Why you should never, ever join a book club

Warning: This post contains some pictures taken a few years ago. So be prepared to see more than a few pics of a chubby KyusiReader. You've been warned.

The books that we talked about for the past 4 years
The big picture on the left is this year's selections.
The three smaller pictures on the right are from 2012 (top) to 2014 (bottom).

I do wish that I could go back to 2008 and never have attended my first meet-up with the book club Flips Flipping Pages. Now that was the biggest mistake of my life, I tell you. And that book club has the absolute worst kind of people that you could possibly meet.

First, they'll make you wear silly hats and come in crazy costumes. I have no idea how hats, capes, masks, etc. are relevant to book discussions. Whoever thought that this was a good idea is an a--hole. Why oh why would you subject yourself to such trivial pursuits?

During our Noli Me Tangere-themed Christmas party
How shallow can these people get?
Stupid parties . . .

During the A Game of Thrones discussion
Just because I love AGoT doesn't mean that I have to come in costume!
Oh, the humanity!

During The Godfather-themed Christmas party
It's bad enough that I have to wear a silly hat;
they make R wear one too!

During the discussion on Howl's Moving Castle
If you don't see the connection between my hat and the book, don't worry.
I don't see it either.

During the steampunk-and-Poe themed party
R was forced to make our costumes for the party.
And, true story, I really am drunk in this picture.

Second, they make you meet authors whose books you have no strong feelings on. Now let me tell you, these authors wouldn't want to meet their readers anyway. If they have good social skills, they wouldn't be writers, spending all day in front of the computer.

There were quite a few occasions when I had to endure the pain of meeting these uninteresting personalities. So boring, these meet-and-greet instances are. I'd much rather chew razor blades than meet another author.

Meet-up with Gilda Cordero-Fernando
Oy lady! We know that you're 83 years old.
You don't have to shove all your youthful vigor and zest for life in our tired faces.

Attending Bebang Siy's wedding
There's food, dancing, musical performances, and a short film. Yawn, yawn.
And it was even a book-ish wedding with books as decor. How uninspired.

Third, and what do we get to read? Well, such unintelligible drivel such as books published in the 19th century, books with controversial themes, and novels that defy genre conventions. Now why on Earth would you read those?

What we usually read are so inexplicable that they can't even hold a candle to the bestselling Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy by E. L. James. Wouldn't it be nicer to read novels with a straightforward story and cookie cutter characters? We're not literature students, for crying out loud.

The Count of Monte Cristo
Boring.
Watch the movie adaptation instead.

The Left Hand of Darkness
Confusing.
Characters with no genders! Why, we can't have that!

The Sirens of Titan
Pretentious.
All those allusions to classical mythology are pointless.

Fourth, these book club people—they eat a lot. My goodness, you should see how much these people eat. It's as if they're not fed enough at home. It's embarrassing to be seen with them in a restaurant, really.

And I blame them for my having gained a lot of pounds ever since I joined in 2008. How can I not? These people have no fear of calories.

During the food trip at Chinatown
And they forced me to wear read because it's the Chinese New Year
Cliché.

At the early morning Mercato Centrale food trip
After this, there was even a wine tasting thing in the afternoon.
Lord, help me.

At the Pampanga food trip
These people aren't even satisfied to just eat here in the city.
I had to endure a two-hour drive to Pampanga with these gluttons.

Persian dinner at a member's house
So you get invited to dinner and eagerly anticipate the steak and potatoes.
But hell no. What you'll have instead are elaborate home-cooked dishes.

Fifth, they're the ugliest bunch of people that you'll ever meet in your whole life. Well, I guess that's a good thing in a way, as being with them makes you feel such a paragon of pulchritude. Seriously, I would give each of them a free makeover. But I guess they're not just ugly; they're clueless too.

It's a good thing that meet-ups are held where there aren't that too many people. If one of my friends sees me with any one from the book club, then let the ground swallow me up whole. Thank goodness that meet-ups are just once a month.

With ugly people from the book club (except for R)
These are probably the ugliest of the bunch.

With an ugly person up-close
Dimples are so overrated.

Sixth, they'll give you totally useless stuff. If they really understand you, they'd just give you money, right? But no, they'll give you things that'll just clutter your room. Absolutely no effing value whatsoever.

Like this caricature made by Ajie
Don't you think that she's making fun of my book hoarding sensibilities?
And I think she's mocking me. I don't have this kind of upper arm strength.

And I got this from Marie last Christmas.
She told me that she spent hours doing this scarf.
I just don't buy it.

Seventh, they make you do stupid things. Over and over again. Take a look.

They're just not as passionate talking about books as I am.

They hold this totally useless gift wrapping workshop.
And when I made this perfectly wrapped box, they made fun of it.

They force you to come out of the closet.

They make you do these stupid over-the-top beach jump shots.

Jump shots that can literally injure you
Really, all that blood!

They molest you.

They organize these outreach programs with street children,
when all you really want to do is just stay in bed and read.

They make you attend prom all over again.

For some reason, a lot of them are into Doctor Who.
And this "doctor" has this screwdriver.
Whatever.

They constantly ask me, "Who's Gatsby?"

They make you drink wine.

Seriously, you're better off being on your own. Whoever said that being in a book club enriches your reading experience is crazy.

Why read Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth

One can usually tell if a book is a favorite by having multiple copies of it.
The top one has foxed, but it's a beloved copy.
I read The House of Mirth twice using that old edition.

Sometimes, I just wish that I were filthy rich. Wait, who am I kidding? So let me rephrase: All the time, I just wish that I were filthy rich. In life, all you really need is 100 million dollars.

Which is exactly one of the reasons why I love Edith Wharton's novel, The House of Mirth. It's a novel that lets me peek into the world of New York City's old rich at the turn of the century. And the picture it shows isn't pretty. It's a ruthless place to be, in fact. NYC's upper crust society is so exclusive. If there's one word to describe them, it'll have to be anal. Damn tight, these folks are.

There are plenty of reasons to read The House of Mirth. Lily Bart, the main character of the novel, is such a polarizing figure that it's impossible not to have a strong feeling about her. Wharton's novel is basically about Lily Bart and her attempts to penetrate the old rich by marrying someone with money. Calling her an ambitious bitch would be an understatement.

But the novel ended so tragically that it broke my heart when I closed the last page. Lily Bart is all to blame for her fate. Yes, she found herself in a pit of vipers, but there were several instances when she could've had it good. There were lots of "almost" proposals from different men, but somehow, she manages to f--- it up! Oh, Lily Bart! I love you, even though the stars didn't really align for you.

I love The House of Mirth to bits. I love it so much that I even moderated a discussion of the novel for the book club. Needless to say, the discussion made it evident that there were two camps: the pro-Lily and the anti-Lily camps. It was tough staying neutral, being the facilitator. Even though in my mind, I had my hands around the necks of those self-righteous anti-Lily people.

Speaking of book clubs and the wealthy, last weekend afternoon saw the book club at a rather fancy tea place in the metro. We discussed Kevin Kwan's best-selling novel, Crazy Rich Asians. As the novel had crazy rich Singaporeans as characters, Joko, the moderator, opted to hold it at TWG, which is originally a franchise from Singapore.

The obligatory group photo after the discussion
I'm at the far left in the light green shirt.
I specifically asked the person to take the photo from this angle.
At this angle, one always appears thinner.

I'm not big on iced tea, as I always feel a bit bloated after drinking it.
But I was transfixed watching this lady make this fancy shmancy iced tea.
Iced tea at home: instant powder + water. Stir and then add ice.
When we feel a bit more extravagant, we add those cute little umbrellas.

The high tea set, or as would call it—the afternoon tower of carbs
Joko ordered several of these. (Thank you! Mwah!)
Scones, good. Scones + clotted cream + jam, better!
Other tea sets had macarons, which my seatmate and I kept on stealing.

Anyway, back to Kevin Kwan's novel. I did find Crazy Rich Asians entertaining. I didn't think too much of it, as it was just about crazy rich Singaporeans guarding their crazy ass money by keeping their crazy rich families very exclusive. So yes, there's interbreeding. And Kwan certainly knows all the big name fashion designers as there's never a page where a luxury brand isn't mentioned.

I got a bit railed up when somebody mentioned Edith Wharton and Kevin Kwan in the same sentence. Apples and oranges, people! Both novels had rich characters, but the similarities end there. You read The House of Mirth because you want to delve into the characters' minds. You read Crazy Rich Asians for the fluff and the mouth-watering descriptions of Singaporean food.

I would recommend both books though. So you see, I'm not a snob. One you take to the beach, and the other you read before going to bed. Crazy Rich Asians is funny as hell. It's gossipy, biting, and hysterical. I have to hand it to Kevin Kwan; he certainly knows what he's writing about—from the schools, clubs, hawker centers, and fashion boutiques, to Chinese traditions and class systems.

Just your nerdy Asian, playing with the fisheye lens
I recommend Crazy Rich Asians, but with a caveat.
After reading it, you'll realize that you're dirt poor.
And there's a sequel—China Rich Girlfriend. What's with the title?

Do R and I look rich? Well, maybe just crazy.
This was actually taken at a children's party, held just before the discussion.
I remember having 4 glasses of red during the party.
So I might've been a little tipsy during the discussion.

This past week, I discovered the joy of coloring books. I never realized how therapeutic and stress-relieving they are. I believe they're all the rage these days, well at least here in Manila. My only concern is that they're another thing to keep me from reading. But that's a happy problem. I love my happy problems. They make my boring life seem very exciting.

My current coloring book collection, bought from bookstores
For some strange reason, I find myself having 4, even though I just started last week.
R is an enabler. Every time I ask him, "Should I get this?" He always says, "YES!"
So I blame R. But he's très generous. The Art Therapy book came from him.

The first sheet that I finished, yesterday afternoon
Not too happy with what went on with the feet though.
Who has ever seen gray socks? Should've left those areas uncolored.
This came from the Japanese Prints book.

My second, which I did immediately after the Japanese print
I was looking for a P, but alas, there was none. Had to settle for S.
This came from the Typography Colouring Book.
By the way, I was multitasking—watching "Jane the Virgin" while coloring.

Never, ever underestimate the amount of time you plan to spend finishing a plate.
I actually paid attention to the timings. Goodness, 2 hours per plate!
Right now, I use colored pencils, but I'm thinking of getting markers too.
All those sharpening is driving me crazy.

R is so talented. He's a graphic artist by profession.
So all these are, like, peanuts to him.
He helped me out by rendering flesh tones to the skin areas.
By the way, I lost those blue glasses during the discussion.

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.

Why listen to podcasts

The stories, man. The stories. You listen to them podcasts because of the stories. And believe me, there is a story for every one.

I still have my trusty iPod, which I use to listen to podcasts.
Too bad they phased this line. Very reliable, this gadget is.
In a way, it started my ongoing love affair for all things Apple.

I've been listening to podcasts since I was in my early 20s. Back then, there wasn't a while lot to listen to. They were more or less recorded radio shows. But now, oh boy, I am always aurally stimulated. Podcasts are now my go-to whenever I crave for stories. Besides, they do help a lot with my commute.

I've rekindled my habit of listening to podcasts a few years ago, listening to them sporadically whenever I felt like it. Nowadays, not a day goes by when I don't listen to a single podcast. I gobble podcasts like I used to ate Kraft caramels. Like peanuts. Chomp chomp. One after another. (I had no fear of diabetes.)

Some of my favorite podcasts
A hodgepodge of entertainment and education

Then last year, Serial came out. It was a game changer. Suddenly, everyone was curious about the murder of Hae Min Lee by Adnan Syed back in 1999. I got so hooked by this podcast that it got me thinking—this is one incredible way of delivering a story and I want to moderate a discussion on the podcast as a storytelling medium for my book club. So next year, we're going to talk about Serial. Hopefully, the second season will be out by that time too.

My goodness, listening to Serial was agony, but in a good way. Argh, the perils of waiting every week for a new episode. And pretty soon, all 12 episodes have come and gone. Of course I wanted more. I needed my Serial fix like I needed a cigarette after sex. (I don't smoke, but you get what I mean, yes?)

So I got to exploring other podcasts and what I found would ultimately lead to a diverse listening experience. And, more importantly, something that would make the ultra hyper mega super duper heavy traffic in Manila just a bit bearable.

I love horror, so I was happy to discover the No Sleep Podcast. It's a weekly podcast wherein each episode has an average of three horror stories. I haven't been frightened by a good horror novel lately, but some of the stories from the No Sleep Podcast have creeped me out. Then there's the Mystery Show, wherein the host, Starlee Kine, attempts to solve a mystery every episode. I particularly liked the one where she finds out Jake Gyllenhaal's actual height.

If there's one podcast that I feel should come out with more frequent episodes, it's The Truth. Each episode is a radio drama. Honestly, you just never know what you're going to get. Always a pleasant surprise, listening to The Truth is. Jonathan Mitchell, the producer, is a god. For the food lover, I recommend Spilled Milk. The hosts (Matthew Amster-Burton and Molly Wizenberg) talk about one particular food per episode and the result is hilarious. Lots of cred on this one, as the hosts are chefs and food writers. I also love Molly's blog, Orangette, which recently won the James Beard award as best food blog.

If I need a good laugh, there's always The Flophouse. It's a movie review blog where the hosts hysterically skewer a bad movie per episode. (They watched it, so we don't have to.) Another brilliant podcast, 99% Invisible, delves on design. I love how the podcast looks at the design of things we seemingly take for granted—the game of basketball, our highways, and even those dome houses. Freakonomics Radio is always a reliable listen. So is Reading Lives, which appeals to my book-ish self. In each episode, the host, Jeff O'Neal, talks to one person about the books that have influenced him or her since childhood.

I have no qualms that listening to podcasts have taken away valuable reading time. I still get my stories, although in a different format. And I am still reading, albeit a bit more slowly. In fact, I'm reading Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. I tried watching the first 2 episodes of the TV series, but somehow, I couldn't get into it. I know there's a good story in there somewhere, so I'll just get that from the novel.

One of three books inside my bag.
This copy has severely yellowing pages.
I literally wiped off dust bunnies from it.

And I have been spending a lot of my weekend recently at R's place. R is doing some major interior decorating. He just finished having one room painted blue, which is almost the same shade as that of the Tardis of "Dr. Who." I don't really get "Dr. Who," but goodness, this shade of blue, I super like!

Lots of shelves in R's blue room.
In one shelf, his favorite book (Ready Player One) is next to mine (I, Claudius).
Could our reading tastes get any more different?
Who cares? He reads. And that's mighty fine.

One side of R's blue room has this huge world map.
We're thinking of putting markers on the places that we plan to visit.
Ah, all the possibilities!