Ai Weiwei, farm subsidies and a healthy man crush.

Hot doggie - dang glad to reflect upon the fortuitous timing of my recent Eastern Standard swing. In contrast, Seattle's facing full on June-uary as of now. Whatever the upcoming forecast, I feel the need to sweat out a few stories so I might re-hydrate and move on.

•  The Chinese government just cannot stop messing with Ai Weiwei. I still haven't seen the documentary about his struggles that has been making the art-house rounds ("Never Sorry"). His story unfolds in totally depressing ways almost daily. The tax evasion case the government is using to flummox and shut him down artistically keeps moving forward. I mention this as a not so friendly reminder of how artists of all stripes in China are struggling to freely express themselves. Total drag.
• In other news that far too few people notice, the Senate just passed the Farm Bill's mandated renewal to the tune of $1-Trillion-with-a-T over the next decade. To start digging into what's there is to borrow the shovel from Hercules and step onto the threshold of the Augean Stables. Everyone gloms questionable junk onto this sort of omnibus bill (Harry Reid had to massively compromise the amendments down to just 73). I imagine that even the wonkiest beltway tools glaze over when this debate gets ranging everywhere from sugar beet subsidies to aid to Pakistan and all sorts of questionable places in between. This collective absurdity now heads to the House for them to do their business all over. Believe it or not, I find plenty in all the Farm Bill stimulating. Some people get their kicks from 50 Shades of Grey and the sequels. Are my kinks any dirtier? Don't answer that.
• I can't believe I'm saying the following without electrodes being threateningly attached to some unmentionable part of my body. Here goes...congrats to the Miami Heat for winning the NBA Championship. If they'd faced any team other than the one stolen from Seattle, I'd be on the other side of that victory parade. But until my secret man-crush Chris Hansen (no, not the creepy "To Catch a Predator" host, I'm talking about the previously anonymous hedge-fund brainiac) gets Seattle's elected curmudgeons to sign off on a dual-use stadium for our dreamed of new NBA and NHL franchises (stolen from cities to be named later...apologies in advance, America), the only team I consistently cheer for is the one playing against Clay Bennett's OKC Thunder. Way to go, Heat-meisters. Now knock it off.

With that said, let the summer begin. Keep cool out there, Campers.

Serving up a small slice of New York on the way back to Seattle

Ticking off the things I was surprised by over the past few weeks on the road would take quite a while. And even though my flight to get home to Seattle is long enough to justly explain almost any subject, I'm going to keep it relatively simple. There were some things I really did enjoy. In some cases repeatedly. So in no particular order, here's a few things I'd do again if I were heading back to New York City tomorrow.

• Everyone knows of Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. But if your ancestors arrived between 1855 and 1890, chances are they came through the Castle Clinton National Monument (or Castle Garden, back in the day) complex in Battery Park. There's a big renovation under way. But combined with an under construction view of the Freedom Tower, it's well worth a trip to the far tip of Downtown. Seeing the crowds of construction workers milling about early in the morning outside the WTC site - smoking, joking, being total doods - was a slice of real street life that I will speak of fondly for some time to come.
• I've got a sentimental connection to Ulysses S. Grant's Tomb in Riverside Park, all the way up to 120th Street on the West Side. If you run through Central Park and want to tack on a few extra miles, head west at the north end (which is basically 110th). I'm a sucker for places in the City where you're not overwhelmed constantly. This is one of those rare places. Early mornings, especially.
• I enjoyed the benefit of catching up with a friend from way back who lives in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn. He showed me all around and back to his place on Broadway - where the Hasidic men act they can't even hear M line train clamoring along on an elevated track all the way to and across the Williamsburg Bridge back into Manhattan. I'd started my day in Brooklyn over in Park Slope. Don't get me wrong - it's awesome over there. Totally different vibe, though. What sounds like a constantly evolving landscape in Williamsburg is fascinating to hear about from someone who lives there, who knows it from seriously deep in the mix. If you go, find Marlow & Sons. Sample at least a dozen oysters. We also had a duck pate` plate that came out looking like a big ol' scoop of ice cream. Mmmm...liver ice cream (drool).
• Back in Manhattan, stop to light a candle in St Patrick's Cathedral on 5th Avenue. Donate a buck or two. Then go use the bathrooms in Trump Tower. Do not spend a dollar on anything Trump-y. But say a prayer in both places. Preferably not the same one.
• The still new-ish High Line Park is simply gorgeous. Basic logistics for those unaware - the elevated rail line used for the manufacturing areas of lower Manhattan was turned into a park starting back in 2002 instead of being torn down. It's totally unique and draws your attention to the art and funky architecture and all sorts of stuff to see in the neighborhood. Which is basically Chelsea - a place so hip you want to pull the whole neighborhood down a dark alley and punch it in the face. But that alley would probably smell like a herb garden and be lit with really intriguing dangling light fixtures, so don't bother. Just walk the High Line, preferably near sundown.
• Even though I didn't need to stay there, I will admit to getting totally sucked into the newly developed little block o' Great Northwestern biznesses (or ones with the vibe we create in our cities out yonder). I'm speaking of the stretch along 30th, between Broadway and Fifth Avenue. The Ace Hotel, Stumptown Coffee and The Breslin Cafe - all stylish, friendly and good at what they do. I was one of the innumerable folks waiting in that ridiculous line for Stumptown's coffee bar, I had the most delicious light breakfast one day at Breslin's when I just couldn't take a twenty coffee order deep line, and I repeatedly used the tables in the lobby. What can I say - I was spending a lot of time in the bordering garment district. If you're over there, just go and see what I mean.

I've skipped over huge chunks of a few weeks worth of traveling. Maybe I'll hit some of those highlights. Or just fold all that knowledge gained into what I put forth in the months ahead. The main point being that I'm finally headed home. This "on the road" stuff will soon be in the past tense. At least until my next trip(s) later this summer.

"ARRR books be good..."

Yesterday I attended the final day of Book Expo America. It was my first time there - I was a total BEA virgin. To get in I'd registered as a "blogger". So my sense of truth in self-advertising leads me to put up a post about it. For those who don't know, BEA's the hugest American tradeshow for the publishing industry. Imagine packs of librarians milling about, sheepishly approaching often stylish booths filled with generally friendly publishing folks to ask for free books ("galleys" or "advance review copies" of new releases, in paperback form even those many of those books will be coming out soon in hardcover). But once these attendees get the hang of it, man, they load up those NPR and Whole Foods totebags like vegans at a farmer's market. It's actually much broader and more interesting than that. Lots of authors mix in through the schedule - signing free copies of their books with the understanding that an ounce of promotion here probably leads to many more sales eventually. The authors run the gamut. Embarrassments like Kirstie Alley get too much attention. Except when you try to take photos like I did - getting shuffled away by security seems especially out of place and downright lame there. I loved seeing Dan Rather. For 80-years-old, Dan the actual man's a tribute to tough west Texas breedin'. Jim Kelly (the former Buffalo Bills quarterback) turned out to provide an entirely fun interaction. I told him about the awesome biker bar I stayed at two nights ago outside Buffalo "with loads of Bills stuff in the apartment upstairs". To his absolute credit, Jim wanted to know who and where (Whiskey Hill Saloon in Cassadaga, NY). When he confessed that he didn't know that particular biker bar, I told him that he simply must pull off the NY Thruway at Dunkirk (exit 59) to check it out. I'd bet y'all a Romney he'll head that way at some point. And there were others. Steve Rinella was a relaxed and engaging guy in what can surely often be a monotonous situation. We had the benefit of having some rather serious things in common and he even offered up some source suggestions. Is that the norm at BEA? I have no idea, but I doubt it. Still if you walk through the doors ready to chat it up, some rather interesting results can shake out. Weirdness, too. Like the L. Ron Hubbard drone who approached me from their overpriced booth - featuring costumed pirates for posed pictures with willing skallywags. I suspect I will never forget the vaguely sweet but tortured "please save me" emptiness in her eyes. I can only imagine the weight of unseen, unknowable "education" bearing down on her from her overlords. And I'm not talking about the BEA staff. They seemed quite nice, actually.

Regardless, I was glad to take my galleys and head on down the road after that one day intro. I suspect the time will come when I head back. Willingly, once more. Anyone who works or wants to work as a writer should do so at least once, in my opinion. Jim Kelly signing or not.

Snaps for Canada. And Cassadaga.

I've spent the past 8 days traveling through Ontario, Quebec and New York State. I'm happy to say that the harvest of stories from sources proved way beyond worth the trip. So I'm heading toward the airport to continue on for another week away from my family back home in Seattle. First, I'll offer this. It's easy when playing my hand so close to the vest to lapse into generalities. But to protect the value of what capturing for the book I'm writing, generalities will have to do for right now. Here's a fattie - I dig Canada. I know I've been rarely but indeed guilty of that tired American cliche` where we make fun of what we know of them - acting like an oafish bully joking about the obvious when confronted with that soft-spoken, unassuming bloke. Now I plan to embark upon an unofficial pro-Canada campaign. Speaking as a nonetheless proud American, I think much of the problem is we just don't know what's gone on or is going on up here. When I got back into Toronto last night after a few days in New York State, I felt sincere pleasure in the returning to a place I barely know. Yet. I merrily got up this morning after only a few hours sleep at the prospect of one last run along the downtown Waterfront. Beyond Toronto, the history I saw thanks to intended stops in Kingston, Ottawa and Montreal offered just a taste of how much is and always was bubbling up here.  Now that's not to say that I didn't get entirely jazzed by the many hundreds of miles of a side trip I took between the border crossing at Plattsburgh, NY through all the way to the Peace Bridge outside Buffalo. Along that route I drank deeply from the sights offered by the Adirondacks (not the best day for vistas, but Highways 28 and 30 rawk). I spent a night in Lake Placid - its just-shy-of-tacky pridefulness and the fact almost every worker appears to be in world-beating shape are just two footnotes to a larger awesomeness. However, if there was a quiz about what was my far-and-beyond favorite stop, I'd tag as this trip's tip top stop the area in and around the teeny town of Cassadaga in Chautauqua County (in far western New York bordering that little notchy part of Pennsylvania along Lake Erie). I spent just one night there, above the Whiskey Hill Saloon. Long story. Totally worth it, though. It's situated at the one stop light in town. There's rich history all over the area. And I went there with a reason. I'll hold back that card, because it's an especially good one which I can't wait to play someday. If you're a Spiritualist  on the way to catch up with a dead pet or Houdini seeking out the mediums in the area (or maybe you're a documentary filmmaker working on a sequel for HBO), stop in at Whiskey Hill Saloon - get the "garbage wings", ask about the "lodging" and tell the owner, Kim, that I sent you. 

And so onto New York City, with a briefcase full of notes and quotes and readiness to roll on, totes magotes. But not before telling Canada and Cassadaga the equivalent of "I love you, man."

Taking a measure of Toronto, before new road work.

I've spent the last few days in Toronto, cruising through a heavy schedule of interviews with sources both old and new. And the writing fills in most of what's left around that. So my time trolling this largest of all Canadian cities hasn't been as leisurely as I'd hoped. I still get out for runs in the morning - opting for along the waterfront of Lake Ontario and through the large-ish and beautiful-ish urban oasis that is High Park. My downtown exploration thus has been limited to the so-called "Mink Mile" along Bloor Street (high end designer stores anchored by the massive Holt Renfrew where employees seemingly wouldn't even look up from their folding if you were engulfed in flames). I went searching for the ghost of Harold Innis at the University of Toronto. I ventured out to what had been a small town (Richmond Hill) in search of a hidden homestead from the mid-19th Century. Not much to find there, now that the "town" has grown into a city of 188,000 hockey fans. Truth be told, my location specific jaunt up to Richmond Hill ended at a mixed-use sports complex from which I can only report that club soccer and league softball also suck to watch on this side of the border unless you're out on the field. I'll do one more day here - with neighborhood exploration plans and some creative thoughts about where the links to what I'm researching might lie. Tomorrow I head toward Ottawa and Montreal, with stops planned in both. More time on the road after that. Which I welcome. I'm a lover of cities and Toronto could supply a varied diet of urban delights for quite a while. But I'm trying to think about how to connect what I've seen here in terms of book-related content with stories from some pretty distant, yet still related, places. For that sort of thing, hours on the highway - or preferably the winding roads cut from the same cloth as those romanticized recently in the NYTimes - means time to process bigger thoughts. Plus no matter what I encounter along the road it can't suck nearly as much as Toronto's summertime highway construction. If there is a hell, the passage in and out is managed by the same people organizing the closure schedules for the highways around this otherwise mannerly city.

Being surprised by what Bo knows

It didn't take long for "Girls" to capture the love I'd previously bet on "Luck". They're entirely different shows, and the confused exuberance of "Girls" has the legs for the long run that "Luck" probably never would have mustered. Even if the racehorse controversies hadn't befallen the latter. I don't think I'm alone in keeping an eye out for more of the story on the takedown of "Luck" - some tragic horse deaths led to protests and, eventually, to questionable claims of credit for shutting the show down. In what I thought was one of those related stories, Saturday's NYTimes had an interesting Q and A with none other than Bo Derek. I'd previously read about Derek's animal advocacy. Some of it was pretty flaky. Yet what I saw here impressed the hell out of me. Her thoughtful, pragmatic responses about racing oversight (she serves on the California Horse Racing Board) get buried a bit. Mainly because lots of people are focused on a portrait she shot for this month's "Vanity Fair" of Chantal Sutherland. Derek shot Sutherland as a very racy Lady Godiva. That might be enough to merit a mention. But the accompanying text for "VF" that Bo wrote is good. Really good. So much so that I forgot all about the "Luck" pivot point that got me into this. Check out Bo's work - behind the camera, not in front of it. It caused me to check my snarkiness without uttering even one mention of her movie career. Well...maybe just one..."Bolero"

Bookin' and pickin', the way a good "blogger" should.

The act of joining a crowd of thousands at the tail end of a pilgrimage seldom produces an obvious path to enlightenment. But that's exactly what I'm doing in early June when I dive into the receding tide of this year's Book Expo America (BEA - named in honor of Bea Arthur...at least that's what I'm telling people). So even though I've been advised it can be an endless swarm of people with no particular utility, I'm all in. Woo. Hoo. I also mention it here to bolster my registration as an official "book blogger" - a job I've taken very seriously (wink, wink) for a very long time. To prove my bona fides, I'll even add in a few recent thoughts as a consumer of bookish products. Or is it book-y? Hard to decide - such is the richness of language-ing.

1. As someone who spends what most people consider a sick amount of time out running, I've graduated from podcasts to audio books. Less annoyance, more substance. At least that's occasionally so. Case in point - Stephen Greenblatt's The Swerve is a deep pool of awesome road fodder. I'm about a long run and a cool down away from a full review. Greenblatt's book deservedly won last year's Pulitzer and National Book Award for non-fiction. Plus he's repped by my literary agency. All very good things. In whatever form, The Swerve moves along smartly and with real purpose.
2. The novel I desperately need to find a few hours to sit down and finish (in old-timey, dead-tree form) is Kevin Barry's City of Bohane. Irvine Welsh (who will never do anything better than Trainspotting, nor does he need to) gave him a front cover blurb - that and Pete Hamill's review in the NYTimes Book Review caught my eye. But once I dipped into it myself, Barry's melodic, mashed-up, bleak-future Irish brogue got all up inside my brain and turned things a wee bit off kilter. In a good way. Bohane dances a fast and brutal jig, while Barry writes like a house and barn and the surrounding grassy hills on fire. I give this book huge conversational props. It may even be great. I'll let you know when I'm through.

I could go on. Us "book bloggers" so often do. Maybe later.

Not even a MILF or a scissors-wielding Mitt tops the snap on this lid.

Just sticking my head through the blogversational door for a few brief comments before heading back down to the salt mines. I'm surely not alone in seeing loads of stories worth earnestly discussing. Even with the current distracting titillation offered by stories on prep school bullying and being way too attached to certain parents. Amidst all that you've probably missed that the U.S. Postal Service threw a bone to rural America by deciding to keep a ton of small offices open a few hours a day for at least a few years. The deal likely will come to stink. But at least huge swaths of America can still make the trip into town to pick up and/or mail their manifestos. In even easier to miss news, the Labor Department has backed away from the overstated tempest in a teapot some feared might prevent farm families from hiring their own bairns. Or is it utes? Depends on the holler from which you hail, I reckon. As of now, this just means lots less job searching for farm kids throughout small town America. I can feel the collective disappointment for a subset of America's youth who lament never getting their shot at bagging your groceries. Takes one to know one, if you catch my drift. Finally, a totally missed case with an engrossing narrative effectively came to an end in Iowa yesterday when a last jailed defendant was paroled from prison. To mark that fact, not a single news story was filed, even though the parolee made the front page of the "Washington Post" two months ago. I'd link you somewhere worth going, but this case turned into Gertrude Stein's Oakland, if you know what I mean. Rest assured, I won't keep you hanging forever on that note.

In non-newsy news for a totally different reason (since I've not yet mentioned it), I'm about waist-deep into planning my next roadtrip. And it's a humdinger. This time I'm looking at two weeks and change spent traveling through densely-populated - and way in the middle of nothing - parts of Canada and the northeastern urban corridor of these United States. Mix in a little rural New York State and you've got me on the road from just after Memorial Day through mid-June. By then I plan to have some new tools up and running for everyone to keep tabs on the work in progress. Maybe more definite show to go with the rarely clear tell. However it's construed, check back. Please. And, thank y'all for doing so.

Science update - peas feeling pain, ferrets don't like treadmills.

The NYTimes' "Sunday Review" has always offered a weekly cocktail party primer for time-strapped folks looking to veer in unexpected directions. Very much along those lines this week was the article "If Peas Can Talk, Should We Eat Them?" Where else can you get a "neurobotany" poke in the ol' brainpan? As a result, I've got my next opener for a back-and-forth with chatty vegans. You might also find it fascinating, if you've ever wondered if vegetables might lean toward being a less-than-willing part of our food chain.

I also noticed some popular press repackaging of a scientific paper I never would have expected. Both the NYTimes (in Gretchen Reynolds' "Phys Ed" column in yesterday's "Science Times") and "The Economist" got all clever with a study focused upon running and the evolving human taste for "endocannabinoids" (science speak for that runner's buzz, oddly akin to what you'd get from toking up). Aside from the obvious switch flipped by the running angle ("Hi, my name is Eric, and I'm an addict..."), the choice of research animals for that study caught my eye. Ferrets. They put goshdarn ferrets on a treadmill - unsuccessfully, believe it or not. Aside from the mind's eye comic payoff, it was one of the few recent examples I've seen of weasels being used in research. Both takes are very much worth a looksie, especially if you get out there running and often wonder why.

Moving on from bronzed pigs to mad cows

My week of playing tour guide turned out to be a complete delight. Don't tell anyone, but Seattle's most visited sights are still "walk right on" empty when April hasn't yet morphed into the proper touristy months. So all the way from the top of the Space Needle through the depths of the old MOHAI and the soon-to-be filled space wing of The Museum of Flight (those last two are personal faves) - we seemingly had the run of the City. Amidst all that free and/or easy access, I tried to keep my eye on more than a few stories of direct interest to my larger narrative. Such as another case of "mad cow disease" turning up at a truly Orwellian-sounding rendering plant in California. Or how 'bout the U.S. Senate punting on a fix for the Postal Service, leaving the House to possibly play the baddie and shutter vast swaths of this Constitutionally-mandated system? Yup - those both indeed happened. My personal near-term connection to "mad cow" research (its origins and importance) comes from a series of conversations I had at Washington State University while on the road the week before last. Which seems like months ago. Plus the whole U.S. snail mail conundrum fascinates me - how can we rescue and re-purpose a system so essential for an ever shrinking and yet evolving minority? I can think of no other debate on the nation's plate right now that better captures an "urban vs. rural" political dichotomy.

If you share some small measure of the interest in these or other salient issues, check back. I'll surely still be here, from time to time. Not standing near Rachel the Pig @ Pike Place Market - that was last week.