March 1979, New York, New York: When discussions started turning serious about the real possibility of interviewing Pete Townshend, I began shaking. Exhilaration and trepidation battled for headspace and left me sleepless for three nights. I kept running the scenario through my head of me sitting in a room with the man who had written Who’s Next, which I’d always thought was one of the 10 greatest albums of well, forever. For all I knew, Pete hated the record. But I’d now have the opportunity of asking him firsthand.
I prepared for our meeting. I listened and absorbed and made notes about every lick he’d ever played and every lyric he’d ever rhymed. I knew he was a passionate and deep-thinking individual, and probably wouldn’t suffer fools lightly. Pete was also a devotee of the Indian teachings of Meher Baba. “Baba O’Riley,” the first track on Who’s Next, was an ode to his guru mentor. In order to try and connect with the guitarist on as many levels as possible, I even tried engaging in my own brand of self-affirmation. I really did. Every evening before going to bed, I’d close my eyes, attempt to slow my breathing, and mutter mantra-style, “You’re not an idiot. Don’t worry. You’re not an idiot. Don’t worry.” But it didn’t work. For the next eight hours, tossing and turning in an insomniac’s hell, I heard my sleep-deprived brain mutating the chant into, “You’re an idiot. Worry. You’re an idiot. Worry.” (more…)
The Whomobile was a 1978 Oldsmobile Delta 88 rustbucket my dad purchased in 1984. By the time I got around to driving it in 1985, its roof was covered with Bondo to fill the gaping wounds that allowed water to drain into the passenger seats. One spring day, during the end of my sophomore year, I asked my father if I could paint a flag on the roof of the car. The idea was a whim and I doubted he would agree. To my surprise, he asked which flag.