A Letter to My Toddler Daughter on the Eve of the Presidential Inauguration

The morning of November 8—election day—my wife and I and our one-year-old daughter eagerly wore our Hillary for President shirts. The H-with-an-arrow logo seemed to embody our daughter’s nimble, energetic, hopeful spirit. We even had a t-shirt for her teddy bear, and as she hugged it, she flashed a gap-toothed, triumphal smile.

I thought about the letter to my daughter that I’d recently begun. I was going to finish up that night, when Hillary Rodham Clinton was elected our first female president. I was going to talk about strong women. Sojurner Truth. Susan B. Anthony. Fanny Lou Hamer. Thanks to all their hard work all of us alive today have more opportunities, and though there’s more—way, way more—to be done, the future’s bright.

And the election results came.

Platitudes drained away. Words failed. The document with my notes stayed untouched for days, weeks, months. I didn't know how to say something that didn’t devolve into swearing and bitterness. I’ve never felt such writers’ block, or such a mental block, period.

On the cusp of inauguration, I’m still trying to make sense of it all, but I also understand that I can’t just sit here processing. And this, I’ve finally realized, is what I want to say to my daughter:

* * * 

Dear M,

The stories you know end “Happily Ever After,” and what a joy that is. In real life, it’s possible, achievable. Savor that hope, that vision for the future. Never let it go.

But the truth is, my love, things do not always work out, despite our best efforts, our best intentions, our dearest wishes. Saying this out loud feels like both a breach of the parental contract to soothe and comfort, and also a fulfillment of parental obligation to prepare you for the world.

The lives we lead do not always follow a tidy, predictable, cheery narrative arc. The monsters and villains and bullies—people who brag about assaulting women, say things that even their friends agree are racist, use power to line their own pockets, take pleasure in belittling and causing physical harm to other people—sometimes win, even when we stand up to them.

In a better world, this would not be so. In a better world, the long arc of history really would bend toward justice. I’m still enough of an optimist to think that maybe, in the longest of long terms, that’s where it’s heading. But in the meantime, it sure takes a lot of detours toward turmoil.

Nothing is promised.

Yet nothing is impossible, either. And there’s not even a chance for a better world unless you work for it.

So do that.

Work for the core values of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for everyone, even when it feels inconvenient or awkward for you. For racial and economic justice. For the health and well-being of your community. For gender equality, for clean air, for safe streets. For a better world, as wishy-washy and naïve as that may sometimes feel.

Climate change is real; black lives matter; immigrants make our communities immeasurably better; a free press and voting rights are essential to a functioning democracy--these are all truths that I feel obligated to write down for posterity, because in our topsy-turvy moment, too many people are denying them.

Know that you are never alone, in the dark moments of despair or in your forward-looking efforts to be the change. Build your community—and work to expand it. Be kind and compassionate, even to those who seem odd or with whom you disagree. Put yourself in their shoes, listen to their arguments, dig deeper to understand both the facts in question and the common ground of opinions.

Seek truth, knowing that it can be subjective, but having zero tolerance for those who try to twist it. Strive to make the world a better place for everyone, not just yourself.

Let me repeat that: Strive to make the world a better place. For everyone. Not just yourself.

It’s not always easy or fun. It doesn’t always help you get ahead. But it’s the right thing to do, the only way for us all to get ahead together.

Finally, understand the limits of all of this. Sometimes you will need to take care of yourself and curl up in a blanket and hide from the world. These moments are human and necessary.

Other times, you will sometimes run out of empathy and listening. Sometimes fighting for what’s right requires you to be belligerent, to stand your ground, to give no quarter, to tell people, “You’re wrong, back off.” That is sometimes the appropriate response. Be confident and independent and trust yourself.

Moving forward is a struggle—sometimes awkward and stumbling. But the fight’s the thing.

And know that I’m always rooting for you, with all my love and admiration.

Love,

Dad

Je Suis GLBTQ

I woke up on Sunday and heard the news and held my baby daughter close as I wept and apologized for this world, this world, this messed-up world. Forty-nine people killed by a hate-filled man armed with a military-grade weapon "designed for slaughter in war zones."

Throughout the day, politicians tweeted out their "thoughts and prayers for the victims," and we had yet more national flash-debates about terrorism and religious extremism and gun control. There's been plenty said about all of that, and I don't have anything intelligent to add right now (although I need to say: No one needs a fucking AR-15 and they should be banned tomorrow).

But one thing that struck me was the characterization of who, exactly, was "under attack."

I heard Orlando was under attack. I heard America was under attack.

No. This wasn't about a particular place but a particular identity: the people at Pulse were targeted because they were gay. The GLBTQ community, specifically, is what was under attack. They were murdered because of who they love. We need to say it. Say it loud. Say it with agony: 49 PEOPLE KILLED IN GAY NIGHTCLUB BY HOMOPHOBIC GUNMAN WHO WANTED TO KILL GAY PEOPLE.

Yes, the President said it; Hillary Clinton said it; I saw plenty of people on social media saying it. But still, not enough people said it. The message didn't seem to resonate.

As far as I can tell, every well-known Republican politician sent out cut-and-paste prayers for the people killed. They dug deep into the gunman's past and religion, but never once noted that he was killing people for being gay; in the process, they tacitly denied the essential fact that the root cause of this heinous act was not a specific religion but a deep homophobia. And they certainly didn't say that homophobia is all too common across the religious spectrum in this nation, and all too deadly--this is part of a broader history in this nation of attacks on GLBTQ people. (See also: The guy who was planning to attack the LA Pride Parade this weekend. Trans people or people suspected of being trans attacked in bathrooms. The bombing of the UpStairs Lounge.)

Here is what I want to say.

You can't eradicate a sickness until you identify what it is and what it's doing. When you talk about solidarity, know exactly who needs your solidarity. Don't say you stand with Orlando. Say you stand with the GLBTQ community.

If that makes you feel weird, remember how you added a French flag to your Facebook avatar after the Paris attacks last autumn, because even though you're not French, you wanted to express solidarity with a community under siege. Remember how you proclaimed "Je Suis Charlie" after the Charlie Hebdo murders, even though you're not a cartoonist--but you support free speech (even if it makes you kind of uncomfortable) and it's important to show your support for anyone targeted in such a way.

It's pretty basic. All I'm asking is the same thing here. Specific, outward solidarity and empathy with the community under attack. Je Suis GLBTQ. Support the idea that people should be allowed to love whoever they love (even if it makes you kind of uncomfortable). There's a lot more that we need to do to combat homophobia and support the GLBTQ community--here are some resources--but as a baseline, the absolute least we can and must do, is call out hatred when we see it.

I ended Sunday as I began: holding my daughter, weeping. Not just for the dead but for the living--particularly those who have the loudest, most powerful voices--who can't summon the basic decency to identify homophobia as a menace and to push back against it.

If they won't even mumble it, the rest of us need to shout it from the rooftops. I stand with the GLBTQ community--friends and family and strangers. I support you and love you just as you are, and I'm gonna keep fighting for your rights.

(Oh, and I'm closing the comments because I don't have the energy to moderate.)

What to Pack For a North Pole Expedition, 100 Years Ago

Most travel experts recommend packing light, but some people cannot or will not follow this advice.

In the annals of extreme over-packers, you have two categories: Dandies and Badasses. Those who are perpetually ready to host the Queen and her entourage in their hotel rooms, and those who are, with no delusion, preparing to fight polar bears.

In the Dandy category is Temple Fielding, a prominent travel guidebook writer in the 1950s and 1960s (the man made the cover of Time, such was his fame). A long, long time (okay, five years) ago, I posted his packing list:

In [a large raffia basket] Fielding keeps a bottle of maraschino cherries, a bottle of Angostura biters, a portable Philips three-speed record-player, five records (four of mood music and "one Sinatra always"), a leather-covered RCA transistor radio, an old half-pint Heublein bottle full of vermouth, and a large nickel thermos with a wide mouth.

That's only the beginning. There are also thirty-five handkerchiefs, sealskin slippers, a yodeling alarm clock, and so much more. For years, I've considered this the Holy Grail of Packing Lists.

Until today, when I found a small article from 1917 about Arctic explorer and real-deal Badass Roald Amundsen's provisions for his expedition to the Northeast Passage.

Amundsen was planning to be gone for six years, in one of the least-known and most foreboding corners of the planet, and evidently operated on the principle that if was going to endure that, well, he was going to require certain luxuries.

Namely, he and his crew needed their candy. Six hundred pounds of it.

Also two tons of coffee and two tons of sugar.

Here's the full list, from the Princeton (Minnesota) Union on January 25, 1917:

The expedition lasted from 1918 to 1920--not six years, but it was no less epic (a word I do not use lightly) for the shorter duration. The ship was stuck in the ice for two winters and Amundsen really was attacked by a polar bear. I imagine him stumbling back to the ship after that close encounter, bloody and bewildered, and opening up his candy stash and just shoveling it in his mouth, presumably with a large whisky chaser.

--
You can see the full newspaper page via the "Chronicling America" database operated by the Library of Congress. The big story on the left is what I was actually trying to find, before this story caught my eye. Also note the intriguing headline to just below Amundsen's packing list!

#AWP15: A Minneapolis Guide From an Actual Local

Hello there, Literary People. Welcome to Minneapolis.

You may be wondering: Will I meet Prince? Will I have to get around via sled dog? Do all the local restaurants serve Jell-O or just most of them? Will I spot Prince riding a dogsled and eating purple Jell-O and maybe some raspberry sorbet (pun!)? Because that's totally an essay I want to write for The Awl.

Well. I’m Doug. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I have answers and guidance for you. 

(Also, while I have your attention, please come to a reading that I’m doing, along with eight other travel writers, at a bar called Honey on Saturday at 4pm. More details below.)

General Things to Keep in Mind

• The weather's gonna change in five minutes. The forecast calls for temps ranging from the upper 20s to the mid-70s so . . . yeah, that’s how it goes. Welcome. Be prepared for anything.
• Minnesotans are friendly, so don’t hesitate to ask anyone for directions and such.
• We’re also not yokels and though we can joke about eating Jell-O and living in igloos, we'd rather you didn't make Flyover Country quips or, worse, express astonishment that there's diversity and culture and even ONE OF THE BEST MODERN ART MUSEUMS IN THE WORLD OUT HERE IN THE HINTERLANDS, WOW! Seriously, if anyone says anything like that, I swear to God we'll . . . scowl imperceptibly as we give you directions and welcome you to our city and tell you about last night's hockey game. 
• We're also quite passive-aggressive. 
• The best way to see the city is on a bike. (See "Getting Around," below.)
• Know the key phrases:
• Saint Paul is, to hear most Minneapolitans describe it, a mythical land at the edge of the known universe, rumored to hold such enchantments as the state capitol, professional hockey, and unicorns. I can verify that, in fact, Saint Paul is both real and wonderful. You should take the time to head east and explore Minneapolis's twin city (see "Other Things to See and Do). 
• Nicollet Mall is the main downtown eating/shopping street, near the Convention Center. Say it the local, definitely-not-French way: "NICK-o-lit" or "NICK-uh-lit."
• A Jucy (or Juicy) Lucy is the local contribution to the culinary universe. Basically, a cheeseburger with the cheese inside. Do eat one, even if you're a hard-core granola-and-sprouts type. They're greasy manna. Don't make the rookie mistake of biting into it immediately after it arrives, unless you want third-degree burns on your tongue. Wait a minute. 
• Nordeast is the area just across the river from downtown Minneapolis. 
• Uptown is actually south of downtown by a few miles. I know, New Yorkers. Hush. 
• The River is the Mississippi. It's a great place to go and brood and calm your neurotic, bookish mind. 
• "That's interesting" or "That's different" are our passive-aggressive ways of saying, basically, WTF. These are both strong, negative reactions, though only when said with a particular flat tone or a big, fake smile. If it's a genuine smile, we probably mean it's actually interesting or different. Good luck trying to discern between the two. 

And now, a brief interlude in which a local sage named Slug explains Minneapolitans' low-key pride in their city:

Getting Around

• We've got buses and light rail (see Metrotransit.org for schedules). Buses require exact change (or rather, they don’t GIVE change, so if all you’ve got is a fiver, it’ll be an expensive trip). Each light rail stop has ticket kiosks that accept credit cards. Once you've paid for a ride, you're good for unlimited rides on all buses and trains for two and a half hours. 
• You tend to find cabs only at designated taxi stands, e.g. at hotels. Finding one downtown is easy. Anywhere else, you'll probably have to make a phone call.
• Get on a bike. The Nice Ride bike-sharing program just reopened for the season. We’ve got a (really, truly) world-class system of parks and parkways and trails, so it’s a great town for two-wheeled exploring, especially outside the downtown core.
• Get in the skyways. If you're on foot and if it’s cold or rainy or you just feel like a trippy and Very Minneapolis experience, you can see much of downtown via the skyways, a sort of hamster Habitrail for humans, with shops and restaurants and such. The geography of the skyways is haphazard and confusing and your phone map probably won’t help you, but there are large maps posted all over the place or you can use the SkywayMyWay app. The skyways connect to the Convention Center and are open 6:30am-10:00pm.

Eating & Drinking

To eat like a local, you'll need to have a Jucy Lucy and drink one of our many fine local beers (e.g. Surly or Summit). 

The Convention Center area, like its counterparts across the globe, is surrounded by overpriced and largely mediocre restaurants. But there are some good options within walking distance:

• Hell's Kitchen  serves up some local specialties like bison burgers and walleye and . . . kangaroo sliders. They're best known for their breakfast and brunch. Also: excellent happy hour deals. Their sibling, Angel Food Bakery, is a nice spot for a buttery, sugary midday snack. 
• Vincent A Restaurant is French and fancy and expensive, but their bar is French and fancy  and reasonably priced, and offers the very best gourmet Juicy Lucy in town ($8 during happy hour). And at $13.50, their two-course lunch is a hell of a deal for what you get.
• Barrio is kinda loud and crowded but worth it for the food. If it's warm, their outside seating area is one of the best in town, right on Nicollet Mall. Another good happy hour spot.
• For cheaper eats, head to the food trucks along Marquette Avenue at lunch, or to the myriad restaurants along Nicollet Avenue south of Grant Street (e.g. Salsa a la Salsa and Market Barbecue). My favorite food truck, Velee Deli, just opened Real Shop in the skyway. 

Farther afield, the best places to sample the full culinary wealth of Minneapolis is the Midtown Global Market, which has tons of food stands, with solid representation from the city's large Mexican, Vietnamese, Somali, and Indian communities. (True fact: Anthony Bourdain says we have the best Vietnamese food in the USA.)

Nicollet Avenue south of downtown, all the way to Lake Street, is known as "Eat Street" and also has a long, long roster of restaurants. Hop on the 18 bus on Nicollet. Try Quang or Jasmine 26 for Vietnamese, or Harry Singh's Original Caribbean Restaurant (get the roti) or Glam Doll Donuts.

Or head across the river to East Hennepin Avenue (via buses 10 or 17), where you can go old-school at Kramarczuck's Eastern European deli or drink at a time-warp of a bar, Nye's Polonaise Room (named Esquire's "Best Bar in America" a few years back and closing this year after a long, long run; cozy up to the piano bar while you can). My own favorite restaurant in town, Brasa (Caribbean comfort food by a Beard-Award-winning chef) is also over there.

UPDATE: If you're vegan, Glam Doll Donuts and Brasa (noted above) are two excellent options, as are Pizza Luce and French Meadow. Thanks to Susan for adding this in the comments.

Juicy Lucy. The specific grease alchemy going on here actually makes it
good for you. True. Kim via Wikimedia Commons

Other Things to See and Do

• Nicollet Island, which looks like a twee little village hidden in the shadow (almost literally) of downtown Minneapolis. Most locals don't even know about it. (Here's a thing I wrote about it.) 
• Make a pilgrimage to Open Book, the heart of the Minneapolis literary scene, housing The Loft Literary Center, Milkweed Editions, and Minnesota Center for the Book Arts, which has a small but superb gift shop with all manner of artistic books and book-making supplies and generally Really Effing Cool Stuff for any literary types.
• Check out the lakes (south of downtown) or the downtown riverfront, with its old mills and the landmark Stone Arch Bridge.
• The Mill City Museum is right along the riverfront, in the ruin of an General Mills "A" Mill, which was once the largest flour mill in the world. A genuinely fascinating and well-curated sort of place, it tells the history of Minneapolis, the history of milling, and how those two histories are intertwined. Also, they have a baking lab, where you get to sample the end result of the milling process: cookies.
• The Walker Art Museum, at the very edge of downtown (walkable from the Convention Center if you're up for some exercise) is the aforementioned One of the Finest Modern Art Museums in the World; its free Sculpture Garden is also a marvel of a public space.
• The Minneapolis Institute of Arts is . . . honestly, not that different from other big-city museums. Greek statues, European Master paintings, some American stuff. World-class, don't get me wrong, but not necessarily more exciting than other museums you've seen. But, ahem, admission is totally free. And the Prairie School design section shows off our iconic homegrown aesthetic. So there's that.
• First Ave, the club that Prince made famous, is in downtown Minneapolis. You should probably go take a gander. 
• UPDATE: Go to Saint Paul. I left this off the first time around, because it's actually not that easy to get from the Convention Center area to the most interesting parts of Saint Paul if you don't have a car. But then Nick Coleman (a longtime local newspaper columnist I've long admired and who I honestly can't believe saw this post) commented below and ... Well, he's right, you should make time for Saint Paul. Best thing to do, if you have a few hours and want to explore our twin to the east, is to hop on the light rail Green Line and head down University Avenue. For an offbeat experience, get off at Snelling and go to Ax-Man Surplus Store, purveyors of all manner of odd and wonderful and just plain confusing stuff. It's like Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore crossed with a Radio Shack crossed with some sort of surrealist toy store. Also: lots of delicious food nearby, like On's Kitchen Thai Cuisine.

Also . . .

I'm reading with eight other travel writers, and you should come! Free and open to the public, at a sweet subterranean bar called Honey--drink a cocktail, hear some tales from across the globe. It'll be a grand ol' time. Saturday, April 11th, 4-6pm. More details on the Facebook event page.

Honey is across the street from Nye's Polonaise Room, so come hear some travel stories and then head across the street to drink and polka with a cross-section of Minneapolis. (Map/directions.)

click to enlarge

Want to know how to get Twins tickets, where to find the best Jucy Lucy, or why you must never, ever utter the word "casserole"? The comments are open; ask away!

A Modest Proposal for Publishing, Inspired By the Oscars Pizzas

Last night, there was pizza at the Oscars. Because, you know, even movie stars get hungry. It was a funny gag--well played, Ellen. And nice plate-passing, Brad Pitt.

But it also underscored the American sensibilities that, OMG, it's been like three whole hours since I ate, I'm staaarving and--more notable for purposes of this post--that it's not Real Entertainment without food. Think about it: hot dogs at the baseball game, popcorn at the movie theater, beer at a rock concert. Hell, these days, Americans can barely even drive without some sort of calorie-heavy comestible in our hand or at least at arm's reach in the cupholder--grease and sugar as security blanket, if not co-pilot (KFC Go Cup, take the wheel!). 

As a writer, I'm always wondering how I can sell books, how I can make this writing thing work in an economically sustainable way. It's rough out there, not gonna lie, not least because we live in an era in which many people recoil at the idea of paying more than $9.99 for a book (even though they'll gladly shell out $11 for ninety minutes at the multiplex), a time when, as publisher Dennis Johnson of Melville House recently told The New Yorker, "Amazon has successfully fostered the idea that a book is a thing of minimal value. It's a widget."

And there are tons of ideas out there about how to fix this and make publishing sustainable and profitable. But there's one I haven't heard floated.

Snacks.

Publishing industry, hear me out. The path to success is marked by a trail of sticky, greasy, unidentifiable-but-oh-so-tantalizing crumbs and splotches. Movie theaters have known this forever. Snacks. Snacks make the money; the movie's just the thing that gets the consumers there.

First of all, books should come with cupholders. I think this goes without saying. Everything has cupholders these days. Strollers. Bikes. Lawn chairs. I bet there are even big cupholders with little cupholders attached. In 2014, not having them is a major design flaw, and one that could easily be remedied by simply die-cutting the back cover. (For e-books, you'll have to sell them separately, obviously. Presumably suction cups would be involved.)

Second, we need an iconic snack that goes with the literary experience. Not kale chips or edamame or quinoa balls, don't give me any of that Wimpy Book Nerd Stereotype stuff. We need hard-core junk food. If Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser aren't clutching their heads in disapproving agony when they hear about it, then it's not good enough. If they'd serve it at your standard Upper West Side book club meeting, it's definitively a no-go. My first idea is Candy Coated Deep-fried Mountain Dew. I'm sure our technology and manufacturing sectors are up to the task. But, anyway, that's just a brainstorm. I'm willing to continue the discussion. For some reason, I kinda feel like Gary Shteyngart would have some great ideas.

Third, and most of all, hard-copy books should come with snacks. At least for a little while, in this start-up phase of what we should probably just call the Snacking to Save Publishing Program (SSPP). You know, to really make it a whole Package Experience, and to hook 'em on the pairing, like how I eat popcorn and suddenly want to watch a movie. Remember how all those commentary tracks got us to switch from video tapes to DVDs? Also, you didn't hear this from me, but if you include snacks in the experience, you can charge extra. Americans. Love. Snacks.

To this end, America, allow me to start things off by offering you ...

THE EUROPE ON FIVE WRONG TURNS A DAY SNACK PACK!!!

Yes, for the low, low price of just $35 (plus shipping & handling), you get:

- A signed and personalized copy of Europe on Five Wrong Turns a Day! (Wow!!)
- A can of Coke! (Golly!!)

- A bag of tortilla chips--with one chip also signed by the author! (Phenomenal!!)

- A printed preview of my next book! (Just like the movies!!)

Email doug@douglasmack.net to place your order today!! 

Act now and you'll also get a free can of nacho cheese!! (Yumm!!)

... AND A PAPER NAPKIN!! (Whaaat?!)

Remember, that's doug@douglasmack.net. Order now!!

An Open Letter to Congressional Republicans From a Guy With a Gaping Hole In His Side

Hey, Remember that time Congressional Republicans shut down the government for the express purpose of halting Obamacare? Yeah. That was pretty messed up, especially since it was before the whole website debacle, so it's not like they even had that as a talking point; it was just Socialism and Death Panels blah blah blah. As someone who values being healthy but whose body often seems to have other ideas, I was more than a bit pissed. 

Dear Congressional Republicans,

Hi there. I'm a guy with a gaping hole in his side--not even slightly kidding about that. You're killing me over here.

Obamacare will literally change my life, improving my lot, along with that of millions of other people like me. And when you threaten to shut down the government in hopes of preventing this life-saving, money-saving program from ever coming to fruition, well, I kinda take that personally.

*

Credential Check, or Who The Hell Does This Guy Think He Is?

Don't you dare lecture me about the value of hard work and sacrifice and aspiring to be your best. I know it, I've lived it.

About that hole in my side. I have an ileostomy. Translation: my colon was surgically removed and now I poop into a bag. It's not something I particularly wanted to say here on my blog--or to anyone, anywhere. Hello, I'm Doug, I poop into a bag. What's your name? 

But you, Congressional Republicans (and with a special shout-out to Senator Cruz), seem pathologically incapable of understanding that there's a vast world of people and experiences beyond your own. So here you go; here's mine. I’m thirty-two years old, healthy, active, clean-living ... and I poop into a bag. Health care isn't some abstract thing for me. It's a weight that I carry every day--for years, a weight of constant, debilitating pain and anxiety, and now a literal weight, in the form of the poop-bag attached to the hole in my side.

The Real Me: Notes on dating in the Google era

Wrote a story for The Morning News about online courtship and the persistence of personal histories on the internet (for better or for worse). Here's how it begins:

Certain questions answer themselves. Like when a message appears in your email inbox from a romantic interest who you’ve barely met, whose full name you don’t yet know, and to whom, come to think of it, you’ve never given your email address—a message with a subject line reading, “Is this stalking?”

Read the rest at The Morning News.

And, holy crap, the story got some link love from The Dish, one of my own must-read blogs. That made my day.

For readers who got here via The Morning News or The Dish or are otherwise new here: Hello. Thanks very much for stopping by. Also sort of amusing: judging from the web stats, plenty of you have also taken the time to figure out Maren's last name (never mentioned in the story) and google her and find HER website. Which is kinda awesome, kinda creepy, in keeping with the essay's themes.

Anyway. Please take a few minutes to look around and read some other stuff, will you? There's ...

• This blog, which I'm not very good about updating, although I hope still you'll subscribe or at least check now and then for stories from here and there. Right now, I'm partway through an extended series of posts from an Enrichment Voyage 
• A book I wrote last year, Europe on Five Wrong Turns a Day (Perigee Books/Penguin), which recounts my attempt to tour Europe using only a 1963 guidebook. Part offbeat travel memoir, part social history of the beaten path. A National Geographic Traveler Book of the Month. Available at IndieBound, Amazon, B&N, or my favorite indie stores.
• Or just keep it short and sweet and read one of my own personal favorites of the things I've written, an essay for World Hum called "Seven Travel Rules From a Brooding Teenager."

Cheers.

Enrichment Voyage, Part I: Strangers on a Ship

A scene of heartbreak: there are lines for a game (under the
stacked deck chairs) but it ain't shuffleboard.

Location: Nassau, Bahamas
Today's telling detail: Grid lines on Deck 7

The first day on the ship reminds me of my first day of college. A day full of potential, where the overwhelming newness of it all is made manageable by the realization that it's all equally novel and strange to everyone else. The strangeness and novelty are both ice-breaker and social-leveler. We're all in this together, a communal sense of discovery and confusion. We don't have any social networks already established. So ... will you be my friend?

I meet Mary and Kelly first, before we board the ship in Fort Lauderdale. They're a married couple from Charlottesville, Virginia (Semester At Sea is based there, at the University of Virginia) and staff on this voyage--she's the ship's librarian; he's the ever-patient computer lab guru. (Since they're probably reading this: Hi, Mary! Hi, Kelly! Did I get all that correct?)

We bond over, among other things, my quest for shuffleboard. Over lunch in the Garden Lounge, shortly after we board, I confess to them that for the last several weeks I have been telling my friends that my goal for this trip is to play shuffleboard with Justice Sandra Day O'Connor. (Why? Because. Obviously.) Mary and Kelly think there might be a court, but probably no equipment. They would know: they've been on the ship before, as staff for Semester At Sea. As we finish our meals, Kelly says, with a gleam in his eyes, "Well, I know what we need to do next: find the shuffleboard court."

Off we go on our quest.

*

In the next day and a half, as I get my bearings and my sea legs, I will make other new friends in equally unexpected ways. (And hello to all of them who read this, too.) For example:

Barbara, who I meet the first night, while the ship is en route to The Bahamas. As I'm heading to the purser's desk to ask a question, I pass a group of several people chatting in Tymitz Square, the ship's central rotunda. A woman with short dark hair, who I guess to be around sixty, steps out from the group, holding a postcard. "Excuse me," she says as she hands me the postcard with a mischievous smirk. The postcard is a drawing of Manneken Pis, the symbol of Brussels: a small statue of a urinating toddler. Not at all coincidentally, he's in my book about traveling Europe. (Why? Because. Obviously.) I stare, speechless. When my brain finally unfreezes, I think: I have a stalker! and then, recovering, I think the more apt thought: This is one of the most thrilling, charming ways I've ever met someone. And she wouldn't have given me this if she hadn't really liked my book. We start chatting and she mentions that she's a Lifelong Learner--a Semester At Sea participant over 40 and not enrolled in a college but auditing the courses on the ship. Then she gestures to her friend Connie and says that they were about to head back to her room for some wine and cheese. Would I like to join them? Of course I would.

Chuck and Ce, who knock on Barbara's door just as we're trying to get a bottle of wine open. Chuck has the magic touch and gets the deed done. He's also naturalist and one of the other featured speakers. They've come to retrieve an ornate wooden bench Barbara has been storing for a mutual friend, but they stay for wine and cheese. (To recap: I meet Barbara via a postcard and Chuck and Ce because of a bench. Strange first encounters are the root of friendship.)

Mandy, a bartender at the Glazer Lounge, the large bar area at the front of Deck 7. I wander into the lounge while exploring the ship after saying goodnight to Barbara and company. It's a quiet space--empty aside from Mandy, who stands behind the bar. He's middle-aged, soft smile. His low-key demeanor and efficient movement when making my caipirinha indicates he's been doing this for a while. He has: more than ten years with Semester At Sea (caught up in conversation, I forget to write down the exact number). I ask if he has any particularly interesting stories, and he casually mentions a rogue wave. He has my attention. It was back in 2005. More than 60-feet tall. "I thought I was going to die," he says, slightly shrugging, the soft smile seeming to take on an edge of pain.

Erica, another author who will be speaking, and who I meet while we're working at one of the tables for passenger check-in the next day, in Nassau. We ask for everyone's ship IDs, then check a little box regarding something I no longer recall. One of the people we card turns out to be William Webster, the former head of both the CIA and the FBI, a fact that we learn from Sandra Day O'Connor, who is standing nearby. (All of this is true, I promise.) Later that night, we sit next to each other during the opening festivities and introductions. We turn out to have identical sense of humor--and, because of this, a tendency to lean over to each other and offer commentary regarding what's happening onstage. For the record, it's not all snark. But maybe, just maybe, there's a bit here and there, when deserved.

Jim & Adrienne, who sit in the front row of my first talk the day after we leave Nassau. They attend Erica's lecture that morning and befriend her; she tells them to come to my talk for more of the same sense of humor. They tell me I'd better be funny. I tell them to lower their standards. I'm only slightly joking, because the truth is, I'm nervous about this lecture. I know the basic material, but I've never given this given this talk before (about the social history of guidebooks). In fact, until about 3am this morning, it wasn't, strictly speaking, entirely written. But Jim and Adrienne laugh--at all the right points, even--and it seems genuine. Ditto for most of the other people in the audience.

*

One of the lines that goes over well is my comment about how, this being a cruise and all--"It's a voyage, not a cruise!" someone yelled from the back--I had hoped to play shuffleboard. With Sandra Day O'Connor.

What I don't say, because it's too painful, is what I discovered with Kelly and Mary that first afternoon:
There is no shuffleboard on the MV Explorer.

In my memory, as I stood on Deck 7, taking in the scene, I said it out loud, my voice edged with dejection, the words ragged and dragged out: "There is ... no shuffleboard ... on the MV Explorer." I was staring at a large rectangular grid painted on the ground. This was the possibly-a-shuffleboard-court thing that Kelly and Mary recalled from their previous voyages. It was a grid with numbered squares, yes. But it was empirically not a shuffleboard triangle.
My dream was crushed.

"Maybe we could get some chalk," someone said. "Or some tape."

"No, they probably won't let us do that."

My mind churned through the possibilities; it's still churning when I make that joke at the lectern. There has to be a way. My shuffleboard dreams may be only a few weeks old, but they will NOT ... die ... easily.  

Major Scoop: Presidential Debate Rules

This just in: The Obama and Romney campaigns recently met to draft a few rules for the candidates' upcoming debates. These were supposed to be top-secret, but I've got the scoop for you thanks to a friend on the inside, who I'll give the code name Bo Jiden.

1. Failure to say "God Bless America" in closing remarks results in automatic forfeit.
2. If no clear winner identifiable after debate, candidates may use rock, paper, scissors (best two out of three) to decide outcome.
3. Candidates allowed to put each other into "jinx" if both say same thing simultaneously.
4. Excessive note-taking for sole purpose of inhaling Sharpie fumes is not allowed.
5. Orange light will flash after each misuse or mispronunciation of words greater than four syllables, names of foreign leaders, or popular culture catch-phrases/memes.
6. Candidates must remain fully clothed for the duration of the debate. They may not, for rhetorical or other purposes, tear off shirts, Hulk-style, or lower pants to show off religiously-affiliated undergarments or lucky Chicago Bears boxer briefs. 
7. If candidates exceed time limit for response to question, red light flashes; if candidates stutter, pause or otherwise temporarily halt their response for more than five seconds, moderator allowed to squirt candidate with Super Soaker.
8. Moderator barred from glaring, cursing, shaking head in disbelief, throwing glass of water, or otherwise reacting in any way to gross misstatements.
9. Candidates may use voice-filtering devices to warp voices with robot, chipmunk, Darth Vader or professional wrestling announcer effects, but may not switch voice effects during debate.
10. Cheerleaders will perform at halftime.
11. Candidates may not question each other directly, but may taunt using terms “Booya!,” “Yeah, sucka!” and “Y’all trippin’.”
12. Each candidate must do at least one impersonation, lasting at least thirty seconds, of either Mahmoud Ahmadinejad or Angela Merkel, or, for domestic-policy debates, John Boehner or Nancy Pelosi. 
13. Candidates may not poke, prod or hit other candidate directly, but may do so using giant foam "We're #1!" hand.
14. Comeback zingers may not include fart jokes or "that's what she said." 
15. Laugh track will be played after all jokes or attempted jokes; sound clip "Ooooh!" wil be played after all direct attacks on opponent's record.
16. Discussion of Chumbawamba's recent break-up is off-limits, including but not limited to saying that "America got knocked down, but we'll get up again, you're never gonna keep us down." Discussion of LMFAO's rumored split is fair game.
17. Paul Ryan allowed to substitute for Romney at halftime or any other stoppage of play.
18. Use of sports metaphors limited to those sports in which candidate actually participates.
19. Candidates not required to attend debate if assurance cannot be made that there will be cookies and punch afterward.
20. Productive, reasonable discussion on genuinely important matters, with no gratuitous pandering, impossible-to-keep promises, or shameless distortions of reality, is forbidden.