too much. It makes sense to me now, finally, that I’ll always have to explain my hours, always have to come home with my hat in my hand, never get the pipe-and-slippers treatment, always be ready to apologize. I’ll get used to it.
The Invisible Adjunct outlines some of the trials of academia that led me to leave grad school before getting my PhD. I’m better off for it and so are the students who were lucky enough to avoid me teaching them.