It’s been just over a year since I was making the commute from Manhattan out to the Songlines office in Westchester County. As many of you probably remember from talking to me back then, the daily trek wasn’t particularly challenging in nature — only in length. It took about an hour and fifteen minutes to go door-to-door each way, and involved a short subway ride, a bit of walking, and a long haul on a commuter train.

While most of the days (especially in retrospect) tended to blend together as far as the train rides were concerned, some of the moments that impacted my memory the most took place on the short walking stint. The transfer from the underground subway to the above-ground train involved hoofing it down a very busy block of 125th Street, in the heart of Harlem. I can’t count the number of times I was hit on, yelled at, offered interesting wares, forced to run in heels when I saw the train approaching, splashed by buses crashing through puddles — you name it. But while all of this might sound a bit negative to a casual observer, my lasting impression of the block is one of constant movement and variety, peopled by friendly, busy New Yorkers every bit as invested in their day-to-day as I was. There was something so vital and real about the scene; I can honestly say I miss it.

Apparently, someone at Slate agrees with me — Camilo Jose Vergara has brought brought the block to life with much more eloquence than I ever could. Check out this vibrant photo essay.

So much is being blogged, Twittered and said about John Mayer’s recent interviews in Rolling Stone and Playboy. Check out this interesting discussion from yesterday’s Los Angeles Times online between veteran music journalists Ann Powers and Rob Tannenbaum (the man who conducted the interview for Playboy). Tannenbaum discusses the two interviews he conducted with Mayer and both journos comment on the echnical and cultural changes that have made it possible for a (now rare) 7000 word interview to be distilled into 140 word summaries.

Our lives seem to be flying by at an increasingly rapid pace. I often wonder about the little details I’m missing, and take an inordinate amount of pleasure from the information that I actually retain by the end of each day.

Maybe this notion is the reason why I find Al Hoff’s Walking to New Orleans blog so pleasing. Last month, he set out from my hometown, Pittsburgh, for New Orleans — on foot.

In the forced slowness of the journey, he’s coming upon the unusual sights of a forgotten time, such as the Dean Martin mural on a grocery store wall in the industrial town of Steubenville, Ohio (the birthplace I share with Martin).

Hoff obviously got more than he bargained for, with Snowpocalypse sweeping this section of the country. I wish him well, and can’t wait to see what bits of Americana he discovers along his way.