My 2013 in reading

I spent a lot of 2013 working and trying to get my thesis off the ground. There were months when things got so tight, it was a wonder I got any reading done at all. I would read a chapter or two before falling asleep or immediately upon waking up; I would read on jeeps, in airplanes, or in line to pay the bills; basically during any stolen quiet moment. I turned in some serious reading while waiting at the airport. On a field trip to Bantayan Island in Cebu, I took a chunk off the tome that is The Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss. Now, I associate travel to the island with certain chapters of that book.

This year, I stopped worrying about the number of books I could finish. I took on books that challenged me (in terms of both scope and scale) and was rewarded for it.

Read the rest of my year-end review on The Exchange, which has been resurrected over at Wordpress. 

Neil Gaiman makes us remember

The Internet hype machine almost ruined this for me. Like the rest of Neil Gaiman's legion of adoring fans, I waited for the release of The Ocean at the End of the Lane. I tracked its progress, but tried my best to avoid reviews. Which was a stretch because, being a highly anticipated novel by a widely loved author, it was simply everywhere. When I finally got my copy, I began reading somewhat rebelliously, refusing to be taken in. The book itself is a slight thing, a three-hour engagement at most. But like that duck pond in the story, it is an ocean. I didn't know what was happening until I looked up and realized I was already waist-deep. The story found me, like seawater finding cracks in a stone wall, and it has been weathering my heart since.

Here is my copy, which I acquired from good, old Fully Booked.

In grade school, some of my friends and I would have lunch in a small wooded area behind the main building. We'd fill the air with our voices and the sounds of our play. When the afternoon bell called us back to our learning, a heavy silence would fall over the woods. There were times I'd find myself there alone, having ran back for some forgotten item or taken a shortcut to the Industrial Arts classroom. The sun would be high in the sky, the bright light casting flickering shadows of leaves on the red-brown soil. The woods felt alive but dormant, as if disturbing the quiet might stir something into waking. I would be a little scared, but curious and defiant, staring at strange, moving shadows longer than I should. The feeling of that place was real and dream-like, an overlap of worlds. And so it was that I read the The Ocean at the End of the Lane under a heady haze of remembrance.

At its core,The Ocean at the End of the Lane is an excellent horror story. The fear, cultivated and absolute, crept into everything. I was so terrified, I couldn't sleep without my back tight against the wall. The last book to affect me this way was Coraline.

The Evil Thing is cunning and amoral, latching on to people's basic tendencies for wickedness. I felt fiercely protective of the narrator as a boy although I should have had more faith in his resilience (I am generally blinded by the charms of little boys, an effect of watching my baby brother grow up). Mr. Gaiman has great respect for children: he is matter-of-fact about the existence of magic, but doesn't spare them the nightmare. He knows they can handle it better than the grown-ups.

This post took so long because, even if I badly wanted to talk about this book and how it made me feel, I didn't know how. I am was a mess of thoughts and feelings, many of them unidentifiable and some too familiar to face directly. I began to think about long-ago and far-away with a sweet ache that, when fully embraced, could swallow me whole. Sometimes I feel old, which, at 27, is ridiculous. The Hempstock women are ancient, but never tired.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane makes me want to write, and write in the best way possible. It "was written for readers," but it is also for writers. Mr. Gaiman's prose is pointed and descriptive, not a single word without function. It is a crystal, boiled down from a balanced solution of talent, skills sharpened over years of practice, and instinct. He sets the example for the Good Art he encourages us to make. In doing so, he has also shared with us something very personal. So here I am, stumbling over my words, trying to say thank you.

Reading: year-end review 2012

It's three days into the New Year, and I still haven't written a year-end post. I'll get to it eventually - it's just that some bits of 2012 are a little hard to digest.

On the other hand, some things are easier to write about than others. On The Exchange, we list our favorite reads for 2012. Here are mine:

(Click here to get to the original post.)

These are some of Hanna's:

(You'll have to click here for the rest of her list.)

And these are our shared favorites:

(And you know what to do.)

Another year done. But, of course, the reading never ends.

Later.

On The Exchange...

...we are reading 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami.

Living for today

You guys. Isn't that the most boring cover ever? But Jeffrey Eugenides, I am your bitch. I will believe everything you write.

Internetz, I am all kinds of busy, y u no leave me alone?

Today, my brain clicked. I think it is the result of the seemingly unrelated bunch of images and videos and news stories I've been encountering while trawling the interwebs.I was like the Intersect, except MUCH slower and I still don't know kung fu.

Randomly, have you seen Emmanuel Kelly's rendition of "Imagine" on The X-Factor? The YouTube video has been shared and re-shared on Facebook all day. The info box said: "BEWARE...Make sure you have lots of tissue beside you." I scoffed, Challenge Accepted. And you guys? I cried. (My friends will tell you I cry at anything. They would be right. So I really don't know what I was Challenge Accepted-ing for.) That John Lennon. He knew his shit. And that boy. He can sing.

Anyway, my brain. It is as if twinkly lights have come on one by one in my head and, outside looking in, I feel like I'm looking up at the Sagada night sky in January. I'm thinking more clearly, and I'm inspired. I remember why I'm doing what I'm doing. It will be useful in the coming days and weeks when I will be a writing machine.

Later.

Tonight:

I am back in The Big City. Seeking refuge in Trese 4: Last Seen After Midnight and a big bag of potato chips.

The Specialist's Hat by Kelly Link

"When you're Dead," Samantha says, "you don't have to brush your teeth."

"When you're Dead," Claire says, "you live in a box, and it's always dark, but you're not ever afraid."

Claire and Samantha are identical twins. Their combined age is twenty years, four months, and six days. Claire is better at being Dead than Samantha.

Read the rest of this deliciously creepy story here.

I was an island

Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are. I'm back after only a week of silence. I thought I should take advantage of this random bout of diligence.

This is what the world looks like now: A theater teacher shrewdly uses Joss Whedon's Firefly to demonstrate honor and principle, and is threatened with criminal charges. In the Philippines, government officials are so obtuse and out of touch, they think it's okay to Photoshop themselves into disaster photos. Yes, the world is one big facepalm.

Space Ghost is not amused. [Image source]

There was another typhoon today. I hear Baguio has been having a hard time of it. My family and many of my friends live there, and I am thinking of them. The Philippine name for Typhoon Nalgae is Quiel. It is a strange name. It's the sort of thing fantasy anime fans might name their first born.

It is quiet in the house tonight and I am looking for something to watch to ward off the blues. Earlier today, I found out that Edgar Wright has included Rushmore in his Criterion Top 10. Coolio. I have been itching to watch it since. Acquiring it now because, apparently, I do not have Rushmore among my files. I am not sure how this could have happened, and now I am worried about the state of my Bill Murray collection.

Kelly Link has been an excellent companion during these stormy days. Her stories are smart and spine-tingling, and her writing is just delicious. Really, I can't get enough of it. I am putty in her hands, dazed by her literary swag. First, she makes me laugh. Then, she makes my skin crawl so I am forced to look behind me. Then suddenly, she comes up with a paragraph that is absolutely heart-breaking, like:

Jeremy's father's office is above the garage. In theory, no one is meant to interrupt him while he's working, but in practice, Jeremy's father loves nothing better than to be interrupted, as long as the person who interrupts brings him something to eat. When Jeremy and his mother are gone, who will bring Jeremy's father food? Jeremy hardens his heart.

Kelly Link, I can't even.

In music, I have been listening to more or less the same stuff. Except I've been enjoying a lot more of Allison Weiss. I like her poetry: "I was a wolf, dear, apart from the pack/ But you answered my cries in the dead of the night/ And told me that you had my back."

My Supernatural download has finished, care bears. I'm off to commune with the boys. I'm like a Twi-hard, but for these guys. Later.

[Short Title, please]

I finished Noisy Outlaws, Unfriendly Blobs, and Some Other Things That Aren’t as Scary, Maybe, Depending on How You Feel About Lost Lands, Stray Cellphones, Creatures from the Sky, Parents Who Disappear in Peru, a Man Named Lars Farf, and One Other Story We Couldn’t Quite Finish, So Maybe You Could Help Us Out this afternoon. It's a short story collection edited by Ted Thompson, published by McSweeney's in 2005. The book mostly contains heart-warming/ mildly disturbing tales that can be appealing to both young and adult readers. The entire collection was a delight, but my particular favorites were "Monster" by Kelly Link and "Grimble" by Clement Freud.

Kelly Link writes so cleverly and subtly that you can't tell that the eerie has made a home in your spine. By the time I was finished with her story, I wanted to burrow into my blankets and turn on all of the lights. It was mid-morning. Another thing I wanted to do was read all of her stuff.

I loved "Grimble." It reminded me so much of when I was growing up, when my parents had to travel a lot for work. So, very much like Freud's plucky title character, I learned how to be alone at a young age. In the story, Grimble's parents leave him a list of neighbors he could go to for help. These dears would help him make dinner through notes and thoughtfully written recipes. When both my parents were out of town, I had my grandmother. She told me stories about funny relatives and let me read while she did the crossword puzzle. Grimble was quite the sensible young man, smart and observant in the ways only small people can be. But even more endearing was, he was really still just a little boy missing his parents. I have been missing mine, too.

Neil Gaiman's "Sunbird" and Jonathan Safran Foer's "The Sixth Borough" were also in the collection. It made me happy to read those stories again. "The ACES Phone" by Jeanne DuPrau was the real surprise. I tried hard not to cry. But come on. A puppy and a boy. A recipe for tears.

The stories in the collection were affecting in a deep, quiet way. They alone were a genuine pleasure. But the book itself was an interesting encounter. I'm a sucker for pretty books (yes, I do judge books by their covers). Who would not be drawn to a round, green monster imploring you to hold it? But there's more: inside the dust jacket is the beginning of a story by Lemony Snicket. It was to be finished by brave, willing souls and sent back to the publisher as a contest entry. "The winning entry [was to] be published in a future book, and the author [to] receive a complete set of A Series of Unfortunate Events, signed by Mr. Snicket himself, along with eleven pounds of chocolate, a Venus flytrap, six hundred tiny glass bottles, and a large sack of dirt from Winnipeg."

The proceeds of the book help fund a reading program for young people. A very worthy book for a very worthy cause.

Please read this book.

Looting at the 32nd Manila International Book Fair

Well, this is awkward. I really want to start writing about this big book fair but my brain is obliging me to explain my long absence. I would have to go back a quite a ways because the last time I wrote here was the beginning of June and it is, in fact, the end of September. So, how about we skip that and go straight to the book porn?

I am temporarily putting my blog sabbatical (cough) on hold because I want to write about the 32nd Manila International Book Fair. There were these lovely blog posts on the fair (namely Carina's at Nothing Spaces, Aldrin's at The Automaton, and Bloo's at Bookmarked) and I was inspired to write my own. I love it when people take photos of their books. Hanna and I put up loot posts regularly on The Exchange. It's our mechanism of enablement (this is not a word goodness, it is a word).

Anyhow, I went to the MIBF with Lem. We were there on September 17th, so the fair had already been going on for four days. We got to the convention center pretty early so the crowds were still a bit thin. This is when things started to get crazy:

This is me sniffing around in the National Bookstore bargain bins (I spent most of my time here).

This is Lem smiling behind a new edition of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl. The folks at Penguin sure know how to make pretty covers. And look, an introduction by Lev Grossman.

A copy of Jonathan Safran Foer's Tree of Codes. It is a beautiful book. We admired the pages in hushed, reverent tones. I took a photo because I couldn't afford it.

There was a cosplay next door. The Joker and the rest of the Arkham gang came out to play:

These are Lem's bags:

These are my bags:

A third of Lem's buys. He found these during the first five minutes and, just like that, his money vanished into the cash machine. He was particularly taken with the Justice League of America Volume 1: The Tornado's Path. He asked me to read it, and I did. I cried. Damn you and your heart, Roy Harper.

This is my haul:

The most expensive of the lot was the graphic novel Black Hole by Charles Burns, which I got for 20% off. The rest were rooted from the bins. I'm especially pleased with Little Brother by Cory Doctorow and Zeitoun by Dave Eggers. I have long been curious about Little Doctor because Neil Gaiman likes it. And since reading You Shall Know Our Velocity, I've been wanting to get me some more Eggers. Also, he has such pretty books. During a quiet moment at the fair, I started reading Zeitoun and it took my breath away. Look:

On moonless nights the men and boys of Jableh, a dusty fishing town on the coast of Syria, would gather their lanterns and set out on their quietest boats. Five or six small craft, two or three fishermen in each. A mile out, they would arrange their boats in a circle on the black sea, drop their nets, and, holding their lanterns over the water, they would approximate the moon.

I've always wanted to own Fevre Dream, George RR Martin's classic vampire novel. This was before A Song of Ice and Fire. On a side note, I finally have (okay, borrowed) a copy of A Dance with Dragons. I will read it when there are no more papers to write and no more workshops to document.

I bought Girl at Sea by Maureen Johnson because YA is the source of my happy while living in The Big City. Also because she'd already won me over with a bunch of blue envelopes (and yes, cute English boys). It had a green sticker, and I took that for a good sign. I was lucky, because it did actually mean a 40% discount. Not bad in the way of deals.

My funds are still recovering from that single day of reckless sensible spending. These days, my default financial state is broke. It has been a week since then, and already I am suffering from book-buying withdrawal.

Later.

Congratulations, this is a rant

Strange day where I lectured for three hours straight in the morning and there were two consecutive earthquakes in the afternoon.

I went home early today and almost fell asleep watching The Romantics. I don't think it had anything to do with my recent lack of sleep. I hear it is based on a book, which I have not read. The author wrote the screenplay, which should have been a good thing. It was also brimming with beautiful people, including Malin Akerman whom I have always had a guilty crush on. Also, Anna Paquin and Adam Brody. And Katie Holmes without her famous hair. And Josh Duhamel. These ridiculously gorgeous actors play a bunch of college friends who reunite to see two of their own get wed. This movie had so much potential but it tripped all over itself in the effort to realize it. I'm not sure even Josh Duhamel's abs could have saved it, but it would have helped to have had more of that. He recites a poem, but by then, I was only watching because I am polite.

So. Out of politeness, I finished the movie and then went to sleep. It was touch and go at first (I had me some caffeine), but my exhaustion eventually won out. It was the kind of sleep where drool is a definite possibility and strange, vivid dreams are a given. It would have been restful, but I woke up when the sun was going down. Naps that end in twilight are the worst. I get cranky and often declare that I Want To Rip Someone's Head Off.

In It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini, the protagonist Craig Gilner obsesses about his numerous daily tasks until he becomes paralyzed and is unable to accomplish anything. He calls this process Cycling. Vizzini provides a name for something I am quite familiar with (In another post, I will talk more about how much I could relate to It's Kind of a Funny Story, it was kind of alarming). I have had episodes where it became impossible for me to finish anything because I would psyche myself out with overthinking. And because I was unproductive, I would fall into a depressed stupor. This has not been the case lately, though. I have been mobile and prompt, and participating. But even then, there is still so much to do. This would not be so bad, but there are also the unforeseen and unfortunate setbacks to deal with. My frustration and anxiety about school has been growing, and I can feel my brain ticking. Fuckstockings, I am teetering on the edge of Cycling.

**********

Writing helped, but I feel bad that this negativity is now loose in the Universe. To begin the healing, I give you chicken and potatoes!

Later.

Tales of childhood

On The Exchange, we celebrate Roald Dahl month! And we are giving away a copy of Boy! The contest details are here. Happy reading!

2011 Reads

These are the books I have read this year, so far:

1. The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen
2. Girl Goddess #9 by Francesca Lia Block
3. Just in Case by Meg Rosoff
4. NP by Banana Yoshimoto
5. This Lullaby by Sarah Dessen
6. One Day by David Nicholls
7. You Shall Know Our Velocity! by Dave Eggers
8. Second Hand by Michael Zadoorian
9. Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby
10. The History of Love by Nicole Krauss
11. Across the Universe by Beth Revis
12. The Solitude of Prime Numbers by Paolo Giordano
13. Dramarama by E. Lockhart
14. On Love by Alain de Botton
15. Just Listen by Sarah Dessen
16. Along for the Ride by Sarah Dessen
17. Starter for Ten by David Nicholls
18. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
19. You Can Never Find a Rickshaw When it Monsoons by Mo Willems
20. Naomi and Ely's No Kiss List by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan
21. 13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson
22. The Last Little Blue Envelope by Maureen Johnson
23. What Happened to Goodbye? by Sarah Dessen
24. Amy and Roger's Epic Detour by Morgan Matson
25. Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins
26. Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Schteyngart
27. Justice League of America Volume 1: The Tornado's Path by Brad Meltzer and Ed Benes
28. Noisy Outlaws, Unfriendly Blobs, and Some Other Things That Aren’t as Scary, Maybe, Depending on How You Feel About Lost Lands, Stray Cellphones, Creatures from the Sky, Parents Who Disappear in Peru, a Man Named Lars Farf, and One Other Story We Couldn’t Quite Finish, So Maybe You Could Help Us Out, Edited by Ted Thompson (with Eli Horowitz)
29. Pretty Monsters by Kelly Link
30. Daytripper by Gabriel Ba and Fabio Moon
31. The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood
32. Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson
33. My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me: Forty New Fairy Tales, edited by Kate Bernheimer
34. Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett
35. Encore Provence by Peter Mayle
36. No Tomorrow by Vivant Denon
37. Trese 4: Last Seen After Midnight by Budjette Tan and Kajo Baldisimo
38. The Heroes of Olympus Book One: The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan
39. Dash and Lily's Book of Dares by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan
40. Girl at Sea by Maureen Johnson
41. Enough About Love by Herve Le Tellier
42. Fantastic Women: 18 Tales of the Surreal and Sublime from Tin House
43. A Conspiracy of Kings by Megan Whalen Turner
44. Let it Snow: Three Holiday Romances by Maureen Johnson, John Green, and Lauren Myracle
45. Lola and the Boy Next Door by Stephanie Perkins

So sleepy...but wait!

On The Exchange, I write a long overdue review for A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore. This book is one of my best reads for 2010, and now an all-time favorite:

"A Dirty Job was my first taste of what would later become an acute addiction to Moore’s work. To say I was impressed is a gross understatement. I basked in the unhinged humor, the zingy back-and-forths between kooky characters, and the thick tangle of a plot. In between all that, Moore manages to make social commentary with his study of the Beta Male and talks about death and reincarnation in a new and interesting light. I was reeling, mystified as to where all this awesomeness had been all my life. So there I was, happily wandering around in this aforementioned blur of awesome, when out of nowhere, I was accosted by hell-hounds and reanimated forest animals and sewer harpies! It was madness. It was magnificent. All this in superb writing."

Heinous fuckery most foul

“This is a bawdy tale. Herein you will find gratuitous shagging, murder, spanking, maiming, treason, and heretofore unexplored heights of vulgarity and profanity, as well as non-traditional grammar, split infinitives and the odd wank. If that sort of thing offends you, then gentle reader pass by, for we endeavor only to entertain, not to offend. That said, if that’s the sort of thing you think you might enjoy, then you have happened upon the perfect story!” 

On The Exchange, I write a review of Fool by Christopher Moore.

Woman! Whoooa Man!

I woke up on Tuesday extremely achy and wanting nothing to do with the outside world. The next day, I went to the school clinic and the doctor told me I had a viral infection in my intestines and/or the rest of my body. She wasn't quite clear where the infection was except that I should rehydrate and watch out for cough and colds. I am home today when I should be in school. I am still woozy, but I think the virus is fleeing for fear of my Gatorade/water/paracetamol regimen. I'm much better, because I've regained control of my mental faculties. Look, I'm writing!

Despite being in the miserable clutches of Virus Last Name Unknown, I had to go out and brave the elements. On Tuesday, while still in denial, I had class and talked about plasma membranes (unaware that my own membranes were under seige...okaaay). Yesterday, I bought my brother a white polo and a tie for his graduation photo. Next year, he will be in high school and will also probably be taller than me.

Adventures at home

HBO was a great friend to me this past couple of days. I saw So I Married an Axe Murderer again. Mike Myers was genius in this movie. It also takes me back to this one afternoon when I was younger (possibly in grade school). I was home alone, and the movie was also playing also on HBO. Nothing really interesting was happening, except that I was alone and entertained. Before my brother was born, I spent a lot of afternoons alone. I always remember them being quiet and sunny, like it is now.



On HBO, I also saw 8 Mile again. Isn't Eminem adorable in this movie? Although "adorable" is hardly a word to describe Eminem. When the movie was over, I started downloading Eminem songs.

I saw the newest Glee episode. For sectionals, they had Santana do a cover of "Valerie." Then a shocking, but very welcome, surprise: Tina and Mercedes sing "Dog Days are Over" (I still haven't quite gotten over this). And something less shocking (but pleasant nonetheless): "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina" by Kurt and Rachel. Those two do have their moments. Congratulations, I have returned to Gleek-dom.

Not much in books since printed words seem to overwhelm my virus-addled brain. I have picked up the History of Love by Nicole Krauss, though, and am quietly making my way through it. I got distracted from Everything is Illuminated and ended up reading My Most Excellent Year by Steve Kluger. Bless its pure, sweet soul. It tried very hard to pry open my cold, black heart.

I've just about run out of writing mojo. And to stay true to my consistent shameless plugging of The Exchange: please mosey on over there to read my review of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. We wrap up Harry Potter/J.K. Rowling month today, and move on to the next featured author who shall later be named.

Intestine-friendly lunch now. Later.

The Labyrinth

The Sunday blues are such a drag. Also, I have forgotten how to construct entertaining sentences. This may be a symptom of said ennui. Bear with me as I let my mediocre sentences out into the world so that I might feel productive, and therefore, less belligerent.

Just a couple of things:

I am currently poring over Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything is Illuminated, a book I have been lusting after since reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

Last night, I saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part 1) with Lem. I asked very nicely so he would agree to watch with me. Lem is a purist and believes only in the books. He remarked that Daniel Radcliffe was short, and admitted that Rupert Grint provided excellent comic relief. I was already a blubbering mess about two minutes in. It took great effort to pull myself together and actually pay attention. Lem's left sleeve was quite helpful in soaking up tears and snot. I have been feeling very sentimental towards Harry Potter lately. It must be because I've been re-reading the earlier years for a project on The Exchange, and the nostalgia is a doozie.

I am trying very hard to keep drinking cups of positivi-tea. But man, is it tough.

Later.

The usual suspects

I spent most of September and October with a red pen in my left hand and a tired scowl on my face. Things have cleared up considerably, though, so here I am.

In books, I am currently working on Wonder Boys by Michael Chabon. I finally found a copy last week while on a trip for a workshop on frogs and expensive lab equipment with which to play with their anatomy. I can't get Michael Douglas' voice out of my head. He is my narrator. I also keep imagining Robert Downey Jr. as Terry Crabtree. Normally, this would be a bad thing, but who wouldn't enjoy Robert Downey Jr.'s face frequently popping into their head?

Also in books, it is currently J.K. Rowling Month on The Exchange. This gives us ample opportunity to obsess about Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part 1).


New episodes are out. Supernatural has been giving me a headache, but I hold on for Dean's beautiful eyes. On the other hand, this season's Weekend at Bobby's (episode 4) was a gem. Also, was recently immersed in White Collar. Neal Caffery totally owns: his classic suits and devilish charm have disarmed me. I was desolate when I ran out of episodes.

I've been a little somber the past few weeks. My mind likes to make cocktails of random dark feelings. So as not to completely transform into a black hole, I have compiled a list of things that make me happy:

• Lem and his campaign for POSITIVITY(!)
• Good friends and the cake they bear
• New books/ new old books
• A laptop that can type the letters G and H, and also the number 3 (The keyboard on my two-year old Compaq is succumbing to overuse. Obviously I can't manage without an H. The word "the" alone would have to vanish from my vocabulary, and I happen to enjoy this particular article. Currently using Pa's laptop, which he has agreed to part with for a reasonable price.)
• A clutter-free desk (I cleaned out my desk at school the other day. I spent hours feeding a paper shredder the spoils of last semester. It was vastly satisfying. Also, this paper will be recycled. So hurrah for the Earth!)
• Slow mornings with the family
• Dog
• The Baguio cold

More happy things soon. Later.

Tomorrow will be a better day

This weekend, my class and I went on a field trip to Pagudpod, Ilocos Norte where they surveyed a river in the rain. We traveled all of Friday night, and hiked to the site right after breakfast on Saturday. Everyone was tired, but we managed to get some work done. On the Sunday trip home, the students asked the conductor to put on a horror movie. We spent most of the ride up Naguilian Road hungry, tired, and scared entertained.

Today, I tried to sleep off a cough that has been squatting in my throat. It has been making the task of easing into my regular orbit nearly impossible.

On The Exchange, Hanna writes a luminous review for An Abundance of Katherines by John Green:

"It is a charming novel that is genuinely funny and incredibly intelligent. The characters are real, flawed, endearing, and wonderfully three-dimensional. Colin Singleton, the protagonist, does get a bit whiny and annoying. But then there’s Hassan, Colin’s best friend, who always manages to save the day either by cracking a joke or faking an asthma attack." 

I get to borrow it from her soon, and I'm very excited.

The fatigue of the trip and my cold have been threatening to pull me into my hole. But the promise of good books, a couple of Frasier episodes, and kind words kept me steady today.

Paracetamol and blankets await. Later.

The Beautiful Miscellaneous

Hanna writes a review of Dominic Smith's The Beautiful Miscellaneous:

"For the record, let me just say that I get uncharacteristically attached with the characters in the book that I read and I have a hard time dealing when the time comes for me to let go of them.

This sentiment is especially true after reading The Beautiful Miscellaneous by Dominic Smith. The book is essentially about a seemingly ordinary boy who has been living under the shadow of his father’s genius..."

Continue reading the review on The Exchange.