Dear Diary, #1

Hey, D.! This is P.

So the bf's been seriously bitten by the travel bug. Now he has itchy feet. I've a few realizations regarding traveling, now that we're planning to go to a few countries in the near future. One, of course it's going to be costly. I'm now down to two meals a day just to save up. Hopefully, not just more money but more prominent cheekbones and jawline in the coming weeks. Remind me to take a before and after pic, D.

The donut socks are mine.
We took this picture right before entering the temple, as cameras weren't allowed inside.
D., I just realized that I no longer have plain white or black socks.

We're going to Taiwan next month, which, if I weren't going with the bf, would be unfortuitous for two reasons. One, I've been to Taiwan just last year, albeit for only 3 days. Two, we just traveled last month, and my fat ass needs some bit of a recuperating time. But who am I kidding, D.! It's only my slim wallet that needs time to fatten up. Seriously, you think that you're getting a good deal with a travel promo, and then you realize you need a pocket wifi, museum tickets, a tour guide for a place you're really hoping is worth it, etc. It's a good thing that the spa and massage aren't my thing. I feel iffy when strangers touch me. What's wrong with me, D.?

I love Taiwan. Clean, friendly people, delicious food. I can't recall a bad experience during the 3 days I was there last year. Well, except for one night when I got lost and ended up walking for almost 3 hours because I was too stubborn to ask for directions. Woe is me when I took a bite of that humble pie and hopped into a taxi just to get to my hotel. Can I permanently live in hotels, D.? I kinda feel that it's my natural habitat. Three words: crisp white sheets. I know that there's this awful urban legend on how hotels don't really change their sheets as often as they should. But as long as I don't see those buggers, then they're 100% antiseptic bed covers for me. Also, there's a reason that our senses have a limited range, yes? Also, I think of it as exposing myself to those germs and beefing up my immunity in the process. So, win-win.

I'm molting.
Or, simply gross pic is gross.

And speaking of immunity, dear D., I have a strange case of skin shedding on my hands. I doubt if it's caused by soap, as I've been using the same brand of unscented soap for a few years now. I have a weird dislike for scents, haven't you noticed, D.? I believe that we should only be smelling one's scent if and only if we're hugging him or her. Otherwise, ummmm, I wouldn't be able to have an intelligent conversation with you. My brain can only process so much stimuli. It's either your voice or your scent.

Anyway, don't ever think that this gross skin condition is a result of friction brought about by skin rubbing against skin and aggravated by repetitive hand movements. If that were the case, D., I would've had this since I was 13. I can't even shake other people's hands, as they'll be grossed out by that rough feeling. Or they'll think I'm spreading some sort of skin virus. Whatever.

Taking the commuter boat in Bangkok, with Wat Arun behind us
We weren't really planning to visit this temple, as it's across the river.
But we were told that to get to the boat that will take us back to downtown Bangkok,
we had to cross the river and take the boat from that side. So, "blessing in the sky."

So I'm really excited for next month's trip, D. I've been checking my itinerary for the last time I was there and crossing out sites that were just meh. If it were totally up to me, I'd skip Yehliu Geopark, because they're just rocks in weird shapes, and there's plenty of rocks with weird shapes where I come from. But the bf wants to visit it, so I'll play the role of dutiful husband and just go with it. Maybe, just maybe, the configurations of those rocks just changed a bit. I'd gladly skip that paper balloon flying at Shifen as well. I don't think it's environmentally sound, and such a waste of money. It's literally seeing your money go up in the sky and then exploding in flames. Just think of all the dimsum that you could've bought with that money. Mmmm.... dimsum—the best reason to go back to Taiwan.

Boolet the chihuahua does not approve of our frequent trips.
Just look at that smug face.

Putting on snail goo and getting by without a deodorant

Today, let's talk about skincare, more specifically, facial skincare. One thing about me is that I thrive on routine. If something will have me do a series of actions repetitively at a constant time of day, I am in. I get antsy when my everyday normal is broken. Like something bad's going to happen. Like big bad. Like end-of-the-world bad. I wake up every day at 4, but for some strange reason, I wake up just a few minutes before my alarm goes off. On the very few days that I get woken up by that alarm, I feel so stressed already that I can't even do my usual morning toilet thingy. If I'm not at my desk by 6 and not having coffee by 6.30, there'll be lines on my forehead all morning. Like wrinkles.

And speaking of wrinkles, they're at the top of my concerns lately. More important than world peace and deep sea exploration. (World peace is a nice idea and everything, but honestly, farting rainbows or sweating glitter is far more achievable. We're too emotional as a species, too diverse in our thinking. I guess what we can do is to work toward WP. But let's face it, we'll never get there.) When I hit 40, I've googled "how to avoid getting wrinkles," "how to prevent having that old people smell," "should I sunblock?" and "paul rudd doesnt age, is he even human?"

Which, of course, leads me to skincare, specifically Asian skincare.

If you haven't an idea what makes Asian skincare different from, say, Western skincare methods, just google it. You'll be surprised by the number of steps it takes, usually 10 to 12 steps. I know someone who does 15. Of course, the more steps you do, the more people become more judgmental on your physical appearance. They be thinking, "Oy, those 15 steps aren't worth it. Look at her pores." I started with doing around 8. Now, I just stick to 5. And 3 if I'm too lazy, which is like 66.6% of the time.

I have terribly oily skin. Crack an egg on my face in the summer and I'm sure it'll get fried. My skin's terribly oily it gives Arab countries a run for their money. One thing going for it though, as many people say, is that it'll take some time before I get any wrinkles. But I still don't wanna get there, no? Also, I don't think it's necessarily true, as I noticed a few lines here and there, mostly around the eye area. (That's why when I know a pic is going to be a little bit of a close up, I'd prefer not to fully smile. Better a resting bitch face than one with wrinkles.) Then there's the bf, who has such beautiful skin that I kinda hate him for it. I kid, of course. When we have pics together, I thank the gods for those photo filters. I have thicker hair though. So there's that. Small victories.

Anyway, I fell for the discipline that this skincare entails. In the evenings, first I wash my face with an oil cleanser. Then I wipe it dry or rinse it with lukewarm water. I usually do this in the shower though. Saves me the effort of cleaning up the sink because I'm, like, splashy all over the place when I do everything at the sink. Second, I use a facial cleanser to cleanse for the second time. Double cleansing, guys. Literally life changing. Then I pat dry, and, third, I apply a toner. This is where my geeky self rejoices, as toning has something to do with bringing your skin's pH to the correct level. The last time I used pH in writing was back in college, during titration lessons, when I pretended that I really was interested. (Back in college, for classes that are really difficult, I always sat in front and put on a very enthusiastic face. Then I stayed a few minutes after class to ask the professor, "Sir, can you recommend other books to read on the topic?" I actually think they creamed their pants answering this. But of course, I was just putting on a show. Was just trying to earn bonus points.)

So now I'm a third of the way done with the routine. Fourth, I put on exfoliants, which is something I try not to skip because, again, oily skin. It's BHA (for blackheads) first, then a 20-minute wait, then AHA (for whiteheads), then another 20-minute wait before I go on with the fifth step, putting on essence. Ah, essence, a few years ago, if you told me that I'll be putting on snail slime on my face, I'd stab you with a blunt knife. But it's become my go-to ingredient for an essence. That thing actually works. Snail goo does wonders for those fine lines. I'm not too sure what kind of snails they get the slime from, but I think it ain't the garden variety, the ones you pick, lay on the ground, put salt on, and watch in glee while the poor mollusks writhe and bubble. So sorry for this, snails. I know karma's a bitch, so I hope I won't be a snail in my next life.

So I'm almost all the way through. Sixth, I put on a face mask on most days, or when I've a special event the following day. The face mask thing goes on my face for at least 30 minutes. Most instructions for these would say to put them on for only 15 to 20 minutes. But these things can be costly, so I'll milk the hell out of them. Also, I get a lot of reading while having a face mask on. Although it looks weird to have a lie in bed with a face mask with my reading glasses. So, privacy. Then finally, I take the mask off and put on a moisturizer. (The term moisturizer is so 90s and 00s. I believe it's called hydrating lotion now. I am shookt.) In the morning, I'd repeat the same steps but leave out the exfoliants and masks but put on a sunblock as the last step. The sunblock is supposedly the most important step. Never mind that the sun powers the process of photosynthesis or that it's the ultimate source of energy on our planet. The sun isn't your skin's best friend.

Have I exhausted you with these steps, dear readers? Just imagine doing them every night for more than a year, then we'll talk. All these usually take about more an hour at least. But I've managed to sneak a few tasks during the wait times. Like check Instagram or read. Or prepare my overnight oats, because I can't get enough of fiber. Funny thing is, there's a ton of product on my face, but I've managed to skip another product altogether, the deodorant. I noticed my father doesn't use one, and his siblings too. So, being the amateur scientist that I am, I experimented. I skipped deodorant for a week, and there hasn't been any effect (i.e., no body odor). Of course, I had to go the restroom every now and then to check, and I carried a deodorant in my bag just in case. But there hasn't been any smell. But I need more robust data. So I didn't use deodorant when I exercised and rode the bike. Happy dance all around, as there still wasn't any smell. I read somewhere that there's a small percentage of people who can get by without using deodorant. Something to do with possessing a gene or something that inhibits bacterial growth.

I asked an officemate to buy me chia seeds at an outlet store,
as they're terribly expensive at Healthy Options.
She bought this.
So now I have a year's supply.

I'm still not sold on eye creams though. I tried using three different brands before and I wasn't able to note any changes. And they're quite costly. When a product costs for a significant fraction of my salary, then it better work. I've no patience anymore to keep on testing, so I decided to make do without. Also, another product that I've been using less is shampoo. I used to shampoo every day. Now I'd jsut go with once every week. Sometimes I'd go for 2 weeks without using it, and it's perfectly fine. (Fine meaning no dandruff, no falling hair, no oiliness, no lice and other creatures making an ecosystem on my scalp.) So all the spare bottles of shampoo that I bought before are for my dad, who uses shampoo a lot. And he doesn't even have long hair.

This weekend's books in my bag. Still reading these. The Good Son is proving to be one thrilling read. I love unreliable narrators in novels—Briony Tallis in Atonement, Amy and Nick in Gone Girl, Frank Cauldhame in The Wasp Factory, and Merricat Blackwood in We Have Always Lived in the Castle. I love it when I read something that I don't see coming. And when the reveal is so shocking I'm floored.

Saccharine, superfluous, and sybaritic

One thing I noticed about book blogs lately, well at least in my part of the world, is how many of them appear to be twee. And almost all of them write about young adult books. Now I love YA, and a good number of my all-time favorite reads are YA (Neal Shusterman's The Schwa Was Here and Gary D. Schmidt's The Wednesday Wars come to mind), but sometimes I yearn for a bookish conversation about a book for adults that I've just finished. Just the other day, for example, I finished John Carreyrou's Bad Blood, which is his investigative report on Elizabeth Holmes and her startup Theranos. I was dying to talk about it with someone. Fortunately, there was bf who listened to me rave about the book. Also, I gladly sent him YouTube links about Holmes. Hey, I take what I can get.

It's one of the most painful experiences a reader could have, no? Not being able to talk about books to other people. It feels . . . lonely. But I'll prefer this kind of loneliness to wallowing in sickly sweet conversations. I'd much rather drink this loneliness than to engage in a discussion where we just end up heaping praises on a particular book. And it's not just about arguing because you want to pick a fight. Sometimes, you just want to have a damn good reason for bringing out your knives and sharpening them when you encounter someone who has a totally different feeling on a book. There's nothing like a polarizing book to get your neurons firing.

I guess being in a book club helps, especially when they get you to read diverse titles. I belong to two actually. One's a quite popular one that meets publicly every month. The other one is a whole different banana. We don't even bring out our gadgets when we meet. And people can't post anything on the 'gram (ooohhh, the 'gram, I feel like a millennial) or Facebook (yikes, Facebook, I feel so old). In fact, I may even be compromising my membership just by writing about it. 

And speaking of books written for adults, I've been reading a lot of gay romance novels lately. And these aren't the saccharine, being-swept-off-one's-feet variety. I'm talking about non-vanilla (pistachio? rocky road?) sex in every chapter. Surprisingly, I find some of them really good. What surprised me is that there are quite a number of a few raunchy gay novels that are written by women. I guess it's a thing now. Although I have no idea how they do their research on the "good parts" of the stories. I think I'll make a blog post about these novels, as I have a mouthful to say about them. 

Fur babies!
Totally random pic, much like this post

So yes, I'm looking for something totally different but still pleasing to my palate. Something that can sting or burn. Something that can make people uncomfortable when they see me reading it. Something that will make good conversation fodder. Not necessarily extraordinary, just not ordinary. 

It's been a while

I cringe every time I see the post prior to this one. 2015, man. 3 effing years. (During this same amount of time, some of you could have gotten babies, earned a useless degree, been abducted by aliens 23 times, or have had liposuction.) Is anyone else reading blogs these days? I know I haven't. I blame Instagram. I've spent countless hours immersed on it. I also have Twitter, but that's another story. (Long story short: it's for porn.)

So why this post, anyway? Honestly, I have no idea. It feels liberating to be writing without any specific reason. It's almost like going commando, which is my preferred state of dress (or undress). I think I'd go without underwear all the time if not for all the chafing and the rubbing that will ensue. Also, slim fit pants aren't ideal for it. I can't work an outline of my circumcised penis in my OOTD.

Enough talking about that appendage and let's focus on what's changed since 2015, yes? Of course, I'm still reading. It's probably the only reason that I haven't subscribed to Netflix. I believe Netflix would've eaten some of my precious time for reading. I barely get enough hours for sleeping, so episodes of Booklyn Nine Nine (brilliant!), The Great British Bake-off (hugely enjoyable!), and 100% Hotter (guilty pleasure, hihihi) would have to wait for the weekends. You know that meme that says something is evil because it goes against something you strongly believe in? Well, for bibliophiles, Netflix is Satan.

I've a ton of reading recommendations to you, dear reader. And I'll start with my best read for 2017. It's Garth Greenwell's What Belongs to You. I can't recommend it enough. While descriptions of bonking are plenty in this novel, it's the writing style that blew me away. Greenwell's narrative is almost like poetry. It reminds me of Proust, but minus the elliptical and run-in sentences. (Disclaimer: I haven't finished anything by Proust. But every time I reference him, I feel so intellectual. Also, he's gay, and it's Pride Month. So you know, we're like family. Whatevs.)

Giving you jaw
and rocking a geeky shirt

And for the past 3 years, dear reader, I've been learning to cook. And I've gotten comfortable cooking with my favorite food group—eggs. Now don't get me started about that debate if eggs are healthy or not. My cardiologist (my 6th most favorite person in the world) told me never to eat more than 2 eggs a week. But there are countless online articles about how healthy eggs are. (You know, if it's from the Internet, then it must be true. Plus points for its credibility if you see it on Facebook.)

So, eggs. There's something about cooking it perfectly that's so satisfying. When you do a fried egg and pierce that yolk with your fork, it's almost orgasmic looking at how that yellow goo slowly oozes out. Lemme see, I've done a French omelette, Eggs benny, shakshuka, and frittatas. Countless frittatas. They're probably my favorite thing to eat lately. And they keep for a long time too. When you bring them out of the oven and place them on the table, bam! Huge Martha Stewart factor! Or even Barefoot Contessa! Still confused though why anyone would want to go barefoot in the kitchen

So purrrrtyy
This one has chorizo, chickpeas, spinach, and cheese.
The eggs, all 7 of them, are almost an afterthought,

Also, people are surprised to find out that I have a not-so-ugly penmanship. (Fine, I'll spit out the humble pie—I have beautiful handwriting, peeps. Italics for emphasis.) So I tried doing calligraphy and found out that I enjoy it as a hobby. I'm in Zen mode when I'm doing calligraphy. I'm like, "Don't think of disturbing me unless you're Chris Evans and shirtless, or Chris Evans in a Captain America costume that I can slowly remove. Like I said, Zen. Nothing on my mind except for calligraphy and Chris Evans.

Planner entry made in January
Like most new year resolutions, this planner has been forgotten.

There you have it, dear readers. These are what I've been up to for the past 3 years. No significant changes as you can see. I still read, still post random thoughts, still fart stealthily during meetings. I'm not sure how soon I'll write another post. In another 3 years again? Oooohhh! Like the Olympics! And I'll have a unicorn for my mascot.

Why pens will be my ruin

I think I have a pen fetish. Or I probably am a pen hoarder. Gel pens, sign pens, fountain pens, felt-tipped pens. I couldn't get enough of them. I

I draw the line at ballpoints though. I've never been really a fan of them. Perhaps it has something to do with my pressing on the paper too hard with the pen, so I usually crack the tip of the ballpoint. And if a ballpoint falls and hits the floor with its tip, it's practically useless.

My love for a good, hefty pen got me thinking—what if I try out calligraphy? That craft makes use of pens, right? Besides, most of my friends keep telling me that I'd be a natural at it because of my handwriting. Hmmm . . . .

So I got me some calligraphy pens and just winged it. And that was the biggest mistake of my life. Argh! I never knew that it was so hard! All those lines, serifs, holding the pen at certain angles, descenders, ascenders, versals, gothics, and what have you.

Quite an interesting read, this book is.
It even has bits on the history of calligraphy.

Here are a few of my early attempts. I used no lines as guides, no fancy paper, just cheap calligraphy pens. So saying that these leave a lot to be desired is an understatement.

I guess I was too excited for the weekend.

Just for clarification: this  is "woot!" and not "woop!"

Getting comfortable angling the pen

And aren't weekend craft fairs just lovely? You end up buying cute and kitschy stuff. And only when you're headed home do you realize that you bought stuff that you have actually no need whatsoever. Oh well . . . .

Pens fit so satisfyingly in this pouch.

Also, last weekend was when the book club discussed Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner's SuperFreakonomics. So yes, I'm still squeezing in some reading. But here's a confession: I didn't really get to read this one; I listened to the audiobook, which was wonderfully read by Dubner.

Aren't audiobooks great? They let you multitask. Now you can finish a book while driving, having sex, feasting on a buffet, picking your nose, and in my case, coloring pages. It took a while for me to get comfortable dividing my attention between holding a crayon and understanding what Dubner is saying. When I started, I had to "rewind" the audio just to be able to completely understand the topic. (Hey, is "rewind" the correct term here? Somehow, it reminds me of a cassette tape or VHS.)

Anyway, SuperFreakonomics isn't as a good as the first one, which I found really fun and brought a lot of a-ha moments. This book, which was published in 2009, just felt watery. There isn't enough substance in this book for it to become credible. It's as if Levitt and Duber were rushing to publish another book even though they didn't have enough material. For shame!

Books like these should be able to surprise you, to offer something that you can use during dinner party conversations. Reading SuperFreakonomics made me blurt out, "But I already knew that!" or "Of course! That's just common sense!"

The book is still an enjoyable read, and I would recommend it to economics enthusiasts. The authors do make it a point to integrate economics principles into the essays as  much as possible. But, but, but: I couldn't forgive them for making a false statement about global warming. (Water vapor is not the most significant greenhouse gas; it still is carbon dioxide. Come on!)

Why I have this thing for previously owned books

I feel a certain romanticism every time I have an old book in my hands, a book I've acquired from a used bookstore. I keep thinking of the person who first bought it, his fingers lovingly caressing its pages, making those creases in its spine, and carrying it in his bag for a few days. I imagine him being moved after turning the last page. I picture a certain loneliness as he puts that book in his shelf after having read it.

Of course, there is also the more prosaic biological aspect to reading something pre-owned. Think of bodily fluids. Think of that original owner sneezing into the pages. Think of him eating something fried while reading and getting grease on the book's pages. Think of sweat, snot, and seminal fluid. And then think of getting that into your own hands as you open the book. That also holds a special fascination for me.

One lazy post-breakfast Saturday morning, at R's
I've noticed that I finish at least one book every time I spend the night here.

Somehow, I can't bear to think that he parted with this book willingly. Perhaps he got his bag stolen. Or maybe someone broke into his house and stole some, ummm, books. Or could it be that he left that book on the train or the bus? Or probably he was reading at a cafe or restaurant when he was distracted by seeing an old friend at another table? He could've dropped the book amidst all those unplanned happy reunions, yes?

Oh, but again, I'm romanticizing everything. For all I know, he was just strapped for cash and sold all the books that he didn't like from his shelf. Yes, that's the most reasonable and realistic assumption, I think. It's all about economics, and how to make the most of your money. And speaking of pragmatism, isn't economics the reason why we buy previously loved books? Books are costly, but at least used ones are less so.

Two months ago, these were the books at my bedside.
All bought from the bargain bin.
None of them costs more than a dollar each.

Some of the books of years past have interesting covers; they're are a joy to collect. Just look at old sci-fi paperbacks. Oy, so beautifully tacky! And, several years ago, I believe that people actually painted by hand to come up with book cover designs. I don't do Photoshop, so I can't really compare the time and effort of past and present cover designers. Besides, being on Instagram and Facebook, I know that photo filters are essential. We can't have people seeing our pores!

I do love a book with a good cover. Plus points if it has texture, keyholes, and embellishments. A bad book cover is a deal breaker. Unless you're McEwan, Rushdie, or Tartt, then there's really no excuse to have an uninteresting book cover. (My life is uninteresting enough, thank you!) I find that books published several years ago do have character because of their covers. I would love to get that character in my shelf.

Saw these at a used bookstore last weekend.
Just look at those beautiful artworks!
And their conditions aren't bad either.

There's this interesting imprint from Little, Brown that I collect, which I find only in used bookstores. It's the Virago Modern Classics, which feature women writers. I'm not really sure if it has been discontinued as I don't see them in bookshops anymore. I love Virago. They publish little-known works from authors such as Elizabeth von Arnim, Pat Barker, Edith Wharton, Angela Carter, Willa Cather, and Molly Keane.

I think this is another allure of previously owned books—reading a novel that's long been out of print. We couldn't care less that these books have yellowed pages, or if the books have damaged spines, or if they have that funky smell that old books usually emit. What is important is the story within their pages, yes? And I'm just thankful that these books have found their way to me.

My small but growing Virago Modern Classics collection
Always a "must buy" every time I see one at a used bookstore.

Traffic, tote, and bookstore

Traffic in the metro has become unbearable lately. Unbearable as in 2-hour commute unbearable. 2 effing hours, at least. And that's just the ride home. It's gotten so bad that a few minutes of continuous rain make the highway an instant parking lot.

You know that bit of advice about not reading in moving cars because the ride can get bumpy? Screw that. There are just long moments of complete standstill you forget you're actually in a vehicle. Fortunately, these are when it's most conducive to reading.

So traffic has become my reading enabler. I've long accepted the fact that the terrible traffic in the city is a way of life, a crappy way of life, but we just have to suck it. Like last night for instance. Just one look at all the red taillights and I thought it'll me at least 3 hours to get home.

So what does one do? You wait it out. I figured that since I'd be reading when I get home anyway, I might as well just read now in a cafe after a light dinner before going home. So I ordered a latte and read my Gaskell. Take that, traffic.

A couple of years ago, I had a good friend make me tote bags with a customized book-ish quote. I gave all of them away as Christmas gifts to friends, bibliophiles and otherwise. I loved those totes; they're very hardy as they were made of denim.

Then during the long weekend, while I was cleaning my closet, I found a spare tote! I did my happy dance! Totes are ideal for carrying books, yes? In Manila, where security guards are always inspecting your bag, totes are perfect, being zipperless and all.

And then 2 weeks ago, my book club had a joint book discussion with another book club. It was a first, I believe. Unfortunately, we talked about The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry, which I abhorred. Ghastly, that novel is. The discussion though was interesting.

Anyway, we had our discussion at Uno Morato, a new hangout place that is both a restaurant and a bookstore. Their stock, all locally published, is quite impressive. Food's good too. So I'm definitely coming back. Here's to more bookstores in the city!

Geeking out horizontally

It's amazing how one need not go out of the house to be entertained these days. That's exactly what I did last Sunday. I stayed in bed the whole day and just downloaded new TV shows that have been generating buzz. I swear, I even forgot take a shower, as the weather was quite nippy. (I've always wondered about the origin of the word "nippy." Does it have something to do with what happens to your nipples when it's cold?)

Yes, I spent my Sunday horizontally, watching TV shows so heavy on science fiction themes. Fortunately, these new TV shows weren't so bad. Nope, not bad at all. I didn't even bother to read a page from the hundreds of books in the to-be-read pile.

First, there's the Steven Spielberg-produced "Extant." It has Halle Berry! (I swear she has no pores. Long live HD!) Halle Berry plays an astronaut who's become mysteriously pregnant. The timing points to the fact that she conceived in space. I can't help but picture it: boinking in zero gravity. "Extant" is pretty intriguing, but I can't help but think that there's a conspiracy story line somewhere.

Next is "The Lottery" in Lifetime. We're now in the 2020s and, for some reason, people no longer have the ability to reproduce. But a lady scientist was able to successfully fertilize 100 embryos. The US government, hoping to win back its popularity, decides to hold a lottery as to who among its female citizens can serve as surrogates to these embryos. Again, it reeks of conspiracy. But I love it.

"The Lottery" raised a few personal questions for me. If I were female, would I want to enter my name in the lottery? I probably wouldn't. I've seen enough videos about human birth to last me a lifetime. Very, very traumatic. Very, very messy. All that goo. And that wrinkly thing coming out of the vajayjay.

And then there's my current favorite of the lot, "The Strain." I didn't have that much love for the book the FX series was based on, but the TV show is another matter. Vampires that don't sparkle under the sun! Yay! Vampires that are monstrous! Woot! Vampires that kill! FTW!

The first two episodes of "The Strain" have the feel of a biological outbreak movie, one that delves into how the viral strain gets passed among people. But the latter episodes had me horrified. There's a certain Dracula-like character who find his way in the US from Germany. The show does remind me of Salem's Lot in certain aspects, especially in that scene where a supposedly dead girl goes back to her house and calls her father. So creepy! I think I may have had a little pee on my pants watching that scene.

I just hope that these shows improve over time. I wish that they sustain the element of paranoia which so heavily felt in each episode. I've no problems with staying horizontal during the weekends. 

On a reading high

So last Sunday, we decided to stay at home and just catch up on whatever stuff that needs catching up on. For me of course, that would have to be reading. As I slept at 8 pm last Saturday night, I woke up at 3 am, logged on to Facebook (goodness, 390+ likes for that photo!), checked my emails and downloadables, and started reading this latest novel by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Americanah.

I bought Americanah on a whim, as I think I remember reading about it that the novel was optioned by Lupita Nyong'o. With my A to Z classics challenge, I figured I wasn't recently reading contemporary novels more often than before.

And then I checked the clock on my wall. It was already 8 am! I almost missed breakfast! Americanah is that good, dear reader. No wonder it received a lot of awards this year and last. The hype is oh so true! Read it! Read it! Read it!

I can't remember the last time I was so enamored with a book. So passionate I felt about this novel that I just wanna rush to the nearest bookstore and get all the novels written by Ms Chimamanda. I actually called my favorite bookstore and found out that they have only Americanah in stock, and there's no news as to whether they'll stock the earlier works of this author. Sucks vacuum cleaners.

The last time I felt like this after discovering a very talented author was after finishing José Saramago's The History of the Siege of Lisbon. That novel instantly converted me into a Saramago fan, making me read most of his novels. But The History of the Siege of Lisbon will always be my favorite Saramago. The novel combined history with proofreading! Orgasmic.

The hunt is on for the works of Ms Chimamanda. I never figured that I'd be interested in fiction which is very much centered on Nigeria. Americanah is just too beautiful, and I hope that the author's other works would be just as satisfying as this one.

Of books and action figures

Goodness, when your cardiologist and dietitian both tell you that you're allowed only 1,500 calories per day, it sounds like the end of the world, yes? In my case, I've been taking it out on watching TV shows. And buying books. And collecting action figures. Everything except having that cupcake.

So lately I've been downloading TV episodes like crazy. Started "The Americans" and got hooked. Felt disappointed that the NBC series "Kings" only had 1 season. (It's somewhat of a retelling of the David and Goliath story.) Watched the 1st season of "Arrow" and felt ambiguous about it. Anticipating the latest episodes of "Penny Dreadful" and "Fargo." Still going gaga over "Game of Thrones."

Speaking of "Game of Thrones," I am amused by the latest collection of action figures from Funko. The likenesses of the characters may be wanting, but the details are intricate. My favorite is Tyrion below. The "imp" stands atop Arthurian-themed books. T. H. White's The Once and Future King was the book club's May selection. Somehow, I prefer Malory's Le Morte Darthur to it.

Of course, "Game of Thrones" wouldn't be complete without the mother of dragons, Daenerys Targaryen. The dragon behind her isn't Drogon, Rhaegal, nor Viserion. It's an Asian dragon I bought at the Singapore airport. Ann Leckie's multi-awarded science fiction novel, Ancillary Justice, is wonderful. Yes, the hype is true.

And if there's one movie that I'm eagerly anticipating this year, it's the 4th Transformers movie. Yes, I know, the movies have become crappier and crappier. But hey, I grew up watching the animated series. My brain's hardwired to love both Autobots and Decepticons. Here's Optimus Prime with my read on this father's day weekend—Aaron Hartzler's touching and hilarious young adult memoir.

Ah, collecting action figures. Such an expensive hobby. My only consolation is that I'm actually saving some money as I've cut down on my eating out. I can't even recall the last time I ate cake.

Moomin lovin'

My favorite children's books are the wonderful stories written by Tove Jansson. The Moomin books are just pure, wholesome fun reads. I fell in love with all the Moomin characters, most especially Moomintroll who's always enthusiastic, always ready for some adventure, no matter how absurd it may be.

If you open a Moomin book (I believe there are 9 in the series), there are a few pages devoted to introducing the characters—the Moomin Gallery. Aside from Moomintroll, I love his best friend named Snufkin, the strong-willed Little My, and the ever-supportive Moominmamma.

Just the other day, I received a text message from fellow Moomin fan, Iya, about a set of porcelain containers with Moomin characters. Good news! And what's even better is that there's a store near my office that sells them! I love it when the universe somehow aligns itself to give you the things that you absolutely love, yes?

I went a little bit crazy with purchasing them. I bought 4 on my first go! They're really quite cheap though, just a little more than $1 each. Practically a steal, in my opinion. Unfortunately, Moomin isn't as famous here in the Philippines as they are in Europe or in Japan, where my friend told me that they have a whole store of Moomin products.

But having gone to Moominvalley myself, I know that I have to spread the love. So I never tire of talking about the Moomin books to friends. And you, dear reader, if you haven't read a Moomin book, it's high time you should. Wonderfully escapist fun, these books are. And if you read closely, you'll find out that there's a bit of philosophy in them too.

So far, I've 6 of these Moomin books and 3 of the collected volumes of the Moomin comics that Jansson drew herself. So I will always be on the lookout for more.

Still here

Sorry, I've been really swamped the past few days. For the meantime, let's have something from George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones. I give you a picture of Jon Snow with his new "direwolf."

Spring cleaning is long overdue

This—barely a fraction of what needs to be sorted
I'm even afraid of taking of a picture of my entire room. I will die.

My room's currently a mess. Books everywhere. Dust mites must be having a field day. I've filled up all my shelves to the brim. So now most of the books that I've recently bought are in piles all over the floor.

It's about time I have new bookshelves made. Friends keep telling me that I should have bookshelves covered in glass, so that I don't have to keep dusting the books. But I have a thing against glass covers. They don't let the books "breathe."

Anyway, before the year ends, I hope to sort out everything. Maybe even have a rough catalog of all the books in my collection. Now my brain's ticking on how I should categorize everything. By genre? Alphabetically by author? By color? Hardcovers in one section?

Happy problems.

Saying no to checklist reading

 Because it's Gosling, and he's reading Camus
Image from Page Pulp

Early this year, I had an embarrassingly pretentious plan of reading just "good books." I had a mental list of the books that I would be reading, books that probably even lit majors haven't read themselves. I thought, never again will I be caught reading Fifty Shades of Grey (with all its bad, non-arousing sex) or the latest formulaic thriller by Dan Brown or the young adult romance showing horny teenagers holding hands.

And then I realized that I've fallen into the trap of what some people call "checklist reading." So what if I'll never read Infinite Jest or the 7-volume Remembrance of Things Past ? Heck, even the translators can't seem to agree whether it's Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time. I know that these are great works of fiction, but I'm not feeling the pressure of reading them within a specified time frame.

Checklist reading reminds me of my literature class back in college, when my instructor handed out the list of readings that we'll go through during that term. Ack! Memories of cramming, drinking too much caffeine to finish reading, and taking way too many notes to share with the class the following day. I had fun though, but it's something that I'm not too keen on experiencing again.

I guess it doesn't matter what kind of books you read, as long as you read, yes? Besides, as bibliophiles, the thing that connects us is our indiscriminate love for books. 

Not cool

When the book club met early this year to discuss Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game, the topic of OSC's homophobic remarks came up. During that time, I felt that I didn't want to railroad the discussion and steer it away from the book, which I still feel is an enjoyable sci-fi novel. And during that time, I had no strong feelings toward OSC's remarks. I remember saying to my book club friends that we have far greater problems to deal with than this ridiculous person's remarks—world hunger, climate change, and global armed conflict.

Now I take it all back. I realize that these "bigger" problems are never going away, and they shouldn't be made an excuse to not address other issues that may be equally as relevant. If people continue to have the same attitude as I did (i.e., indifference), then people who are deeply bigoted would already have won. We should not let that happen. Ever.

So no, I am not cool with OSC's homophobic remarks. It's one thing to say what you feel. Feelings are amoral; they're neither right nor wrong, yes? But to actively promote and encourage a culture of hate and bigotry is another thing. It's just plain wrong and reeks of misplaced entitlement. Let's admit that OSC can be likened to a brand and, like a brand, has the capacity to influence people. What's worse is that OSC may already have had. I shudder to think of the repercussions.

Ignorance would've been bliss in this case. If I hadn't known what an a**hole OSC really is, I would've continued to read the rest of the Ender saga. But knowing makes us wiser and lets us act accordingly. Thus, I have no plans of getting near any of OSC's books. Nor am I watching the movie. In my own small way, no matter how a cliche it might be, I will wave the rainbow flag to his face.

It's a good thing that there are other sci-fi writers around, who are even better than OSC, that I can turn to when I need a genre fix. John Scalzi is one, and he seems to be a good guy with the causes he fights for.

The tide's turning. People are becoming more accepting and less hateful. More and more governments are now broadening their marriage laws. There are so many good things to look forward to—a time when one's sexual orientation is irrelevant, and people who choose to remain a**holes live in places where the sun doesn't shine.

I hope. I stand up. I smile. I can't help it—seeing the rainbow makes me happy. 

The cure (hopefully) against reader's block

It's been almost 3 weeks since I last finished a book. Goodness, time flies when you're really having fun just being lazy. My lazy ass and I have just been watching lots of TV, Facebook-ing, and tinkering with gadgets. If I'm not in front of the computer, I'm stuffing myself with empty calories.

Yes, I blame a lot of things, mostly TV shows: Bates Motel, The Following, Scandal, Revenge, Elementary, House of Cards, and Monday Mornings. Or just maybe I should blame the Internet, as I get these episodes as web downloads. TV to the people!

But all is not lost. I've a bunch of books beside my bed, all 8 of them young adult. (Requisite picture below.) I've bought just 1 of them, Crash and Burn; the rest were given as birthday presents.

I love YA novels, with their no-nonsense narratives, engaging plot, and clear story lines. I'm particularly interested with Cinder, a sci-fi retelling of the beloved fairy tale, but this time with androids and space ships! The controversial Burgess novel appeals to; it's supposedly the basis of the cult TV series Life As We Know It.

But I'm just going to take things slow. I think if I force myself to read, then I'll just take the fun out of the hobby. The last thing I want is for reading to become a chore. Reading is definitely not the same as doing the laundry, or washing the dishes, or taking the dog for a walk and waiting for it to poop. 

What on earth happened?

As I'm writing this, it is 7.00 pm on a humid Easter Sunday night in Manila. And I am in deep thought, wracking my brain as to how I spent the last 4 days and why oh why I was not able to finish even just 1 damn book.

In the Philippines, a country with a predominantly Catholic population, we have a lot of religious holidays. This week is just one of them. We get a long weekend this week, beginning with Thursday up to Easter Sunday.

So what the hell happened the past 4 days? I didn't even leave the house, except last Saturday to do a bit of clothes shopping and then dinner. Based on my calculations, I should have had at least 60 hours for reading. And yet, I'm back to work tomorrow and I have not added any books yet in my reading list.

Before, I used to read 5 books at least during the Holy Week. Now, argh, 0! I'm just disgusted with myself. Hello, ground I'm stepping on. Why don't you open up now and swallow me whole. And spit me to the fiery abyss of my own version of hell. (In my hell, I wear prescription glasses and I'm in this huge library. Then I drop my glasses and the lenses break.)

I received a late birthday gift (John Green's The Fault in Our Stars) from an officemate last Wednesday. Funny thing, I was in the bookstore the day before and I was holding the same book, deciding for close to an hour if I should get it. I didn't! Yay, restraint! Yay, fortuitous circumstance! Of course, I wasn't able to read it. Yay?

Of first and last names

Another birthday has come and gone. And of course, no birthday of a bibliophile is complete without books as gifts. This year, I received 3 titles, all of them fiction and, thankfully, none are duplicates! Woot woot!

Tonight, all 3 books are with me in my bed. I realized something though: all of them have first and last names in the titles! (Yes, I lead a very uneventful life that a mundane observation such as this is enough to excite me.)

I can't wait to read all 3: J. W. Ironmonger's debut novel, The Notable Brain of Maximilian Ponder; Nathan Englander's short story collection, What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank; and the YA collaboration of John Green and David Levithan, Will Grayson, Will Grayson.

This year, I noticed that I received more gifts which aren't books. I completely understand. I've given books as gifts to people only to find out that they already have it! Argh, such a hassle when that happens. And believe me, in my case, that happens a lot! 

On the last day of my being 38

On the last day of my being 38, I panicked a little. Like, for 5 minutes. I took a close look at the mirror for any wrinkles or age spots. Thank goodness I have oily skin, for these facial lines are still nowhere to be found! (My skin can be so oily that on extremely humid days, you can actually fry something on my face.)

On the last day of my being 38, I was with my book club friends. We had a book discussion on a locally authored book. It was a blast! I'll post about it soon. There was non-stop eating that happened as well, with a buffet lunch, a Chinese snack (the discussion was held in a Chinese restaurant, and a Chinese lauriat for dinner.

On the last day of my being 38, I received these gifts from my book club friends. I've still left them unopened, but I'm guessing that a few of them are notepads or notebooks. Yes, I'm a magnet for these things. The mug is a special gift, as it came from the author whose book we discussed on that day. It actually had poetry on it! The TWG gift is from R, who has indulged me with my ongoing tea phase.

On the last day of my being 38, I realize again for the nth time that book-ish friends are the best. They know exactly what you want. I love them. And I hope they love me back, even though I can be grumpy and moody during book discussions. Hopefully, now that I've sworn off drinking coffee, I'll be in a more cheery mood during these meet-ups.

On the last day of my being 38, I got home late and dog tired. But I couldn't complain though. I had fun, and it was a great day to end my being 38. Today, the 17th of March, St. Patrick's Day, I turn 39. Yes, it's my last year before I the 40s. I'm already getting positive vibes from 39 though. Now you have to excuse me. I need to check something in the mirror again.

More book spine lovin'

And my love affair with book spines continues. Some of these I posted on Facebook a few weeks earlier. I figured I might as well post everything on this blog. See the first batch of pictures here.

Seeing everything ravaged everything burned,
things fall apart, then we came to the end.

All the single ladies should stay away from these men.
We do know that good and honest men are a challenge to find.

I want to buy a vowel! E!