I seem to be behaving, thus far, this 2013, when it comes to amassing books. Fine, that’s still quite a number up there—and I have obviously rediscovered my fanaticism for good ol’ Steve—but they all came from the trusty, national secondhand bookstore that is Booksale. That is: The consolation is, my wallet didn’t burn as brightly. Because, you know, we really need less wallet-burning around these here parts. Yeah. Anyway, here’s a quick rundown of what I bought, and the respective feeble rationalizations for each purchase:
- The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs, which I’ve read (and spectacularly failed at telling you about. I bought this one because amassing useless information—and pouncing on people armed with them—fills me with untold glee.
- Nothing But You: Love Stories from the New Yorker, edited by Roger Angell. I randomly pulled this one out of a library shelf in college, and reading it made the then-freshman in Creative Writing that is me go, “Hey. Yeah, I can be part of this whole writing business, look at this, look at these beauties.”
- Wizard and Glass by Stephen King, which I’m currently reading. Because.
- Fine, let’s lump all the Steves here: Wolves of the Calla (Book 5), The Dark Tower (Book 7), and one The Dark Tower graphic novel and one of The Stand, which really scares me because this means I’ll have to start hunting for really cheap copies of the other issues—all the other issues!—at secondhand bookstores and hot damn I am already poor dammit dammit dammit.
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Two weekends ago, I donned a frilly pink dress and put a ton of product on my dandelion hair—P., meanwhile, shook off the dust from his barong—for a friend’s wedding. Characteristically, we were late for the ceremony itself; the surprise: we were too early for the reception. And so, on a whim that began with a sheepish suggestion and ever-widening grins, P. and I trudged our way along roughly the length of Roxas Boulevard, in and out side streets, giggling the curious stares of people we passed by—and went into a secondhand bookstore. Later, we snuck out of the wedding and caught another secondhand bookstore, much farther, that was about to close for the night. Note that this was a day after we’d done pretty much the same thing in another part of the city, sans wedding wear that time around. It was a blissful weekend, beeping work phone notwithstanding. It was one of the best weekends—I was exhausted, and it was because of good people, books, and the kind of love that makes you glad your heart can ache.
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And here’s a list of the books I read in January. I won’t go into detail, as I’ve obviously talked about them enough in the past month. Ah, January, you have kept me sane, and made me like myself more, in the smallest ways. The year is off to a good start—I can confidently say that because 2012 was such a crap year for reading and blogging, that anything could be an improvement.