Recycling the immortal tribute "and PFFT! You were gone."

While so much post-election journalistic energy has been spent oogling the orbiting awfulness around ex-CIA Chief David Petraeus, two flown-over stories recently caught my eye.

I. I've been wonking out on an intriguing little Bill currently wending its way through the U.S. Congress. Oddly, this was the first business the Senate took up after the election. Which now seems like eons ago. The title for the Bill must drive copy editors wild - the "Sportmen's Heritage Act of 2012" - and the hodgepodge of issues covered therein never makes it above the fold. Plus it's well on its way to passage even as it was sent back to the Senate's Committee on Energy and Natural Resources after a cloture vote (meaning a voice vote without objection...after which Congress seemingly just greases the skids we've got ourselves a new-car-smell law). A few papers and blogs from places presumed to still care about hunting and fishing ran headlines last week mentioning, well, not much up top. Other than that a few dozen hunters upon passage will be allowed to import polar bear trophies from Canada. But aside from the cutesy focus on what a "baculum" is (that's a polar bear penis bone, folks - extra credit for those who've heard of the Inuit term "oosik"), there's been almost no ink spilled for the range of special interests getting extra dap in the Heritage Act. I'm still trying to tease out who benefits and whether or not that's something to be troubled by. Sen. Jon Tester (D-MT) had a tough re-election back home, and he's among those most responsible for what's called for in the Bill. Which runs from changes to the rules for hunting, fishing and recreational target shooting, to changing the sizing of what can be called "wilderness", to letting those polar bears who've been dead and skinned since at least 2008 finally cross the border from Canada to the U.S., and a whole musket load of small bore issues in between. Support in the Congress seems to be broad and largely unquestioned. The Obama Administration even weighed in by saying the bill would be good for the "conservation economy" - take just what bowhunting contributes to the U.S. economy and you've got $38 Billion. Yes, with a B. Admittedly, I don't really have any skin in this legislative game or the background to have a reaction to the ones I've read elsewhere. Yet. When the Heritage Act's post-scripts comes around (Senate Bill 3525, mirroring H.R. 4089), I hope to have a bit more to dress out. Or maybe I'll just prep myself to bid on a pimped-out oosik sent down from a taxidermist in Nunuvut. I know, I know - get in line, cowboy.

II. My second shout out comes from a reclaimed childhood memory that I didn't see coming. First of all, Frank Peppiatt died last week. Who? Exactly. However, if you recognize the title quote for this post - a famous bit from Peppiatt's most famous cultural contribution - you just may be...someone who can find some fascinating details in his life story. Whether or not you grew up in cultural circumstances similar to mine. Peppiatt was a co-creator of the TV show "Hee Haw" (with fellow Canadian, John Aylesworth, who died a few years ago). I watched countless episodes when I was a kid, invariably for the skits and bits. I couldn't get through the country music performances fast enough. Yet it's not an overstatement to say that I can't really think of my childhood's Saturday nights without the corn pone jokes and cutaways with sexy farm girls suggesting a playful roll in the hay. "Hee Haw" came on mild and steady with performers like the hosts Roy Clark and Buck Owens showing comedic chops far removed from the stylish New Country crossovers that now seem so ubiquitous. More interestingly, I had no idea until I read Peppiatt's obit that this long-running syndication hit for flyover America came into being as a summer replacement for the Smothers Brothers. Their top-rated comedy show got axed after their satire went all serious and they openly opposed the Vietnam War on-air - probably one of the ballsiest moves in the history of TV. I kid you not when I claim that re-reading signature "Hee Haw" shtick like "I'm a-pickin'...and I'm a grinnin'" conjured up a long buried fondness. To then read that "Hee Haw" got canceled after just two short seasons when CBS did a "rural purge" of shows that didn't fall into the right target demographics sent me Googling for more details. Where and when I saw "Hee Haw" - along with most of the middle of the country - was in the 20+ years of syndication that followed that purge. I rarely recommend obits. Still, where this one led me after getting acquainted with Mr. Peppiatt's life was a sweet, corny treat.

Looking Back and Forward

Election Day. As an unabashed political junkie, today would seem like the perfect time for reflection. In terms of political analysis, however, today snuck up on me this go around. Not because of a lack of attentiveness - I assure you that my bets are well-voiced off-line and my Washington State ballot was tallied weeks ago. We do it all by mail here and in Oregon - this is the future of voting, America. Well, unless/until the Postal Service goes belly up.

Nonetheless, the point of my distraction from the national matter(s) at hand have everything to do with just getting unpacked and dusted off after one last research road trip. I've just unpacked the travel bag for what truly feels like the last time on the primary research for Pelting Out. This final jaunt I'm happy to report allowed me the chance to purposely bring along my curious and amazing daughter, while my wife pursues her own research travel in Africa (Zimbabwe in particular, for those wondering where in the world Sarah is this time). Maya and I went to Wisconsin for a once-in-nearly-a-century special family gathering that provided me with among other related pleasures the true, hands-on narrative ending my book needed. Which begs the question from some - jeez, is it done? That depends on what definitions for "is" and "it" and "done" you're looking to use. I'll just say that the "it" makes much more sense now. I'm happy to report - with a healthy dose of bittersweetness - that without this last trip back to my family's homestead, that "it" couldn't possibly have made as much sense. Or felt as true.

So today is all about "transition" for me. As a storyteller and a citizen. I won't say in which order of importance. However you may reflect upon today - whether you're celebrating or lamenting or trying to tease out why any of this really matters - I hope you've found an equally satisfying reason to move forward with your own work.

Considering NYC's Garment District, and all those on the "Make"

I spent last week in New York City. I'm still processing what I found. Since returning to Seattle, one overarching question has grown in importance for the story I'm telling. Namely - what can be said about the historical arc of that part of Midtown Manhattan generally known as the Garment District. Or Garment Center. Puh-tay-toe, poh-tah-toh. This part of NYC has tried re-branding for a while now, with no apparent luck. But that's merely semantic - calling a duck say, "a mud ballerina" only gets a debate over the future flight of a thing so far. The Garment District in my consideration exists as a place with more history than present or future - no offense meant to anyone with a stake in this debate. I'm just saying that the more time I've spent trying to understand the Garment District, the more I'm intrigued by what I find looking backward.

One group that is very much looking in the opposite direction got some press this week for their efforts. Including an enigmatic little piece in Thursday's NYTimes. If you have any interest in this part of NYC's history, a few clicks through are certainly worth the energy and time. Especially as their efforts to build an economic engine in the Garment District comes up against the high-end condos I saw springing in the midst of that largely bland and low-rise part of Manhattan.

A thumbnail of history might be in order for those who are still with me at this point in the summary. Boundaries for the Garment District creep in all directions depending who's talking and when. I spent chunks of two days at the New York Historical Society pulling references and photos and never found a definitive answer. But I've settled upon between the Avenue of the Americas (6th Ave.) and 9th Avenue for the east and west thoroughfares, and between 26th and 42nd Streets for the north and south. If you go by just the employment records of the unions representing workers there (the International Ladies Garment Workers Union or ILGWU was a biggie), back deep into the 20th Century you had a quarter million people employed making garments there. That's not an aggregate - I'm talking all at the same time. Huge industry. What's left of that? Start ups. Small manufacturers. A shell of an industry, now surrounded by the kind of new media and technology companies who'd never even been dreamed of when the unions of prior dominance were being shut out and those industries were being shipped overseas by the changing dynamics of manufacturing.

For me, finding what had been in the Garment District has grown into a mission. Somewhat in contrast but still on the same point, the Design Trust for Public Space is looking to the future of that part of Manhattan. Their activities were what sprung forth in the limited media coverage this week. They're working on a multi-stage plan - moving from a multi-media history titled "Made in Midtown" to the just released "plan" (in book form) for "Making Midtown" a driver of NYC's future economy. Is this wonky stuff interesting? To a very limited audience, absolutely. But I think it's broader than that. This is economic history that just might evolve into a stage for the new economic Century. I haven't yet seen how they address the manufacturing workforce and how it, too, has evolved. Please remember, America - not long ago NYC's Garment District was basically a Union "town". The hundreds of thousands of people who worked there came from all the Five Boroughs to my deepening understanding, because they could earn wages there to feed generations of Americans. Yet they had to fight for those jobs for over decades. Is that what's proscribed for this newly re-made Midtown? Or is it more on the order of "American Apparel" and what they've done in L.A. It's mildly ironic that one of the historic buildings I've in on in the Garment District now has an American Apparel franchise on the ground level of 7th Avenue - or Fashion Avenue, if you go for that bit of re-branding. Obviously, I've got some reading to do and then I'll get back to you.

Oddly, this connects with one of the coolest places I saw in NYC last week. In Chelsea - which is so posh, undeniably on the make and my favorite neighborhood for meandering - I happened upon this permanent pop-up store/gallery named "Story". They rotate and curate the themes of the place - it's more gallery than retail - and the current incarnation is called "Making Things". This comes after a fashion-themed "Story" most recently in conjunction with Fashion Week in September - they certainly feed off the neighborhood vibe more often than not. Basically for this "Story", they had 3D printers, laser cutters and all sorts of prototype fabricating technology and know-how there to dink around with. I got a few things made for my daughter, printing in epoxy based on plans called up from the searchable archives of "Thingiverse". I predict in five years, every city in America will have some sort of 3D printer in a store that fits the sort of fashion of what "Story" offered up (GE Garages actually supplied the technology and knowledgible folks) Seattle's already got one of this ilk, and the market I think will be limitless. The point still being that if you happen to be anywhere near Chelsea on the lower West Side of Manhattan through mid-November, this "Story" is a blast to check out. Pair it with the Rauschenberg Foundation's "We the People" show just across the street and maybe even a walk down 9th Avenue to Chelsea Market - the pop-up flea market named "Artists & Fleas" just dripped with quirky ideas from hip vendors like wax off a locally sourced beeswax candle - and you'll have as much of a blast as I did.

Come to think of it, a long look at what has gone on and what might come to constitute the Garment District isn't that far removed from a place like "Story" and the sort of maker culture that's currently being shown therein. You just need to find the right seam between the ideas and get to stitching. Then again, I don't really have the time to dress this transition up fully. This comes simply off the rack. I'll do some creative alterations on the connection sometime hereafter.

Keeping a running tab in NYC

To prep for my latest research trip - I'm in NYC this week - I've been poking around in some new subject areas. Much to my surprise, the history of labor unions has figured prominently in that. So I want to quickly give a shout out to the collections housed at New York University. Specifically, the Tamiment Library within the Bobst Library offers an impressive starting point. How appropriate that the Bobst's interior looks like a huge Escher painting given the levels that seem to feed up and down and into one another therein. The access to living history in the form of an honest-to-goodness union icon best got me on the path I intend to follow going forward. Expect you'll hear much more about that from me in the future.

That's not exactly the kind of thing you can put in the ol' scrap book or add to your travel "must see" list. Not that anyone's looking here for those sorts of things. I will offer up a few tasty choices from this latest trip to the City. More recap than guide. Less definitive than anecdotal. Do what you will with it. I've most certainly just straight up enjoyed what I've dipped into thus far.

• One impossible to get ticket in town is sadly the "Discovering Columbus" exhibit using the statue of Christopher "Yes, THAT" Columbus at the Circle he discovered back in 1492. I may be mixing up a detail or two. The point being that I walk by that elevated fake apartment most times I head to or from the actual apartment I'm staying in while in NYC. If you've got dibs on one of those few slots upcoming, way to go, Sport. Share your thoughts and everyone will surely be glad to know more than what's already been written.
• If you're a Green Bay Packers fan and you find yourself in the City on a game day, you can do no better than Kettle of Fish in Greenwich Village. It was a beatnik bar - pictures of Kerouac and the various icons from the era are still hanging on the walls amidst all the cheeseheads and beer posters. Incredibly friendly folks fill the place to bursting. I met a few prime Sconnie ex-pats, and even a current member of the Lambeau Field grounds crew who travels for work when he's not back in Green Bay for home games. This past Sunday I left at halftime to head to a Salman Rushdie/David Remnick snoozefest conversation as a part of "The New Yorker Festival". Mixed blessing because we were up 21-3 at that point. Don't remind me what happened thereafter. But do head there if you want to see natural fans in a mostly surreal environment.
• The day I'd spent digging deeply into the history of labor unions in America, I followed by seeing the documentary "Detropia". I would have never imagined that decay and despair could be so beautiful and stirring. I'd read criticism before seeing the movie saying that Detroit is exploited in showing how much has gone wrong and what is left behind. I completely disagree with that and highly recommend seeing it yourself. 
• If you're not already a fan of "The Moth" I'd love to say run breathlessly to one of their live events. Maybe start with the podcast if you're unfamiliar. I hadn't planned especially well ahead of time to go to the show I caught last night at Housing Works in SoHo. No snacks, long line, all sorts of standing around. Then I got to talking with folks. It was fantastic. And I left hungry for more. It's all about the people - I met more cool ones than I can itemize now. Including someone in line from Michigan who I tried to convince to go see "Detropia". It's amazing how things manage to come full circle in a City like this.
• Here's an obvious one - write and read and just plain build a bigger brain by spending time in the Rose Reading Room at the New York Public Library. That's a well traveled recommendation. But it's still a truly good one.
• If you need to find a gift for a curious 2nd Grader or grown up science geek, there are few cooler places I've found than the Evolution Store in SoHo. If I had a few extra Benjamins bouncing around loosely in me pocket, I'd so be carrying an awesome skull in my backpack right now.
• I had a very particular reason to seek out the New York Historical Society (on the Upper West Side - Central Park West and 77th Street). Almost everyone in there with me this morning appeared to have first hand knowledge of the new WWII exhibit. There are certainly no shortage of great museums in this City. This one, however, started out as a work visit that turned into a totally fun one - bonus points for that. Be sure not to skip the movie.
• On a much smaller scale, there are just so many moments navigating life here that charge my batteries and keep me on edge for what might happen next. There's a complex but very rational reason behind that persona almost all Americans recognize immediately as being that of a New Yorker. I can only take a small vicarious thrill from being lumped in with those who actually live here and act like they damn well do. On my first full day, I got approached by a foreign tourist for directions. Which I gladly gave in full knowledge of what he needed ("There is red line subway near this Chelsea, no?"). As in all places, I like to pay attention closely. In NYC? Times ten.

That maybe all seems rather random. But this post lets me clear the pipes out, know what I mean? Speaking of catharsis and pulling a major non sequiter out of my hat - there was a wonderfully odd piece in the NYTimes a few days ago about one of my favorite overlooked eras. The War of 1812. In this Bicentennial Year, it seems that Stephen Harper (the Prime Minister - but you already knew that, right?) is making a militaristic embrace of Canada's conduct during the War in response to American aggression. I'd normally give big props to anyone putting that historical curiosity on the front-ish burner. Well, unless you're doing what Harper's seemingly doing and trying to spin things for political gain in the present. I know, I know - next thing I'll be offended to learn that there's gambling taking place in the casino where I eat dinner in every night. So to speak.

And with that, I'm off to Brooklyn. Literally, not figuratively. Wherever you're headed, don't take any wooden nickels along the way, mmm'kay?

Bellying up to the bar of "The Master"

I slipped comfortably into a full crowd of movie geeks at Cinerama on Sunday night to see "The Master" - Paul Thomas Anderson's latest extended visit to the brain salad bar. While I normally don't venture into movie reviewing here, the overall movie has been lingering in my imagination for the past few days. Especially the imagery in a particular early scene.

To begin by clearing the main rhetorical bar, "The Master" is a daunting and inspired film. This is film making for grown-ups, and there's no easy summary. Or maybe there are too many. I'll nonetheless take a swing at it by saying that it's a movie about the terrible things people do to themselves. Joaquin Phoenix underwent a stomach turning physical transformation as the alcoholic representing one half of the heart of the story. He's a barely tethered wreck - thin as a greyhound and just as high-strung. On the other side of the whole stands an imposing Phillip Seymour Hoffman. He looks like any physical training he's done over the last few years has been limited to repeat visits to the bar - no matter what's being served there. He puts on an acting masterclass as a dynamic charlatan while never dropping the imposing sense that the wheels might come off at any unwanted turn of phrase. They are both very naughty boys, sharing only a temper barely tucked into their perfectly chosen period props. The entire cast and look feels more authentically pulled from 1950s America than anything this side of a Douglas Sirk movie. The storytelling is full of countless challenges, both great and small. If you do see it, go out afterward and talk talk talk about it. I think few filmmakers are better at launching conversation(s) than this Anderson. I think I loved "The Master"...although it will surely be the biggest "love it or hate it" movie of the year. Check back with me for a rating in a week or two. For now, it feels like totally A-grade material.

For my purposes, however, the scene of greatest impact came very early on - after Phoenix's character (Freddie Quell) comes home scrambled and drunk after World War II. He takes a job as a photographer in a department store. This introduction to life State-side begins with the image of a model wearing a full-length mink coat. She approaches customers opening the coat to show the green and blue lining that matches the fabric of her dress. She repeatedly quotes the price with a forgettable  tagline showing that she's just a walking, talking, sexed-up billboard. Soon thereafter we see her drinking Freddie's dangerous homemade hooch with him in his creepy work room - no more fur coat, still wearing the dress, after which the layers get peeled back further in the first of the many of the movie's brazen nude scenes. Some might see all this as just era-specific costuming. Not me, given all the time I spend looking for this specific imagery and the way it continues to be used to evoke post-War America through the following decades. I can (and will) take it a great deal farther in what I'm writing. Still, seeing a talent like Anderson use iconic images on the leading edge of the 1950s is heady stuff. Maybe someday I'll get the chance to ask him - or his production designers or costumers or prop masters or whoever one should go to in pursuing such minutiae - just what he meant to show by having this woman be the first who Freddie gets his hands on.

That's only a small piece of what I took away from this film. Any comments on what worked or didn't work for y'all when you see it would be appreciated. It truly amounts to a trip to the movie-going salad bar - lots to choose from, much of it good for you, some tastes just don't go together for some people. I really do suggest that you load up on what's served by "The Master". But, then again, I'm a sucker for a good salad bar.

For fans of IRS Code "Subpart F" or "Form 5471" - get your lighters out.

This might sound like even more of a subjective stretch than usual. In terms of this being a scratch pad for thoughts and interests that spring up while doing book research, this one is maybe equal parts past and present. Whatever the tab, I ducked back down an unlit alley this morning. So goes the world when no editors are involved. Or metaphorical electronic dog collars to get me back within the proper mental fencing.

Back on the barely Google-able, leading edge of this century, I was doing some freelancing and had an assignment from a fresh web-based money/business newsy site. "Green Magazine" was pretty cool in its day. Now that URL is used by John Deere enthusiasts...where a certain cut of folk can find some serious ag and machinery loving kinks. Nonetheless, way back yonder I tried to work an angle on explaining "offshore bank accounts" as a tax shield. I soon realized I'd swung way too broadly and the idea never came together. I do remember one especially greasy interview with a financial planner - the sort where you want to take a brain shower afterwards - who loosely framed how people from all walks of life could set up a foreign company or open offshore accounts with little more than the will to do so. The devil - as the cliche` goes and he often is - was in the details.

Over the years I've often come back around to that subject. Not actually doing anything to better understand the idea of parking money offshore or setting up the means to launder it. Just thinking when the subject came up that an operational story would be a good idea. Was it hard to head down this road? Could truly anyone venture offshore with their money? Thankfully, there are some pros who are pursuing parts of that broad story right now. "Planet Money" (National Public Radio's economics and business podcast) just posted the latest installment in their series on setting up "shell companies" - they chose Belize and Delaware (yes, that Delaware). The "Planet Money" folks are describing how people might move money places in hopes of avoiding taxation. Not really a "how to" even though that's certainly part of it. I think it's more of a "what if you did" story. And a darn good one, at that. The style is incontrovertibly NPR-ish - quirky, willing to slow walk a story that might tucker out before it's run the whole course, genius as a concept and really well-executed, self-deprecating while being eviscerating. I really recommend that you check it out.

Future plans for NYC, farm funding, and redheads.

Although I'd planned to stick a fork in my research-y travel plans when I'd reached the end of August (and the end of the "Year On the Road" that began for me last September), I'm still very much looking forward to a pre-planned week back out there in America in early October. That's when I'm heading back to NYC for a inspiring mix of pursuits. Included in all that was a desire to catch a few events on the last day of this year's "New Yorker Festival". This morning was the opening of trigger-pullin' time - tickets went up for sale promptly at 9am PST. I had my daughter watch my web browser refreshing as I threw together our last few things before hopping her bike and pedaling toward Seattle's crazy late schoolday start. My results? Straight up 50-50. I got the Salman Rushdie conversation with David Remnick I'd put at the top of my wish list. Rushdie's memoir Joseph Anton will rightly be on top of coveted nightstands all around the world in little more than a month. However, I didn't get the walking and eating tour that Calvin Trillin does, taking a small group looking to nosh from Greenwich Village to Chinatown. That sold out in literally one minute. If I'd reversed the order of this short list...who knows. But seriously one minute? Just goes to show that few writers still earn the love quite like Mr. Trillin.

On a totally different page, the required reboot of the Farm Bill increasingly looks to be put out to pasture by this Congress. Few pundits are yet projecting hard numbers, but I'd bet a gallon of Roundup that there are a handful of races that just might tip to the challenger if nothing gets done. The timing is just brutal for not just farmers - the current bill runs out at the end of September. That could mean a month of being home in Districts campaigning while farmers cut from all stripes unload a bit of drought-fueled frustration. I'll even predict a whole lot of YouTube-ready moments capturing that collective frustration. If you've paid no attention to this debate, no worries - not even the wonkiest seem at all engaged. But as someone who has developed a tangential interest in ag policy and who now pays more attention to how this Congress is dealing with actual requirements when it comes to legislation, I'm appalled. It's not the sausage making. It's the complete unwillingness to pick up that casing and get on with the stuffing.

Finally, I try to stay away from most of the links half-way or more down the homepage of the Huffington Post. No disrespect - they have become masters at goosing traffic from even the most tired foibles. But I got grabbed by one of their science writers today - Cara Santa Maria - playing up the "ginger fear" card. Not the "Fear the Ginger" card. Those are very different cards. Basically, she did a clever job of making fun of us redheads while supposedly reassuring us that we're not on the road to extinction. Almost makes me want to grow it all out again - show some solidarity with my not-really-threatened compatriots and all that jazz. Then again, pieces like this show how a derivative artist like M.I.A. probably gets her ideas. Hug a redhead today, won't you? We're not infectious - I promise. And, obviously, we need the love.