Off Ramp – Hank Steuver

$11.53 in paperback at Amazon.com

Buy it if: When it comes to non-fiction, you find perspective equally compelling as information…and your car’s CD holder could be a random sampling culled from the shelves of Amoeba Music.

Don’t buy it if: You don’t mix snark and sincere. If you expect a common tone when delving into a collection, you’re going to be disappointed half the time.

The essay collection it hardly a new medium. In fact, I’d be willing to lay a wager that the first bound pages were probably so devoted. (Well, maybe the very first were simply a means of determining how many ears of corn ancient Egyptian farmers owed their ancient Egyptian plumbers for coming out after nine on weekend. Literature almost always plays to second fiddle to economics…) The short form of an essay lends itself, pragmatically, to collection. After all, it’s tough to justify printing books with only 10 pages, and one episode of ‘Hoaders’ should be all it takes to convince you that the archiving of original periodical sources can easily spiral out of control. But a collection of essays held neatly together in book form can deliver a huge bang for your reading buck. Long enough to provide joy of equal amount to something long form, yet organized into discrete sections that can be experienced individually, often without succumbing to the tyranny of chronology.

Hank Steuver’s Off Ramp isn’t the most eclectic mix, but it’s up there. This shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows him as a regular in the Washington Post’s Style section, a grouping of newsprint that’s as diversified as the city it’s written to serve. But if you’re glancing through the book at your local shop (provided you still have one) and get a twinge of joy at the Star Wars piece, you might find yourself ho-humming during the Latino wedding saga that precedes it. If you’re moved by the familial sadness juxtaposed with the Oklahoma City bombing, it’s quite possible you’ll find the piece on ‘Adult Night’ at a mid-western roller rink a bit irreverent and out of place.

However, if at least three out of the four of the above stories made you stop and think Hmm, THAT one sounds kind of interesting… then it’s very likely you reside in Steuver’s prime intellectual real estate. (I’m just guessing, but you probably also like NPR and read the sports section last.) This collection is squarely aimed at the wandering mind with whimsical tendencies, the literary equivalent to Greenwich Village.

Fortunately, the price of inclusion in this journey is significantly lower than a trendy, downtown loft.

Surprisingly, each piece doesn’t force the reader into a large emotional commitment. Despite the sentiment-laden subject matter, the style is ever-so-slightly detached. It’s as if the words are constantly looking over their shoulder, cognizant of observation. You may find this ideal. If you think your own emotional baggage is more than adequate, it will be a relief that Steuver isn’t burdening you with any extra. But if you’re the type that wants to feel, that has a desire for empathy, some of the tragedy-tinged episodes will lack the resonance you seek. You’ll enjoy the quirky characters of Partyland, but wish you knew them better. You’ll picture the New Mexico wedding celebration, but not feel the internal confusion of a young and newly bonded couple. Off Ramp is truly observational, but I suspect that a lot of Steuver’s core demographic flock to collections like this for more than reportage. They’re coming to be involved.

At first glance, I assumed Off Ramp would make for great airplane reading. Lots of small, satisfying chunks of writing that can be consumed and satisfyingly digested on their own... My assumption was wrong. Steuver’s collection is more like an incredibly in-depth game of solo Scruples. The situations give enough context to beg questions of a reader’s own personality, but provide no real answers outside of a very specific situation. It's difficult to ignore enough of yourself in the reported characters and avoid the question What if… Light reading? Maybe not. But a uniquely disguised road towards introspection? Oddly, yes.

Bike Snob by BikeSnobNYC (aka Eben Weiss)

$9.75 in hardcover (Worth it.) from Amazon.com

Buy it if: You’ve been on two wheels long enough to differentiate between marketing and reality, fashion and function, Shimano and Campy…

Don’t buy it if: You think cyclists belong on sidewalks, lycra is lame and only Lance matters. (Then again, this also makes you the ideal reader…)

Don’t be put off by the title. Or the author’s name for that matter. (Until recently, BikeSnobNYC was the ‘nome de plume’ associated with this book and the site (bikesnobNYC.blogspot.com) that spawned it. Clever nomenclature aside, the Snob is anything but. Instead, this small tome reads as a distilled guide to the core of cycling. Gram counting racers and weekend joyriders alike will find a kindred spirit among these pages. Brakeless hipsters and joyless spin-classers...not so much.

Amazingly, in only 222 jersey-pocket-sized pages, the Bike Snob manages to break it all down. Really. History of the bike? It’s there. Why do messengers ride single speed fixies? It’s answered. I want to ride, what do I really need to buy? Covered. (And the truth is far simpler than the Bicycling Magazine Buyer’s Guide would have you believe. Turns out you only need a bike!) Forget anything on the bookshelf that starts with “Guide to…” and give this to any potential enthusiast. Bike Snob will do more to kickstart their obsession than any generic ‘How To’ book.

But it’s not just informative. Indeed, if you’re at all serious about riding there are far more copious and dense sources of information. Instead, the real strength of the book is its ‘forest for the trees’ gestalt. On a bike? The Snob says you're a cyclist. The book is fantastic reminder that common sense is the most useful thing to have along in your saddlebag. From locks (Heavy and strong is better) to helmets (They protect you, but not nearly as well as skillful riding) to style-detracting brakes and fenders (Here’s a hint, function trumps cool) the Snob is the great equalizer. He brings the Cat 3 weekend warrior and style-obsessed city dweller back to earth, all while being a willing participant in both scenes.

You want to ride? Ride. As long as it’s got two wheels, some pedals (and preferably a brake or two) the Snob might just be the thing you need to get out the door and moving. Forget being worried about your cheesy USPS jersey. Don’t stress about your outdated Shimano 8-speed groupo. It’s a new day to be alive and seeing the world on a bike. According to the author, as long as you are, you’re better off than the rest of the world. That’s the only actual snobbish perspective in the whole book…and I agree.

Sideways – Rex Pickett and Up in the Air – Walter Kirn

Available for $10.17 (both!) in paperback at Amazon.com

Buy them if: You’re a sucker for books that have “Now a Major Motion Picture” printed on the cover

Don’t buy them if: You’re excited for books that will exceed the films. They don’t.

Until very recently, I could only think of a single film that rated as superior to the book upon which it was based. (Extraordinarily, Annie Proulx met her match in Ang Lee of all people…) And then somehow, in the span of two months, not one, but two books made their way into my hands...and then promptly fell short of the precedent set by their silver screen dopplegangers.

Both Sideways and Up in the Air were heralded as smart little films, succeeding with quirky characters and elegantly realistic worlds, each devoid of Hollywood glamorizing. If anything, the human flaws and the dull settings gave these slightly askew visions of life a cache of credibility. The big screen Miles and Jack were certainly compelling - if slightly unlikeable – anti-heroes. And while I didn’t love the film version of Walter Kirn’s ‘Airworld’ tale, I could certainly relate to characters for whom flight attendants and plastic silverware are standard parts of a workday.

Given this, who wouldn’t be queuing up to grab a copy of the paperback in their local bookstore? After all, the book is always better than the film, right? At first glance, Sideways offers support for this maxim. There go the same characters, launching off on the same wine-soaked adventure. It’s no trouble at all conjuring a mental image featuring Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church. In fact, you won’t start to notice discrepancies for quite some time. The book, like the film, moves through entertainingly harmless descriptions of ‘boys being boys’ alcohol-soaked revelry. It follows the pair gamely as one seeks wine-induced euphoria while the other pursues a more risqué siren’s call before his impending nuptials. All in all, a good, clean (well, for a story centered on DUIs and cuckolding) tale.

But at some point the words take a loopy turn away from realism and the whole thing begins to derail. The movie was wise to include only hints of the really silly scenes as a means to set off its more depressing tones, but author Hackett goes at them full throttle with a style that is more Al Franken – pre-Senate version, of course – than I would prefer. Somewhere around the mythical, midnight boar hunt, Hackett loses a grip on the pseudo-realism that director Alex Payne manages to maintain through to the movie’s conclusion. As a book, it’s still a welcome diversion from the real world, but as a fictional narrative it can only manage second place to its Hollywood successor.

Meanwhile, the cool, jaded and Clooney-ized Up in the Air available at your local Redbox offers such a distant take on Walter Kirn’s original (the pages and binding version) it could very well be marketed under a wholly different title and easily rendered unrecognizable. Kirn should be grateful this never came to pass. He would certainly sold far fewer copies! While the film itself doesn’t emerge flawless, the literary version is far more encumbered by woe, ego and depression that weigh too heavily and without balance.

Like Sideways, the novel is a bit overplagued by characters that operate a little too far outside reality for a reader to really identify – and therefore empathize – with them. Don’t get me wrong, I love the fantastic. To me, pure fictional storytelling, unyielding to reality, remains hallowed ground. But you can’t have it both ways. Using reality to excuse characters’ disingenuous actions, thoughts and words just feels like cheating when they are otherwise unbounded by these rules. It feels…icky. Like a setup. Don’t ask me to choose between Door Number One and Door Number Two and, oh by the way, please ignore the screaming behind Two, it’s nothing to be concerned with…

Such is the feeling you might get paging through a tale that oddly juxtaposes real entities – Mariott and MGM – with oddly familiar figments like ‘Desert Air’ and ‘MythTech.’ While it’s not completely uncouth to introduce what are essentially pseudonyms for real-world counterparts, the resulting interactions feel disjointed. It’s as if J.K. Rowling asked you to believe that Hogwarts students don’t eat. Flying broomsticks? Sure. People who don’t get hungry? It’s fiction out of context, something that subtly plagues the entire length of this book. Not enough to pain, but adequately annoying.

All in all, even without flaws serious enough to dock Up in the Air major points, there are enough minor blemishes to recommend against it. If you were hoping for fuller, more nuanced take on the what you saw in theaters…you got the best there is already. With popcorn. Quit while you’re ahead.

They Call Me Baba Booey – Gary Dell’Abate and Chad Millman

$12.50 in hardcover from Amazon.com

Buy it if: You’re a completist whose bookshelves are already stocked with Private Parts, Quivers: A Life, and Too Fat To Fish

Don’t Buy It if: The only memoirs you read are by celebrities themselves. Who cares about those peons behind the scenes?

Believe me, I am more than aware that a large portion of my ‘audience’ will take one look at the subject matter, smirk at a final confirmation of my obviously lowbrow tendencies and quickly dismiss this modern autobiography. But you shouldn’t and here’s why: Howard Stern has an immediately polarizing, completely galvanizing effect on almost any American clued in to pop culture. The catch? A huge amount of these people react to a name and reputation…having never actually listened to the radio program. Now, believe me, I am not going to advocate that all of my readers purchase a Sirius subscription and become avid followers (though I’m willing to bet some of you might be surprised!) But I will ask that you consider this book on its own merit, because ‘shock jock’ cache aside, it’s a fairly interesting read.

Gary ‘Baba Booey’ Dell’Abate - Yes, the nickname is explained in the book - is Howard Stern’s long time producer. And had he set out to chronicle his time on the show, there is no doubt that his first whack as an author would have been – at minimum - full of entertaining anecdotes. But like the show he produces, this volume is not what it appears to be on the surface. Instead of rehashing glory days of lesbians, butt bongo and Jackie the Jokeman, They Call Me Baba Booey is an honest look at a how a few twists of fate, good work ethic and a sense of humor can deposit a working class kid at the helm of a media juggernaut.

Ironically, it’s the lack of focus on Stern and the show’s content that will captivate both fans and non-fans of Howard. After all, listeners already know what goes out over the airwaves, and haters probably don’t care. Instead, it’s an honest look at the forces that created a man able to withstand Howard’s most barbed attacks and come back stronger than ever. A severely depressed mother, closeted gay brother and angst-ridden boss are only a small portion of the people that formed the author’s personality. His ability to view his life with a (relatively) objective perspective makes for very compelling reading indeed. Even if the prose isn’t the most eloquent literary construction on the market today, the honesty and candor more than make up for it.

Case in a point: a jacket photo that’s as real at it gets. Forget the glossy glamour shots or fashion-coordinated ‘candids’ that grace the fronts of so many memoirs. Dell’Abate put himself out there in all of his mid-puberty, horribly mustachioed glory. It’s a supreme example of unequivocal self-deprecation and truth. In fact, this might the rare instance where you can judge a book by its cover.

“Stuff You Should Know” – Josh Clark and Chuck Bryant

$0.00 (!) on iTunes

Buy it if: You’ve ever been a subscriber to Smithsonian Magazine. Or keep your car radio tuned to NPR constantly.

Don’t Buy It If: You think iPods are for music only and NPR is nothing but a commie plot.

Books can be wonderful diversions from the real world, or delicious slices of information about it. But the one thing they can never be is…safe to read to while driving! So, in a small break from tradition, Will’s Super Nerdy Reviews is officially recommending a podcast! For all of its pop-up ad, Viagra-selling, social-networking annoyance, every once in a while the internet lands something – quite literally – in your lap(top) that brings intellectual joy to the dot com era. And in the best of times, it’s free!

I would go so far as to say that the ‘Stuff You Should Know’ sessions are practically required listening in terms of keeping your ‘Super Nerdy’ status. (For those of you uninterested in the social sadness that can result, don’t worry, ‘Stuff You Should Know’ can also make you seem incredibly worldy at the cocktail parties to which I’m sure you inevitably get invited.) When you add in the convenience of being able to download them from iTunes gratis and store them on you iPod, iPhone, iPad, iMac and iEverythingElse, there’s quite literally no excuse for not at least giving them a try. (Start with the episode: ‘How Jack the Ripper Works,’ you’ll be instantly hooked.)

An outgrowth of the HowStuffWorks.com website, the podcast is essentially a very focused take on one of the site’s articles, a basic overview with a bit of background and quite a few fascinating tidbits to add some color commentary, all done in 20 to 40 minutes. (Being a podcast, there’s no real time restraint. And, like old time radio broadcasts, no interruptions once you’re through with the initial sponsor obligations.) Should the program sufficiently capture your interest, the website provides articles and information with far more detail on the subject. If it turns out that ‘How Crime Scene Clean-Up Works’ doesn’t hold your interest – though I can’t honestly imagine that’s possible – you can delete it guilt-free having spent not a cent on its purchase.

Of course, as any high school history student will tell you, content does not an interesting lesson make. It’s all in the delivery. This is where ‘Stuff You Should Know’ stands head and shoulders above the rest. Let’s face it, the world is littered with boring and pretentious people spewing stream-of-conscious drivel into their laptops, uploading it to the digital world and calling themselves broadcasters. Josh and Chuck, erstwhile hosts of ‘Stuff You Should Know,’ are NOT these people. Instead, they’re Riggs and Murtaugh meet Gifford and Cosell by way of Ernst & Young, self-deprecating wisecrackers that are as entertained and amused by the subject at hand as the audience. And always with fascinating statistics.

This is what makes ‘Stuff You Should Know’ so uniquely appealing. The tag team approach to their research means the hosts are as apt to be surprised by the subject matter as their listeners. So, whatever geeky question enters your head is probably in theirs, too. That nerdy chuckle you’re stifling is being shared by one or both of the hosts. They’re just like you - well, if you’re at all like me – and the half hour you spend together will make you feel amongst kindred spirits.

So, embrace that part of you still loves of old James Bond movies, rekindle the childish spirit that stares wide-eyed in the Air&Space Museum and download a few of the episodes. ‘Stuff You Should Know’ is at least stuff you should try.

The Billionaire’s Vinegar – Benjamin Wallace

In Paperback from Amazon.com for $10.17

Buy it if: You feel like living vicariously (and viniculturally) through those who consider an ’82 Haut-Brion young and affordable

Don’t buy it if: You consider anything beyond $9 Yellow Tail Shiraz an overpriced extravagance… Or if you happen to own a $27,000 1899 Chateau d’Yquem of questionable provenance!

As with wine, there are a half dozen different reasons a reader could enjoy The Billionaire’s Vinegar. Or dislike it for that matter. Though named for what was, at the time, the most expensive bottle of wine ever purchased, the subject is really much broader than that. And author Benjamin Wallace spends 300+ pages delving into the many twisted and deceptive paths that ancient wines tread before they are ever actually uncorked. For these treasures are not simply bottled, cataloged and placed in a cellar to await someone with money to burn and a fancy corkscrew. Instead they are squirreled away, traded at auction, packed across continents or – if your faith remains by the end of the book – buried in hidden cellars around Paris and the rest of the world.

The titular 1787 'Thomas Jefferson' Lafite purchased by Malcom Forbes is actually only one of a host of antique wines to make an appearance. While it may be the quintessential example of how much some fabulously wealthy collectors are willing to shell out for a piece of drinkable history ($156,450 for those keeping score…) it is only one of dozens that protagonist Harry Rodenstock – who displays apparent Indiana Jones-like veracity in unearthing these bottled treasures – sold over the course of a decade and a half. Some show up at hedonistic tasting dinners that would make Robin Leach blush, while others find their way to the auction blocks of Christie’s and Sotheby’s or directly into the cellars of the super-rich. But by the midway point of the book it is obvious that all are tainted by the stench of suspicion.

As with the best mysteries, fiction or otherwise, it’s the characters in The Billionaire’s Vinegar that move it beyond a simple question of ‘is it or isn’t it.’ From Rodenstock’s shifty dealings, to lauded wine expert-cum-unwitting-accomplice Michael Broadbent's spearheading of auctions, Wallace includes a number of personalities in the wine world’s quest to discover (or remain blissfully ignorant of) the true origins of these ultra-rare bottles. By the conclusion, a Jefferson historian, carbon-dating expert and eccentric publisher will all have joined the fray. Though I’d venture to say the book’s greatest failing is its inability to offer a definite conclusion, the immensely deep and varied cast more than makes up for it.

Fair warning, before the book's end you will almost certainly be tempted to visit your local merchant with a Bordeaux-laden shopping list, if only to get a taste for the modern version of the treasures discussed. But it will be well worth it. The biggest fringe benefit of Wallace’s volume is a deepened appreciation for the history, craftsmanship and mystique inherent to the world’s most important wine region. So pour a glass, sniff deeply, sip and enjoy a pastime shared with monarchs, tycoons and presidents. Even those of us with modest means may take pleasure in the simple joys of good wine and a well-told story.

Sum – David Eagleman

Buy it if: You find the phrase ‘philosophical, open-minded ponderer’ invigorating. Or have a very short attention span.

Skip it if: You are simply uninterested in hearing about more than one version of the afterlife.

Is heaven little more than a voyeuristic cinema starring the living? Are we condemned to purgatory until every earthbound human soul that recalls our names dies? Will the afterlife contain only those people that we had living interactions with? Perhaps the world is populated by both the living and the dead, with only the deceased aware of the distinction? My friends, David Eagleman provides the following answers: Yes, yes, yes and…yes.

In a brilliant demonstration of inventive perception, Eagleman’s Sum offers forty – Forty! – different hypotheses about what really happens after we slip from this mortal coil. Though they range from wildy inventive to relatively introspective, each description (they’re not really stories) is wholly engrossing and quite neatly bundles its unique explanation in a succinct burst of prose. There’s a theory that portrays the entire human race as nodes in a giant calculation machine while another posits that heavenly entry is divined by committee. None are exceptionally close to a ‘traditional’ view, but many pull from common themes like a divine creator or the sorting of souls between heaven and hell.

Others are a bit more on the edge. One passage mentions casually that God used to keep a home on Earth (a beach house on the Med, naturally) but eventually stopped visiting once he found his time was being unduly monopolized by his creations. Yet another holds that upon death the world appears much the same - minus the crowds -since your afterlife holds only souls that crossed paths with you during your time amongst the living.

Most notably, each of these pieces is short. Like, really short. Somehow, the author manages to create, explain and convince in only two or three pages. It’s a remarkable show of literary efficiency that is matched only by the book’s creativity. The forty different chapters are not separated by shades of difference or varied slants on a philosophy, they are each wholly different. With a depth of ideas that I can only compare to Kurt Vonnegut, the author will almost certainly leave you in a similar state at the end of each one. For me it was a muttered ‘hmmm’ accompanied by the hint of a smile and brief look around my own living (I assume!) world as I wondered about the possibility of this description being true.

And that’s the crux of the book. With all due respect to my readership’s personal beliefs, I have to assume the afterlife remains a mystery to us all. (If you have some inside info, PLEASE get back to me ASAP!) So, though some of the included sections may seem more ‘plausible’ than others, it’s quite interesting to realize that – empirically speaking – each has about the same likelihood of being possible. It’s a guarantee that at least a few of the stories contained within will give you pause and bring a smile to your face. Even more fun, the book is thinner than your worn out copy of Ramona Quimby and can be easily enjoyed in both small sips and big gulps.

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that I’m obviously I’m sidestepping the religious implications attached to any book about the afterlife…that’s because I want you to keep reading my reviews! This book is nothing more than a collection of words on a page meant provoke thought, which it does quite nicely. That – plus the fact that the paperback edition measures less than a half-inch thick – makes me certain that most or all of you can find a spot for it on your bookshelf.