Job? Who, me?

Me and Tim Rice

Back from an exhausting week in Iowa. It was the best of times, it was the coldest of times, it was the craziest of times. It also made me realize (or come closer to the realization) that I am, in fact, an adult. I had responsibilities that weren't just behind the scenes. Instead, about two thousand people saw my work up close and in person. This alone is terrifying enough, and being recognized as some kind of authority, representing my place of employment, just adds to the fire. I have a job. I am a professional. WTF, mate? I'm no longer a grad student. Well, I am, but not in the same way that I was before. I'm learning about a different kind of politics, a different kind of hierarchy, professionalism, and responsibility. It certainly is new and interesting. Furthermore, I am learning new skill sets including production, wrangling, transportation, and interviewing (not just in the ethnographic way that I'm used to). It was one of the longest weeks that I've had in a long time, but I did enjoy the challenge, even though it kicked my butt from here to Timbuktu. I barely survived a family meltdown, teaching Iowa's children, iceburg lettuce, Buddy Holly fans (that's for another day, another blog), mullets, photography faux pas, and sub-zero temps, among other adventures. I did, however, meet some incredible people. Among my favorite was lyricist Sir Tim Rice, a delightful, goofy, and brilliant man. Then there was Graham Nash, who is every bit the peace-loving ex-hippie you would expect him to be.
















Me and Gordon Waller from Peter and Gordon

And Geezer Butler, bassist for Black Sabbath whose Birmingham accent and phrases were often beyond comprehension but who is the nicest heavy metal vegan I have had the chance to meet. And then just cool people at the Surf Ballroom, some great media guys from random TV, newspaper, and radio companies around the country, and a neat production team. It was, I repeat, utterly exhausting, but good. Whew.















Will and Graham Nash