On The Fly

In this episode - When a Guitar Chooses You — And a Musician Steals the Show. Every so often, something nudges you back into the wide-eyed wonder of being a kid again. It feels like it was just yesterday—for me—June 2, 2023—thanks to a guitar shop, a long drive, and one very talented musician. I finally made the pilgrimage to Norman’s Rare Guitars—the mythical land where famous guitarists roam and ordinary folks (like me) try not to look like we’re hyperventilating. I walked in clutching my humble Squier Strat like a kid carrying his lunchbox to the Oscars. Enter Brandon Soriano, encyclopedic guitar wizard and “Spec Check” champion. Within minutes, he had me test-driving Strats like I was choosing a getaway car. Just as I settled on an American Ultra Strat , Michael Lemmo—yes, that Lemmo—walked in, the effortlessly cool host of Guitar of the Day. He plugged in the guitar I was thinking about buying . . . and suddenly I wasn’t thinking anymore. “Stevie Ray? Try this.” “Van Halen? Flic...

In this episode, Why Patience is the Only First-Class Ticket They say travel broadens the mind. After eight days sailing the Rhône with 140 fellow luxury vacationers, I can confirm it also tests patience, calf strength, buffet strategy, and one's tolerance for people furious that France insists on being French. Don't get me wrong—I adored this trip. The river shimmered like liquid optimism. The villages looked hand-painted. The pastries could negotiate world peace. But somewhere between Ship Horn Hello and Bon Voyage, we'd inadvertently boarded a floating behavioral research study disguised as a holiday. Our ship was less a cruise and more a ferry for the Sailors of Status. ⌚ The Wristwatch Wars Some passengers approached relaxation like yogis. Others treated leisure like a final exam with extra credit. I came to believe certain luxury watches emit ultrasonic signals that only their owners can detect. A frequency calibrated to trigger rapid movement toward any line forming...

Up the Rhône by Patrick Ball We booked a fine cruise up the Rhône — what a treat! With iPhones, lanyards, and schedules so neat. They promised us peace and a mind that would mend, But each calm beginning had chores at the end! "Now breakfast at seven! At eight, take the view!" At nine, there's a lecture on ' What Tourists Do!' At noon, there's a tasting (you must love the cheese), Then hurry to nap time — as corporate decrees! I followed that plan till my patience ran dry. The Rhône softly chuckled, "Oh my, oh my, my! You've missed half my sparkles, my ripples, my tone— You're busy pretending you've peacefully grown!" So I fired my planner and banished my clock. I tossed my agenda right off the dock! I let the wind tickle my schedule away, and drifted through hours that danced where they may. I chatted with swans, had no notion of when, I'd nibble, or nap, or go roaming again. No Wi-Fi! No meetings! No planning! No fuss! Just me and ...

✨ In this episode. The Unscheduled Life: When "Not Working " Becomes Your Actual Job L'horloge du café est détraquée, le serveur s'en fiche et moi, j'essaie. Somewhere between the third sip of espresso and the second croissant, it occurs to me: doing nothing is the hardest work of all. The question on the table this morning, as I sip this slightly-too-strong French espresso, is deceptively simple: How does one define "vacation"? The conventional answer—an enduring triumph of corporate minimalism—is: "Not Working." But that tidy phrase immediately opens a philosophical can of worms. When is life working , and when is it not ? If the highest measure of vacation is simply the absence of labor, then most of our existence amounts to a relentless, unpaid internship for a job we never applied for. We've been conditioned to believe that life works when it's maximally efficient, tightly scheduled, and aimed at the shimmering horizon of "...

⚓  In this episode,  The Cure for the Common Clock Good morning, fellow travelers. Thank you for joining me, and welcome to Viviers, France—a place where time politely excuses itself and slips out the back door. If you’re like me, you’ve checked your watch (which you forgot to charge, thanks to the sheer absence of urgency on board) and realized that five entire days have quietly dissolved into the Rhône. And what a beautiful vanishing act it is. Forget those frantic Parisian paces—this is a different kind of life. Here, time isn’t measured in deadlines or métro schedules, but in the perfect temperature of your morning coffee and the slow, stately drift of the riverbank. On a Viking longship, time doesn’t fly; it drifts. There are no clocks, no announcements, no bells. It’s a five-star sensory-deprivation tank—except your stateroom is a masterpiece of space engineering and, miraculously, features the mythical 110-Volt outlet. (Fellow Americans, rejoice: you can charge your pho...

🇫🇷 Lost in Transition: Our Journey to Avignon (Part II) When plans derail, sometimes the story gets better. "Mais attendez… peut-être…" the agent murmured, fingers flying across her keyboard. Lori and I leaned in, holding our breath. She frowned, typed again, then sighed. "With this disruption, all trains have been rerouted—and they're already full." We exchanged glances. Around us, the Gare de Lyon pulsed with energy: travelers clutching tickets, voices echoing, the scent of exasperation drifting through the chaos. It felt like the entire station had been swept into the same storm of confusion. Just then, another, older agent appeared beside us. He spoke in clipped, military French. "Where are you coming from? Did you miss your connection because of the incident—the acte de vandalisme ?" We both began to explain, recounting the wrong station, the Metro dash, the missed train—but before we could start, our first agent leaned close, her eyes wide wit...

🇫🇷 Lost in Transition: Our Journey to Avignon (Part 1) When everything that can go wrong—does—sometimes grace still finds you. Our Monday morning trip began on the quiet island of Noirmoutier , where salt marshes and sea breezes whisper of simpler days. From there, our early morning drive was uneventful; we arrived at the Nantes station with plenty of time to spare. From Nantes to Paris Montparnasse, everything went smoothly—so we thought, until it didn't. That's when things started to unravel. If you've never traveled the Paris Metro , imagine a vast underground maze pulsing beneath the city—corridors twisting into one another, trains roaring in and out of the dark, staircases that rise and fall like riddles. It's efficient, yes—but only if you know where you're going. We had over an hour and a half to make our next train to Avignon —plenty of time. Or so we believed. We needed to reach the Gare de Lyon station, where our TGV (high-speed train) was headed south...