One of my great passions is music. I have always loved music, despite my limited ability. I played the trumpet as a kid, but didn't stay with it. If only I had seen the coming of disco, and the re-emergence of horn bands, I might have stuck it out. (I hate disco, by the way).
As I have gotten older I realize how much of my feeling about music has actually focused on lyrics, on singer/songwriters, not on what is popular, but on what appeals to me. I have a strong contrarian streak when it comes to music. Recently I posted George Jones' "He Stopped Loving Her Today" on my facebook page, with the note that it is undeniably the greatest song ever written. (OK, I can engage in contrarian hyperbole...it's my blog...) In response my friend Brooke posted that the greatest song was "Night Rider's Lament", an old Jerry Jeff Walker song I happen to have on vinyl. While I'd still argue the merits of the Ol'Possum vs, Jerry Jeff, I had to go back and listen to "Ridin' High"...on vinyl.
The truth is, there is something very comforting about vinyl. The sound is warmer, even with the inevitable crackles and pops, vinyl is analog, and live performance is...analog. Digital music doesn't require us to move, doesn't require us to flip the record over, we never touch our music anymore. I miss that. I know that digital recording removes the imperfections, but the compression also removes the warmth, it moves music from a gritty, snapping, crackling experience to a clean, clinical, almost surgically precise place.
As much as I love music, I have never written about it here. I need to devote some time to my musical interests as well as my other, more esoteric interests. Just to complicate things, here are some of the artists and genres I enjoy:
Tango, Vallenata, Zydeco, Ray LaMontagne, Richard Buckner, John Hiatt, Steve Earle, alt.country, Americana, Alejandro Escovedo, Ryan Adams, Ryan Bingham, Hayes Carll, bagpipe bands, bag-rock, jazz fusion, Robert Earl Keen, Pete Yorn, Buddy Miller, Vigilantes of Love, Steely Dan, Cajun, Drive-By Truckers....did I mention my tastes were eclectic?
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
reasons to be cheerful, part 1
I'm not sure why Ian Drury and the Blockheads skipped to part three, so I'll start at 1.
1. I am feeling very blessed. I am not a religious person, so saying that is a little uncomfortable, but I have to admit that I am feeling more than a little fortunate.
I have a job I like very much.
I feel as though my work is meaningful.
I like and respect the people I work with.
I truly believe that when we do our work well, we make a difference in people's lives.
Last night I spent some time with students who could not articulate what they wanted to pursue, or what their ideal work would look like. This was more than a little dismaying to me. Perhaps I am a bit of a "rose-colored glasses" type, but life is pretty good.
It is hard for me to tell "my story" without being a bit self-conscious. I was trying to describe for these students how I did NOT want to work in a steel mill as my father, uncles, and grandfather had. I worked Summers as a Laborer, Bricklayer's Helper, and Hot Bed Inspector (greatest...job title...ever) and I knew that I could use my head, or use my back.
The work was quintessentially industrial; dirty, dark and dangerous. I almost was burned severely my first Summer when a scaffold I was working on caught fire in the Steelworks. I DID get a mild burn from hot scale while working under the soaking pits in the Blooming Mill. But maybe worst of all, the only reason I was working was for money. My work held no meaning for me beyond payday.
In sharing this with the students, I told them that I felt that my decision to work in higher education was no happy accident. I found an environment where I could; feel good about my work, like and respect my colleagues, and feel as though somehow, what I did made a difference.
1. I am feeling very blessed. I am not a religious person, so saying that is a little uncomfortable, but I have to admit that I am feeling more than a little fortunate.
I have a job I like very much.
I feel as though my work is meaningful.
I like and respect the people I work with.
I truly believe that when we do our work well, we make a difference in people's lives.
Last night I spent some time with students who could not articulate what they wanted to pursue, or what their ideal work would look like. This was more than a little dismaying to me. Perhaps I am a bit of a "rose-colored glasses" type, but life is pretty good.
It is hard for me to tell "my story" without being a bit self-conscious. I was trying to describe for these students how I did NOT want to work in a steel mill as my father, uncles, and grandfather had. I worked Summers as a Laborer, Bricklayer's Helper, and Hot Bed Inspector (greatest...job title...ever) and I knew that I could use my head, or use my back.
The work was quintessentially industrial; dirty, dark and dangerous. I almost was burned severely my first Summer when a scaffold I was working on caught fire in the Steelworks. I DID get a mild burn from hot scale while working under the soaking pits in the Blooming Mill. But maybe worst of all, the only reason I was working was for money. My work held no meaning for me beyond payday.
In sharing this with the students, I told them that I felt that my decision to work in higher education was no happy accident. I found an environment where I could; feel good about my work, like and respect my colleagues, and feel as though somehow, what I did made a difference.
Monday, March 14, 2011
truly mental lint....
One of my great frustrations with myself is my lack of follow through on so many personal projects. My children will regale you with stories of how it took me over 18 months to replace our powder room, or how the desk I started to refinish sits in the basement waiting for further attention. I know I have a tendency to procrastinate on the mundane and unpleasant tasks, why do I avoid finishing things I'd enjoy?
I once owned three accordions...couldn't play a damned one, but I had them. One was actually a concertina which now has a much better home at FLCC's Honors House. One has disappeared, and one I gave to a friend. I never learned to play, passionate as I was about Cajun music and Zydeco.
I now have a practice chanter and "green book" for the day I decide to get serious about bagpiping...
Sometimes I think my procrastinating is a form of self-defense against mortality...I can't die! I have all this stuff to do!
I have always wanted to write something others would read, not a blog or a facebook posting, but a novel or collection of short stories that were meaningful and deep. I have come up with great titles..my first collection of short stories is titled "Personal Ghosts" and will be published to significant praise and media buzz as the "next Ray Carver" is introduced, a "talent unseen since 'What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.'" The subsequent novel is a roman a clef' titled "The Somnambulist" and follows its protagonist on a journey to self discovery and enlightenment. But...
Don't hold your breath.
I once owned three accordions...couldn't play a damned one, but I had them. One was actually a concertina which now has a much better home at FLCC's Honors House. One has disappeared, and one I gave to a friend. I never learned to play, passionate as I was about Cajun music and Zydeco.
I now have a practice chanter and "green book" for the day I decide to get serious about bagpiping...
Sometimes I think my procrastinating is a form of self-defense against mortality...I can't die! I have all this stuff to do!
I have always wanted to write something others would read, not a blog or a facebook posting, but a novel or collection of short stories that were meaningful and deep. I have come up with great titles..my first collection of short stories is titled "Personal Ghosts" and will be published to significant praise and media buzz as the "next Ray Carver" is introduced, a "talent unseen since 'What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.'" The subsequent novel is a roman a clef' titled "The Somnambulist" and follows its protagonist on a journey to self discovery and enlightenment. But...
Don't hold your breath.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
never too late to learn...
For once, I'll write about something that is not drawn from a recent film, although the temptation to write about The Illusionist is very strong. Yesterday I attended a workshop, the content isn't important here, and the greatest "takeaway" I experienced was learning to "listen to understand" instead of "listening to respond." I am currently engaged in graduate study (again) and a lot of my class work is online, posting comments and responding to comments made by others. I am struck by how I read their comments to "respond" to their posting, rather than reading to "understand" their position or perspective.
I am also, as part of my program, receiving "coaching" about my leadership and management style. I got mixed feedback on "listening", "Joe is a good listener" "He hears others out before moving on" and "Joe needs to listen more" "He likes to talk, sometimes at the expense of listening." Now, I have insight to this seemingly contradictory information. How can I change my own style to better "understand?"
I am also, as part of my program, receiving "coaching" about my leadership and management style. I got mixed feedback on "listening", "Joe is a good listener" "He hears others out before moving on" and "Joe needs to listen more" "He likes to talk, sometimes at the expense of listening." Now, I have insight to this seemingly contradictory information. How can I change my own style to better "understand?"
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