Does anyone really know who writes these Patterson books? Does anyone care?

(Note: This is a rerun--but an old favorite). 

Tomorrow is July 4th––Independence Day in the US. It’s my absolute favorite holiday. Not because of any red-blooded patriotic thing––but because of all the gaudy American holidays, this one requires very little in the way of preparation or décor. I don’t have to stuff a turkey, cut down a tree, hang lights or buy vast amounts of chocolate. You get to basically avoid a lot of base commercial crassness and just blow up stuff. How American is that?

My favorite 4th of all time was in 1976. (I was a swaggering eight years old). The Bicentennial was a very big deal. Plus the Vietnam War was over, so even stoned-out hippies who'd been protesting the war a year earlier, now rode shirtless in the back of pick-up trucks waving flags––yelling Happy Birthday America! It was beautiful.

But, like Iraqi insurgents, we cleverly removed the bases from our Golden Smokes (like a Piccolo Pete, but less dangerous) launching them, bouncing and smoking into said hippies during the 4th of July parade. But our aim was off. Instead we smoked out a junior high marching band. No injuries or arrests were reported. In retrospect, with all the patchouli oil involved, it’s a miracle one of those poor shirtless fools didn’t spontaneously combust. (Please, kids, don't try the Piccolo Pete thing at home. It's quite dangerous).

Anyway, in good conscience I really can’t tout the 4th without mentioning another, lonely forgotten holiday in the month of July. So without further adieu, I give you:

July 20ish––Chinese Valentine’s Day. Technically it’s the 7th day of the 7th lunar cycle, so the actual day is a little slippery. The legend reads like a letter to Penthouse Forum: The Goddess of Heaven had seven gorgeous daughters, who decided to bathe, naked, in a river. (As you can tell, a guy, invented this holiday). A cow herder named Niu Lang, which I think means, "Where’s my Viagra?" in Mandarin, came by and took their clothes, and probably a few snapshots with his digital camera. The daughters decided that Zhi Nü, the youngest and most beautiful should go confront him. But when Niu Lang saw her naked, they had to get married, and subsequently fell madly in love. How’s that work? Naked—have to get married—then love? Just like Spring Break in Daytona.

Okay, I’m done. I now return you to your previously scheduled holiday. Have fun. Be safe. Don’t lose an eyeball.

(And lest I be too jingoistic. Happy Bastille Day to Aliette, Happy Independence Day (next month) to Bhaswati Ghosh, and a belated Austrailia Day to Amra Pajalic and Daniel Hatadi.

Lisa See's haunting bestseller was recently optioned for the big screenLots of good things are happening with HOTEL this week.

The latest is that Lisa See (yes, that Lisa See!) was gracious enough to read the manuscript and give me that amazing blurb. The full quote is a bit longer, but that’s the part that’s stuck in my head. That’s the part that I dance to and sing in the shower—off tune, as always.

Lisa See has earned her place in the firmament of great Asian American authors (heck, great authors, period).

I'm awed, honored and incredibly grateful.

Me, just before I was tasered by security for taking photos Hey, I’m back home--where strangers make eye contact on the street and sometimes even say "hello". What we lack in skyscrapers we make up for in mountains. And what we lack in kamikaze cab drivers and superior bagels we make up for in…um…more mountains.

I actually crammed so much sightseeing into my NYC trip, that it’s hard to separate it all. We toured NBC studios, the United Nations, saw Spring Awakening on Broadway and even caught the Metro North from Grand Central Station to Yonkers to see relatives. (On purpose, as opposed to our detour to Queens).

The highlights though were obviously my meetings and lunch at Random House. The feedback on HOTEL has been overwhelming. And of course it was great to walk away with uncorrected galley proofs in my hot little hand and see the latest iteration of the cover—which I’ll post as soon as it’s final. Close. So close.

I’m one of those weird people that runs on about five hours sleep each night, yet here I am, wide awake at 4:00 am, which is ridiculous, even for me. (In fact, it’s 2:00 am in my native time zone. I’ve got this whole jet-lag thing backwards…)

I’d meant to blog about my lovely day at Random House much sooner, but a late-night dinner in Manhattan’s Lower East Village changed those plans. Many thanks to my cousin Brian for taking us on the gastronomical equivalent of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, otherwise known as Grafitti’s. If you haven’t been there––and you probably haven’t since they’ve only been open for 21 weeks––get your reservation in soon.

The menu is amazing. We had asparagus wasabi pizza, green mango paneer, chili pork dumplings with grapefruit confit, halva with a mascarpone date cream, black pepper ice cream––I could go on and on. I even bought a cookbook, which, oddly enough was published by the house that came in second in the book auction for HOTEL. (Chef Mehta and I were able to talk food and publishing).

Which sort of brings me back to my day at Random House, which was just as surreal as my dinner. I met EVERYONE. Okay, I’m sure Random House has a few more employees than the fourteen that I met, but it felt like everyone. And they were incredibly nice, wonderfully enthusiastic, and potentially bored enough to be reading this right now--––in which case I can honestly say they were the most intelligent, good-looking, charming people I have ever met, and the meeting would have gone on for hours, filled with their brilliant ideas but we had to cut it short so they could run downstairs and begin passing out blankets to the poor. Did I mention how brilliant they were?

Seriously though, they were great. If you are reading this––thank you. New York is a busy place. You’re busy people. I sincerely appreciate your time and hard work on behalf of this humble little book of mine.

More mañana. My alarm just went off...