There is one anecdote about WVU that I haven’t yet shared: In Chapter 8 I wrote about my trip to California on a Triumph Bonneville, but I didn’t explain what happened back home in my absence.

Although I timed that trip to coincide with spring break, graduate students don’t get spring break off (or vacation of any kind, for that matter). True, there are no classes, but that doesn’t mean the university is closed or the labs are inaccessible. We were still expected to continue our work (or actually accelerate our pace given that we weren’t going to class that week). Nonetheless, I decided to take the week off.

I did not have a particularly amiable relationship with my advisor and chose not to tell him I was leaving town. I just figured I’d do whatever damage control was necessary when I got back.

My roommate and my friends/lab mates joked that they were going to tell my advisor that I really was there and if he was looking for me, they’d say “he was just here a minute ago, you just missed him” or “I think he’s at [a location that you are not]”.

I thought they were just pulling my leg, but when I got back, my roommate told me they HAD actually lied to my advisor all week and he really DIDN’T know I’d been gone.

I’m still not 100% sure they really did this, but I never mentioned it to my advisor and he gave no indication that he knew I’d been gone, so I left well enough alone.

I added the three songs I wrote in 1990 to the website. I’ll try to add more this week. Thanks for your patience.

Waiting Its Turn
Jesus Rides a Harley
Twins

I really enjoyed the Paul Simon and Sting concert last night. I hope you had the chance to see them because the tour is winding down with only five shows left. If you get the chance to see one, you won’t be disappointed.  I didn’t notice any obvious omission from either catalog and the duets worked really well. I wasn’t sure I could accept Sting’s powerful belly-voice as the upper harmony on songs like “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, but it was quite moving. Also noteworthy; Sting did a really beautiful solo version of Paul Simon’s “America”. Paul Simon also appeared to enjoy singing the more jazzy/bluesy material Sting is known for.

Of course, Paul Simon has a well-documented history of experimenting with wide-ranging musical styles (doo-wop, folk, reggae, township jive, blues, jazz, zydeco, samba, etc.) so it’s no surprise he’d willingly ride shotgun on this joyride. Sting never missed a beat and demonstrated considerable versatility on bass and a variety of guitars. The mutual respect they  have for each other was apparent. They both appeared to have a really good time (whether out front or in a supporting role) and,  therefore, so did the audience.

The only caveat; the audience was a little disappointed that there was no extended encore, but after the curtain call, ensemble bow and departure of the bands; Sting and Simon took center stage, shared a single microphone and closed with a beautiful acoustic version of “When Will I Be Loved”.  It was a fitting, genuine tribute to the late Phil Everly.

Now, I’ve been a Paul Simon fan since before I was allowed to touch my father’s vinyl LPs and I know much of the Police catalog from FM radio in the eighties (and the fact that we covered them in our band back then). Though not as familiar with Sting’s solo work, it’s grown on me over the years in a way I hadn’t expected. Then again, it is something of a trend in my personal history to ignore what is current and popular while ‘discovering’ something that most people were listening to ten or fifteen years ago.  I don’t mind being late to the party though. I’ll bring snacks.

The blending of the two very different stage bands worked well too. The transitions were intentionally drawn out so the incoming band could filter in and join the raucous jam like an open-mic at the nightclub of your dreams. These extended jams never seemed too long, but when they did end, there was a well-thought-out flow to the other artist’s material.

Particularly memorable for me was the very faithful rendition of “Still Crazy After All These Years” played on an actual Fender Rhodes Piano (complete with cheesy plastic shell and aluminum trim). It’s been so long since I’ve seen one, I’d begun to think they only existed in my imagination. It was a little bittersweet for me because it made me think of the late Richard Tee who was so closely associated with that piano part.

Well, I’ve written more on this topic than I intended which, I suppose, is a reflection of the positive impact this show had on me. I’ve resolved to add a few new tunes to my repertoire so look for “Hearts and Bones”, “Message in a  Bottle”, “Roxanne” and maybe “Fields of Barley” the next time I see you.

Just finished a little classical piece I tentatively titled “Bach to the Fugueture” and getting ready to go see Sting and Paul Simon tonight in Philly. Happy Friday!

This is a true story and I originally wrote this on Memorial Day 2011, but recently came across it and decided to repost just for fun. I hope you enjoy.

Motorcycling is such a relaxing hobby. I was certain I’d filled Donna’s tank the last time I rode her bike (apparently not). We have a pair of rather nice radios that (normally) allow us to communicate freely while we ride. Unbeknownst to me, my radio was not working and I was enjoying the peace and quiet. Donna, however, was having a quite different experience.

In my own defense, the view one gets from the rearview mirrors of an Italian sport bike is a combination of a realist view of one’s elbows and an impressionist’s view of everything else.

By the time she got my attention, I stopped short, she stopped short, and laid her bike down in a very slow, but awkward manner (my fault). I watched in semi-detached amazement as, like a game fish fighting the hook, her head snapped left, then right before she managed to break free of her radio-wire tether (hey, what use is one radio anyway?).

After assessing there was no major damage to Donna’s bike, we soldiered on (sic). Hot and tired (and in need of fuel), we stopped at the Sheetz in Somerset to fill up and get something cold to drink. After filling and emptying our various tanks, we saddled up for the 20 minute ride to our destination…. My bike won’t start. After a cell call to my friendly Moto Guzzi dealer (in Florida), we diagnosed a fuel pump that wouldn’t.

After speaking with the Asst. Mgr., she agreed to let me display my fire engine red piece of Italian sculpture in a remote corner of the parking lot until I could return with my trailer and retrieve my ailing Italian mistress.

At least we weren’t stranded. We decided we’d saddle up on Donna’s bike (me in front, Donna riding pillion) and head back to Uniontown to get my truck.

I broke my Rx sunglasses trying to fit them into my helmet (no, I did not have a spare pair). Fortunately, my presbyopia is not so severe that I cannot drive without glasses (good news), however, I am prone to migraine-induced blindness if I’m out in bright sunlight for an extended period of time (bad news). The latter condition being akin to, say, a 90 minute ride in a generally southwestern direction on a sunny afternoon.

Picture if you will, 2 rather corpulent middle-aged fogeys crowded onto a rather petit motorcycle buzzing through the Lauryl Highlands on a magnificent Memorial Day. Somehow we failed to enjoy the moment and, instead, dwelled on the irony and discomfort.

After an uncomfortable 90 minute ride back to Uniontown (too fast for her, too slow for me–hey, marriage is about compromise, right?), we arrived back at home.

I mentioned we rode back to get my truck. What I failed to point out was that that was necessary in order to drive the 1 hour up to my parents’ house to retrieve my trailer (in the opposite direction).

I am pleased to report, that (despite my unregistered trailer and the 60 miles on the PA Turnpike) there are few details worth noting for the rest of this adventure.

I arrived back at the Sheetz to find my bike where I left it and unmolested. Loaded it solo and without incident. Drove home without damage to the bike, being pulled over, ticketed, breaking down or running out of gas.

The bike is in the garage until such time as I am willing to speak to her again. I have my feet up in the living room (w/laptop). Donna’s making dinner and life is good.