Poop Strong: Goofy Name, Great Cause

This is my friend Arijit (pictured with his wife, Heather). He's one of the funniest, kindest, flat-out coolest people I know, the type of person for whom the term "full of life" was invented. We went to school together at Carleton College (hail the maize and blue!).

You know that guy (or woman) at your college who organized all the class activities and served on the student government and always seemed to be involved the coolest organizations on campus--and might even help found an organization if there was a void? For the Carleton class of 2003, that was Ari. (And that much-needed organization was the Gender Neutral Cheer Boys, an absurdist take on cheerleading, about which much more in Note 1.)

But what's most impressive to me--and this part is most important and just truly, incredibly rare--was that Ari filled that role without having any ego about it. Big man on campus, sure, but also big-hearted. He was simply nice to everyone, even the socially inept among us (hey, the world would be boring without some of us around, right? RIGHT??)--and, therefore, beloved by everyone, too.

He's awesomely goofy in all the right ways. After college, he grew his hair out and then subjected himself to the most ridiculous haircut possible for charity, raising nearly $4,000 for Doctors Without Borders and other worthy causes, and ending up with a Krusty the Klown hairdo.

Now, Ari needs some help from the rest of us. At the ripe old age of 31, he's battling Stage IV colon cancer and, due to the high costs of treatment, potential medical bankruptcy. 

This is the point in the post at which three-quarters of you are about to tune out. Don't. Please, please. Don't. This is not gonna be some Hallmark Channel sob story. 'Round these parts, we use humor to fight the crappy parts of life.

Case in point: Ari has set up a web site about said battle with colon cancer, a web site titled Poop Strong. Among the various items you can purchase there are brown "Poop Strong" bracelets (you know, like those yellow bracelets some guy named Lance made popular a while back) and various incredibly fashionable and deliciously offbeat t-shirts.

The man's been ravaged by cancer, blasted with radiation, had his abdomen sliced open and his colon yanked out, at the ripe old age of just 31 ... and he's laughing in the face of it all. That's bad-ass. (Um, no pun intended there.)

Also bad-ass and amazing (and, yes, more than a bit heartbreaking) is the fact that he's doing all of this large-scale fundraising and event coordination--not a small task for anyone--while he's battling really seriously major cancer and also, you know, trying to live a normal life and do normal-life things. Seriously, ponder that. (2)

If you want to know more about his story, keep reading. But here's the point:

(Here, we'll make this brown, in honor of Poop Strong):

1. Arijit Guha is awesome human being. He is precisely the sort of person the world needs more of.

2. He needs our help to continue being awesome. Because, man, FUCK CANCER. And medical bankruptcy, too.

3. You can help him AND get some sweet stuff at the same time by buying said sweet stuff on PoopStrong.org: a goofy t-shirt, a brown bracelet, a poopstrong.org email address (and you know you want that). Or ...

Another thing you can get to support Ari is to buy a raffle ticket. You can win some fantastic books, courtesy of Hill's Kitchen, signed and adorned with the Poop Strong rally cry by authors like celebrity chefs Mario Batali and Spike Mendelsohn--or you can get a copy of a Europe on Five Wrong Turns a Day signed by yours truly. Or a signed Hold Steady album. Or lots of other cool stuff.

Ahem: http://store.poopstrong.org/products

Oh, and, in about a week, there'll be another item added to the raffle: an hour of my time to provide travel or writing consultation by phone/Skype (or in-person if you're in the Twin Cities area). Going on a trip? Let me help you plan--especially if you're heading to Europe. I know that place. Wrote a book about it. But I've got plenty of general travel tips and tricks up my sleeve, too. Or I'd love to help you with your writing/blogging project. Need someone to look over your short story or to give you tips on the process of finding an agent? I can help with that, too. In short: travel writer available for consultation regarding both parts of that job title.

But the only way to get it, aside from giving me a round-trip plane ticket to Paris and a private car to Gerard Mulot, is to enter the raffle. Buy a ticket over at PoopStrong.org, once it's posted on June 1st.; and for now buy a ticket for other cool stuff.

Thanks! And ... Poop Strong!

--

Okay, you want more of Arijit's story? Here, check this out. Further proof of his stellar sense of humor and all-around excellence as a human being:




And now, let's turn things over to the man himself: 

Last January, my wife and I returned from a trip to India and soon after our return, I was beset with intense pain in my abdomen. After numerous visits to the ASU student health clinic failed to uncover what was going on, I eventually headed to a gastroenterologist, who did a colonoscopy and discovered I had a 6-cm-wide growth in my colon that was nearly completely obstructive. I soon learned the tumor was malignant and then, when in surgery to remove the cancerous growth, my surgeon discovered that the cancer had spread well beyond the colon and small tumors had metastasized throughout my abdominal cavity. The extent of the disease meant my colon could not be re-connected and I emerged from surgery with a colostomy. In a matter of weeks, I went from thinking I had a bad stomach bug to learning I had metastatic colorectal cancer.

Fortunately, in part due to my young age and the extraordinary care I have received at the University of Arizona Cancer Center, I’ve been able to cope quite well so far despite the difficulties of treatment. Unfortunately, cancer treatment is quite expensive, and recently the ASU student insurance plan stopped covering my cost of care. The Aetna student health insurance plan provided by ASU caps the lifetime insurance benefit paid out at $300,000, which the high cost of treatment used up in less than one year.

--
NOTES


(1) The Gender Neutral Cheerboys filled the role of absurdist pep band and athletic boosters for our liberal-arts college's endearingly inept football team. Listen to the story on NPR's "Only a Game" back in 2002 (skip to about 15:00 for the story). Ari's comments to the reporter: "The first word I'd use [to describe us] is 'incompetent.' ... Pretty much, we make sure that the Carleton fans are louder than the opposing teams' fans, because a lot of the time ... the Carleton fans will actually be outnumbered by the visitors, so we still want to make that Carleton presence felt. At a school this size, it's not just these random football players you don't know, but your friends, your classmates, the people who live down the hall from you. So as incompetent as we are and as ridiculous as we may seem out there, the real reason we're out here is just to cheer on our friends and show support."


(2) I'll spare you my own rant about how how messed-up the American health care system is, but if you really want my two cents, you can read my post "The American Dream and the freelance writer." Obamacare really can't get here fast enough.

Warm beer & the metric system: A simple plan for British/American unity

Sometimes I kind of hate social networking. Other times, I find it a peerless forum for transnational dialogue, an international gathering ground and exemplary resource for cross-cultural dispute resolution. I know, I know: high-minded statement, that. Go ahead, roll your eyes. Meanwhile, Pam Mandel (a.k.a. Nerd's Eye View) and David Whitley (a.k.a. Grumpy Traveller) and I will be resolving the Very Important Matter of negotiating a British-American cross-cultural exchange and agreement. If any countries would like us to mediate dispute resolutions, we're available for a nominal fees. We'll be at Camp David next week.

This conversation happened a while back, but I've been distracted by, you know, stuff. Also, the sun was in my eyes and, uh, the ball took a bad hop off a pebble.

Anyway, the discussion/world-peace-creating starts with me, asking, on Twitter, about proper spelling and accenting of the word "resume" (the thing you submit with a job application). And then we got into the heart of the matter. The tweets below are reprinted verbatim minus the inclusion of our respective Twitter handles in the responses.

@nerdseyeview:
i like the accent. otherwise, you're just continuing after a pause.

@mrdavidwhitley:
I knew there was a reason we call it a CV rather than resumé. Less accent-based confusion.

@douglasmack:
Yeah, let's just do that. I'm in. (And while we're at it, we oughta finally start using the metric system.)

@mrdavidwhitley:
 If you can start including tax in the stated price of everything, that'd be nice too.

@mrdavidwhitley:
And play football with your feet. In return, we'll install mixer taps.

@nerdseyeview:
can we also work out something around the s/z issue and all those extra "U"s?

@mrdavidwhitley:
Certainly. I'll pop a proper dictionary in the post* for you all. (*Mail. Ach, damn, this just gets tricksier).

@douglasmack:
Fair trade all around. Also, if we cut back to 2 ice cubes per drink, will you please give us at least 1? Thx.

@mrdavidwhitley:
Done. And if we put our beers in the fridge, can you make yours taste of something?

@nerdseyeview:
if we can resolve the ice issue, the three of us should go to camp david next and settle the middle east.

@nerdseyeview:
now david, did i not take you to a place that has REAL BEER? i'm wounded.

@mrdavidwhitley:
OK, OK. Make the *cheese* taste of something.

@mrdavidwhitley:
 Also, we promise to install air conditioning if you'll let us open a window every now and then.

@douglasmack:
Pam, the man has a point about USA beer *in general.* But we're working on it. And keep it out of the fridge!

@nerdseyeview:
i think we're making some good progress, but i won't let a brit lecture me on "cuisine".

@douglasmack:
AC, windows. Deal. Also, we'll teach you to make a proper doughnut if you'll teach us to make a proper scone.

@douglasmack: [in response to @nerdseyeview's comment about Brits and "cuisine"]
Quite. I was just about to get to this "full English breakfast" business ... ;)

@nerdseyeview:
oh, i DO like a good scone. rather.

@mrdavidwhitley:
All the world's problems should be solved like this. Proper bacon in return for more than one breakfast option?

@douglasmack:
Someone call the Nobel committee. Okay, you're in charge of bacon, we're in charge of WARM toast.

@mrdavidwhitley:
Also, we'll stop ruining fish with batter if you promise to discover the 'vegetable'.

@douglasmack:
Done, but we might offer you some tips re: preparing "the vegetable"--canned mashed peas don't count!

@nerdseyeview:
 i'm really unclear on which US you visited, david. are you sure you actually left britain?

@mrdavidwhitley:
The southern US. I think the vegetables may have been obscured by the freeways and parking lots.

Two-Hour Tourist: Portland

My first impression of Portland, when I was there a few days ago to read at Powell's, was this: Portland is satisfyingly Portland, in the same way that Rome is satisfyingly Rome. Except that where Rome has its gelaterias; its ancient ruins; its manic drivers; its Gucci-wearing, impeccably coiffed, effortlessly glamorous passersby, Portland has its brew pubs; its green space; its fixed-gear bikes; its stripe-wearing, elaborately tattooed, calculatedly disheveled citizens.

There was a sad lack of flannel and beards at my reading,
though. Photo by Jessica Spiegel of WhyGo Italy.

I didn't have much time to be a tourist and see the sites, just a few hours. But it's not a big city, and I had a ringer to show me around, my awesome friend Celeste Brash, Lonely Planet guidebook writer, blogger extraordinaire, and all-purpose good company. She picked me up from the train station and said that she was working on a downtown Portland walking tour for an upcoming Lonely Planet book. Would I like to walk the route with her as she planned it out? Um, yes. Please.

I won't list everything we did and I won't reveal the particular walking route—obviously, I don't want to poach her guidebook material. But if and when you head to Portland, do go find the latest Lonely Planet and follow her suggestions. The itinerary really does make for an excellent introduction to the city, hitting the waterfront, downtown, and the three major food groups: beer, caffeine, and grease.

In the spirit of my earlier Two-Hour Tourist post, about Chicago, here's my own suggested list of things to do if you only have two hours in Portland.

First of all, get downtown. The Max light rail is your best way into the city from the airport, and to connect to various points around the city. It's always better to spend a limited amount of time exploring on foot and getting a snapshot of a particular area than trying to hop around the city by train or bus or car, seeing things only for a few fleeting moments. So: downtown.

Start your tour with some fortifications and a glimpse of a true stereotype-fulfilling Portland-ness at Voodoo Doughnuts. The line can be long—Celeste and I were there on a Friday around 3pm, and even then the queue ran out the door—but the time passes quickly because the scene offers some stellar free entertainment. There's the people-watching which is extraordinary—lots of the aforementioned stripe-wearing, elaborately tattooed, calculatedly disheveled citizens, plus all manner of other people whose attire and hairdos makes mild-mannered Midwesterners instinctively mutter, “That's interesting.” There's also the rotating case of doughnuts (like the rotating case that displays pies in an old-school diner), which include your standard raised glazed rings but also others covered in Fruit Loops or topped with bacon or filled with mango. There's a voodoo doll doughnut, naturally—a Long John with little appendages and filled with something red, served with a pretzel stick in lieu of a needle—and another called the Cock and Balls (not kidding and not asking for any more details). Throughout Portland, you see signs and bumper stickers that say, “Keep Portland Weird,” and Voodoo Doughnuts seems like the standard-bearer for that weirdness—and just to be clear, I love it so for that very reason.

And how are the doughnuts? Oh, right. Good question. They're outstanding: pillowy and not overly greasy or cloyingly sweet. If they'd been part of the Doughnut Quest a couple of years ago, I suspect they would have placed just behind the Doughnut Plant in terms of pure deliciousness. Plus, you know, style points for the performance-art bizarreness of the menu and a certain portion of the staff and clientele.

Moving on. Your appetite sated, waddle over to Gov. Tom McCall Waterfront Park for a stroll along the Willamette River. Sit on a bench and watch the parade of passersby. (Actually, what you should do is get your doughnuts to go and then eat in the park. I can think of no finer introduction to a city; in fact, without even planning it, when I'm in a new place, I somehow always find myself in a park eating a pastry.)

After you've gotten your fill of nature, wander back into downtown, through Pioneer Square—a public space that functions as the living room of the city—and end up at Powell's. You know Powell's, yes? The huge bookstore? It's … well, yes, huge. Enchantingly so, like an endless magical forest of books. They shelve both new and used books together, so there's a wonderful mix of literature from various eras, like at the library. Seriously, it's mesmerizing, the way the rooms and shelves and books just go on forever. The travel section alone is the size of many small bookstores (and since you asked, my book is in the “Travel memoirs—Europe” section …).

Your time is probably getting short now, so move along to one last stop. If you live in a major American city, you've probably noticed that food trucks are becoming, officially, A Thing. I don't just mean hotdog carts and jingle-blaring vans from which sketchy-looking dudes sell melting Bomb Pops. I mean mobile kitchens proffering actual food, restaurant-worthy food. Anyway, in Portland, food trucks are a genuinely big deal, more than just a passing trend. They're ubiquitous, and there are even some places around the city where there are five six or a dozen or more parked more or less permanently on an otherwise vacant lot, forming a food court far more eclectic and affordable and delicious than anything you'll find at even the most offbeat mall. I got some delicious tacos for $1.50 each, after considering other trucks proffering burgers and Indian curries and pad thai and crepes and—not making this up—escargot and foie gras. Yeah. From a food cart.

It's a weird and wonderful place, Portland. Truly.

Easy Rider Meets Werewolf In a PBS Station Lobby (a true story)

My sister and I are sitting in a PBS television station lobby in Tacoma, Washington. It's very 1970s. Wood paneling. Blaring television (PBS, natch). Regional magazines on the coffee table. It's ideally nondescript; it feels like it should be a dentist's office in a Coen brothers movie. To one side of the room, four or five employees are having a low-key meeting about programming.

I'm waiting for a producer will come out to get me--they've invited me to be on one of their shows to talk about my book. I rehearse my stock answers in my head, over and over.

A guy walks into the lobby, a guy who definitely doesn't fit your standard public broadcasting archetype. He's your classic Harley Davidson rider, wearing a denim vest with a Harley logo and the word HAWKS on the back; on his legs are black leather riding spats. He is a presence.

The meeting falls silent. My sister and I eye him, wondering what's about to happen. One of the employees in the meeting finally pipes up, her voice pert and professional and irrepressibly Church Lady-like. "Are you here for one of the shows?" she asks.

Thus begins one of the most amazing conversations I have heard in my life.

"I'm looking for the editorial department," he brays. I wonder what his complaint is. I wonder if he's packing heat. I wonder if the upholstery on my chair might, just maybe, conveniently, be made of Kevlar.

"I need to drop off some video," he continues. "I just shot a video of an actual werewolf!"

Silence.

What do you say to that?

Answer: You let the guy continue.

"Seriously," he says. "I know you think I'm crazy, but you've gotta see this, you're gonna freak out, man. And I got footage of a mother sasquatch nursing a baby. I ain't even kidding! We gotta get this on the air right now--people are gonna flip!"

Church Lady: "Well."

Pause. Everyone blinks a dozen times. My sister and I nearly bite through our lips to avoid making a sound.

For real: What do you say to that?

Church Lady continues, finally: "Well, you can drop it off here and we can give it to the program director."

"ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? No, man, this is too important! I can't just leave my video. I gotta explain some things, tell you what's going on. And just trust me, as soon as you see this, you're gonna flip and put it right on the air."

"Well, the program director is busy right now and ..." Church Lady looks around to her colleagues for help, but they are all still dumbstruck.

She's trying her very best not to sound too patronizing, not to laugh, not to tell him he's crazy, not to tell him that the station is, you know, PBS, and not exactly the sort of venue for werewolf footage, even if it is the real deal.

"Aw, you're KILLING me!," the guy says. "I got a werewolf on camera! An honest-to-God werewolf! I wanted you guys to have it--I'm not gonna go to Seattle and give it to 4 or something. It's all for you. A werewolf! I'll wait for the program director." He sits down emphatically, sending his message. "Go get him out here."

"Well, I'm sorry, I ... I just can't. He's busy. But there's a form that you can fill out for dropping off video."

"For real? This is legit, man! A freaking werewolf on tape! Okay, okay, where's the form? I've gotta right down some long stuff about what you're seeing and what to look for and stuff."

He's not angry, not really--just deeply disappointed, let down by the world, incredulous, unable to fathom that no one believes him. A freakin' werewolf, I ain't lying.

He gets to work. Some ten minutes later, when the PBS producer calls me back, the werewolf hunter is still hunched over the desk, sribbling furiously.

When I return to the lobby after filming the show, he is gone. I wish I'd given him my card. I wish I'd asked him to show me the footage right then and there.

It's the kind of story that you know is great--not the werewolf per se, I mean, but the guy. He's so earnest, almost adorably so, kid-like in his sincerity, in his efforts to make us believe. What's his story? Is he the type who spends hours in the woods looking for this sort of thing, an amateur cryptozoologist on a Harley?

You know there's more of a story there. Gotta be.

Scenes from a book launch party (+ the reviews are in!)

And then one day you wake up and realize that you have not only written a book but the book is now available everywhere and is, like, official, which makes you a real, legit author.

Oh. Man. 

So. The book is here, as of April 3rd! (Available everywhere, including IndieBound, my favorite indie stores, Amazon, and B&N ... just sayin'.) And various people have been saying various nice things about it. Like:

“An amusing and a wonderful read.” - Arthur Frommer
(on the radio show Rudy Maxa's World; listen to his full glowing review here.)

“Refreshing in its intelligence, candor, good-humored self-deprecation, and insightful redemption of the much-maligned tourist, Mack’s account is a trail-reblazing testament to the transformative power of travel in the modern world, and to the enduring richness of those well-trod places where authenticity, history, culture, and fame compose their own never-ending narratives.”
- National Geographic Traveler

“A genial companion for the armchair traveler.”  - Kirkus Reviews

For more coverage, including yours truly on Minnesota Public Radio, my television debut on KARE 11, and interviews in the Detroit Free Press, MSNBC.com, World Hum, and various other places, check out the Press & Praise section of the book site.

And I had a book launch party! Nearly two hundred people (!!) packed into Honey in Northeast Minneapolis. I read a scene about being stalked by creepy Mozart-costumed guys in Vienna and then did an authentic old-school slide show. All while wearing that seersucker suit you may have seen in my book trailer. Photos by my pal career break guru Kirk Horsted: 

Despite what it looks like, I am not rapping in this photo, I am about to start a slide show.
Question for discussion, though: Should my rapper stage name be D-Mack or Seersucka? Please advise.

And the Best Postcard Winner is ...

First, this contest needs a name. I mean, aside from the Pimp My Postcard Galley Giveaway Contest, which is more or less what I was calling it in my head, but which lacks the esteemed tone and roll-off-the-tongue catchiness of the Oscars or the Pulitzers or the Iggies.

Let's call them the Posties, shall we?

And now, herewith, some Postie winners, counting down to the Grand Postie, which will be honored not with a boring ol' gold statue (meh) but with a signed galley (hooray!). Scroll to the bottom if you're the impatient type and/or want to see if you won. 

The Postie for Okay, That's Seriously Impressive and Kind of Freaking Me Out goes to a collective, the previously noted vast Pantone postcard conspiracy. Incidentally, said conspiracy shows no signs of abating and which, actually, is only gaining strength. I've now received Pantone postcards from Bali, Hawaii, New Zealand, Switzerland, Scotland, and something like sixty-three states. I think I'm up to nearly a hundred Pantone postcards now, and I'm starting to see some duplicate postcards. You know what that means? It means there's more than one pack of postcards out there in the conspiracy-mix; there's the potential for at least two hundred of these things if and when the conspiracy reaches its conclusion. 

These are just the cards that I've received since I last posted about the Pantone conspiracy.

A few favorite individual cards:

Does anyone speak computer?

Front. See below for back.

Back.

Note the first two comments. Forcing your kids to write postcards: cruel child-labor or noble life lesson? Discuss.

Caption trend: writing comments about the weather on the backs of  gray swatch postcards.
Three different people did this, including Shirley in Indonesia.

Front of the above postcard.

Switzerland ... 

Iceland ...

Pantone conspiracy masterminds, I salute you.

Indeed.

The Postie in the Great Effort Foiled By the Postal Service category goes to MB, who sent four different cards from Hawaii, each one with a single word on them: "Aloha," "Hawaii," "On," "A." Three of the postcards are pictured here below.

As you will note, however, "Aloha Hawaii On A" doesn't much sense, no matter how you shuffle around those words. It seems that there may be some other missing words--I'm going to guess I was supposed to get more postcards. I just hope the message isn't supposed to be "Aloha. I'm shipwrecked in Hawaii, on a shark-infested lagoon. Please send help forthwith."

Moving on, the finalists. 

This postcard, truthfully, is my overall favorite. It wins the Postie for Best Defacing of Photos of an Author:

Irn Bru is a vile but wildly popular soft drink native to Scotland, in case you were wondering.

Yes, that's me, along with Maren, my girlfriend fiancee (in other news, I just got engaged!). The postcard came from Ann Schaefer, my mother's friend and 1967 traveling companion, who was immediately disqualified because I was already going to give her a copy of the book. My favorite part about this postcard, though, is that it knowingly echoes a set of photos that Ann and my mother sent back home during their own European trip.

Mom's on the left, Ann's on the right.

In second place is a monster who wins two Posties, for both Best Use of Street Art in a Postcard and Most Surprising Pantone Postcard Conspirators. It comes from my friends at the Key West Literary Seminar, Michael and Kathy; Arlo and Ashley; and Miles and Alan. The endearingly goofy monster you see below is covering up a Pantone postcard (note to Michael and Kathy, et. al: Seriously, how did you get roped into the conspiracy? This thing runs way deeper than I thought ...). I forget the name of the street artist--you see these little creatures here and there around Key West--but I'm hoping someone will remind me in the comments.

And finally ... The Grand Postie. Winner of the galley and the bookmarks and a lifetime of bragging rights!

This card probably doesn't look particularly special on the computer screen. 

But those stamps weren't just Photoshopped on. Those are, no kidding, actual authentic vintage postage stamps affixed to the card. That. That is fantastic. And the card itself is from a 1935 ad in Fortune magazine, as explained on the back:

And on top of everything--on top of making a postcard from a vintage magazine and vintage postcards, on top of generally playing right into the retro-travel theme of my book--there's a fortune for me. Generous, no? And utterly fantastic. 

Congrats, Renee--you win the Grand Postie and the Europe on Five Wrong Turns a Day galley! Kudos on a job very well done. Email me your address (doug@douglasmack.net) and I'll send you the book ASAP. 

Finally, many thanks to everyone who sent me a postcard or letter. If you included your address, I'll write back. (It might take me a few more weeks, given the book launch and tour, but I won't forget about you.)

The contest is over, but please do keep writing!

Commentary Track Bookmarks

A while back--like, a long while back--I was thinking about merchandise tie-ins for my book: 

What would be the logical options? Um. Tacky t-shirts. Tourist action figure (Now whips out the camera 3 times faster!). Postcards. Beer bottles or coasters, maybe. Pastries, definitely. Yes, that's it: [Europe on Five Wrong Turns a Day]-branded croissants! Any bakers who read this should call me to talk numbers, make deals, plan strategy. Big money awaits! Mega-profits guaranteed!!

For some reason, that never quite worked out. Alas. Neither did the plan to give give away canal-side houses in Amsterdam to all of my readers. I tried, but, man, you wouldn't believe the paperwork. 

What I settled on instead was this: Commentary Track Bookmarks. 

DVDs come with commentary tracks and assorted extras, so why shouldn't books? Commentary Track Bookmarks are, yes, bookmarks featuring page-specific outtakes, notes on the writing process, photos, and other behind-the-scenes insights into my travels and my book. They were inspired in part by my friend Rolf Pott's excellent book Marco Polo Didn't Go There, which had commentary track sections at the end of each story.

There are forty different bookmark designs--collect 'em all! Come to one of the book tour events and I'll give you one--or send me a letter or postcard and I'll include one in my reply. Below are two examples; there are more at the bottom of each page as you click around the book web site. 

And if you're wondering how to some for yourself, there's a bit of a trick involved. . . .