tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-196397432024-03-14T03:41:41.168-06:00Buying an AntA blog that doesn't actually sell or buy ants.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger277125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-25086695101701616222012-12-24T09:39:00.000-06:002012-12-24T11:07:23.219-06:00Empty nestMy mom and sister went to visit my other sister in Canada, so it's just my dad and me at home. And the dogs, of course. And the cleaning lady, occasionally, plus her daughter and her daughter's son who plays on the Wii and lurks in corners*. Empty nest.<br />
<br />
So I've been watching things with my dad. We watched two movies the other day, and I watched him fix the dining room table's wobbly leg, and I watched him look at his computer while we ate, and he watched me play (and lose at) Mario Kart.<br />
<br />
Yesterday he and I also went to the market to buy supplies for our contribution to the family Christmas lunch/dinner. We bought ingredients to make stuffed poblano peppers. My grandma called on Friday and when I answered the phone she said,<br />
<br />
"Hello? Señora?"<br />
"No, grandma, it's me, Lalli."<br />
"Señora, I was wondering if you could make some stuffed poblano peppers for Monday."<br />
"Um, okay, but I'm Lalli."<br />
"...oh, Lalli!"<br />
<br />
I gave the phone to the cleaning lady and she said, "It's for your dad."<br />
<br />
My dad was on the phone for about fifteen seconds before saying goodbye and hanging up, then turning to the cleaning lady and saying that it was my grandma asking if she could make some poblano chiles. It struck me as very roundabout.<br />
<br />
Monday (today) is the 24th and the cleaning lady said she could do it very speedily in the morning and then go home to her own family, so my dad and I bought all the stuff to make it quicker for her.<br />
<br />
We also got a piñata and some candy. The piñata was big and bulky, and we had to stuff it into a taxi to get it home. A few peaks got a little bent and some of the crêpe paper tassels stayed behind in the taxi, but it ended up fine in the end. Maxie sniffed it when we got home, but kept walking away and pointedly ignoring it when I tried to take her photo with it. In the end I had to bribe her with a piece of rawhide and even then she wasn't cooperating. I pointed at a spot right next to the piñata and was all, "Sit!". Maxie gave me a puzzled look, like "But... there's a spiky thing where you're pointing. I'm gonna sit over here so I'm not next to it.". I picked it up and moved it a little closer to her and she got up and walked her tail right over to the porch. That dog.<br />
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*Well, whenever I see him it's because he's popped around a corner. I never walk into a room and see him already in it; he's always on the move, that kid.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-61821560213304539252012-09-26T00:59:00.003-05:002012-09-26T00:59:36.751-05:00CurveMy previous smugness has morphed into boredom. Not with my life (average) but with the Internet. Don't you ever get bored? It seems I always end up in an Internet rut, finding myself time and time again on the same time of websites.<br />
<br />
Looking over my browsing history from the last three days, about two-thirds of it is homework-related stuff ("Regeneration in compound eyes of Crustacea", for example) and the rest is a mix of recipe blogs, articles, movie summaries and trailers, English tabloids*, nutrition and muscle-building advice, videos of meerkats, social networks and snark forums.<br />
<br />
Do you see how much wasted time that is?!<br />
<br />
"Wasted" is relative, I suppose. Obviously any amount of time that I spend browsing around is benefitting me in some way, otherwise I wouldn't do it. But there's a point where the cost of time invested exceeds the benefit of stress-relief and entertainment.<br />
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I borrowed a cost-benefit curve from <a href="http://ingrimayne.com/econ/LogicOfChoice/MaximPrin.html" target="_blank">here</a>. I don't know why it's talking about hamburgers, but imagine that the benefit is entertainment and the cost is time– a limited resource. See, the point of maximum returns isn't the point where the benefits and the costs cross near the top. The optimum is much lower, where the distance between the lines is greatest (at the mark of two hamburgers, in the above graph). You get the most returns for your investment.<br />
<br />
This post started out making sense to me, but it's degenerated into a messy unloading of the brain. Also, I've always like cost and benefit curves. There's just something about them that appeals to me, and I suspect it's to do with my laziness. You do best when you don't give it your all.<br />
<br />
I remember the first time I came across them was during a talk this one guy gave us about overfishing by individual fishermen and small (local) fisheries. People were fishing to the point where the cost and benefit curves intersected, and he said that he had been frustrated when he'd first started working on the problem, from a conservation point of view. Didn't the fishermen understand that if they overexploited the fish, they'd have no more resources in the future? How could he make them see? And then someone told him something, and it changed his entire perspective on fish and many other things: The fishermen weren't stupid. They knew the species they were fishing would die out. But they needed money, and they needed it NOW.<br />
<br />
And with that, I say good night.<br />
<br />
P.S. I saw a movie the other day where it was pointed out that mexicans have an ideal that you're not worthy of happiness until you've suffered enough to deserve it. I think this applies to many cultures, not just mine. I mean, religion. Right? GUILT!<br />
<br />
That was disjointed. I could probably make that fit together, but I want to go to sleep. Use your imagination.<br />
<br />
It got me thinking. It also reminded me of the time when I got all frustrated and said, "Why've I got to be happy, anyway? What's so great about being happy?" and my psychologist metaphorically patted my head and said that happiness isn't overrated and to calm down.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-68617645997940872362012-09-17T17:27:00.002-05:002012-09-17T17:45:50.559-05:00SmugI feel snarky today. Snarky in a way that makes me feel happy and smug, not snarky-frustrated.<div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">One of those times when I get tired of people complaining about how bad everything is and figure, what the hell, all I can do is what's best for me. At this point that means doing my Math homework and not eating any more graham crackers. These are easy things to do, because the homework is some easy-peasy limits and we ran out of graham crackers because I ate them all.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">See?</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Damn, I really feel good today.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I joined a new gym with about ten different instructors. The Wednesday guy is very good, one of the Thursday guys is good, the Monday girl is okay and everyone else oscillates between passable and really bad (Friday girl). Also, pushups are kinda dangerous because the gym floor gets incredibly slippery when it gets sweaty. My knees slide around in an entertaining way, but I don't want to do full push-ups because one of my hands might slide off to the side and I'd end up like Michael Jackson.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Of course, I could bring a yoga mat, but I'm too lazy to bring one with me on the bus at 6 AM.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div>Isn't it funny, though, that I'm early for the 7 AM classes at the gym, but was late for every single 7:30 AM History of Biology class? Well, maybe not <i>funny</i>. Telling, I guess.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've been doing my nails a lot lately. Right now I'm wearing sparkles, only half of each nail chipped off and I have yet to re-do them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I stubbed my two tiniest toes a few hours ago. The pinky still hurts, but luckily my nails are intact. I knew a girl whose foot slipped when her knee gave out (there's something wrong with her knees and apparently they do that every so often; she said she's had many surgeries, but will inevitably end up in a wheelchair by the time she's… I forgot how old. Maybe 35?) and her big toe's entire nail came right off. Augh! So I treasure my pinky toe's nail, although actually there isn't much of it. If I clip it, it's about 3mm long. But it's there, make no mistake.</div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, Math.</div><div><br /></div><div>Right.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-91083540737179571502012-09-07T00:49:00.004-05:002012-09-07T01:34:59.558-05:00Non sequitur<div><span style=" ;font-size:100%;">I didn't mean for this to come out feeling bland, but I guess that's how I feel at the moment.</span></div><div><span style=" ;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span style=" ;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span style=" ;font-size:100%;">I was doing some homework this week about neurotransmitters. It was funny. As I read about serotonin and depression, I was like, "Holy </span><i style="font-size: 100%; ">crap</i><span style=" ;font-size:100%;">, this was me yesterday!". Horrible morning, slept all afternoon, woke up at night feeling better.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 100%; ">I love my Behavioral Ecology class, but the annoying thing about trying to talk about it is that within a minute many people veer the conversation over to humans and human behavior. Yes, humans are fascinating. But don't try to make comparisons between humans and other animals <i>if you don't understand the animals you're talking about in the first place</i>. Like in a book I read recently, where the characters had a long conversation about lions and lionesses and female power and it was mostly founded on a bunch of false assumptions they made about lions. If you want to talk about humans, then talk about humans. Don't drag lions into it and start making up fantastical analogies just because you think they sound cool.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 100%; ">I really am a stick in the mud sometimes. I was just thinking about that today. I was on the bus and I saw a kid reach into his book bag, pull out a microfiber cloth, pick some lint off of it and then wipe his glasses on it very carefully. "Kid," I thought at him, "there's a fuzzy hoodie on your lap. No need to be carrying around your microfiber thingy. Don't be a stick in the mud."</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 100%; ">I think about this a lot, sometimes. It's very comforting:</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b></b></span></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b>I tend to think of human beings as huge, rubbery test tubes, too, with </b></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><b>chemical reactions seething inside.</b> When I was a boy, I saw a lot of </span><span style="font-weight: normal; font-size:85%;">people with goiters. So did Dwayne Hoover, the Pontiac dealer who is </span><span style="font-weight: normal; font-size:85%;">the hero of this book. Those unhappy Earthlings had such swollen </span><span style="font-weight: normal; font-size:85%;">thyroid glands that they seemed to have zucchini squash growing from </span><span style="font-weight: normal; font-size:85%;" >their throats.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;">All they had to do in order to have ordinary lives, it turned out, was to <span style=" ">consume less than one-millionth of an ounce of iodine every day.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;">My own mother wrecked her brains with chemicals, which were <span style=" ">supposed to make her sleep.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;">When I get depressed, I take a little pill, and I cheer up again.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;">And so on.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size:85%;">So it is a big temptation to me, when I create a character for a novel, <span style=" ">to say that he is what he is because of faulty wiring, or because of </span><span style=" ">microscopic amounts of chemicals which he ate or failed to eat on that </span><span style=" ">particular day.</span></span></b></div></blockquote>It's from Breakfast of Champions, by Kurt Vonnegut. I added the emphasis so you'd know which parts to pay attention to, just in case you were temped to focus especially on the bit about goiters.</div><div><br /></div><div>Every time I go to the study room next to the library I fall asleep. All the warm air rises up into that room, but it doesn't get too hot as the day goes on because there's a dome that the hottest air goes to. Today I was nodding off when a classmate from a few semesters ago sat at my table and talked to me so I wouldn't fall asleep. He told me he ate 16 tacos for lunch, which explains how he can run so much and be so skinny. Seriously, what little there is of his body is in great physical condition and he's known for running on and on, fast, and never getting tired. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-75865014325909382282012-08-19T00:34:00.002-05:002012-08-19T01:12:22.545-05:00Clutter<span style="font-size: 100%;">My family accumulates things. The fridge accumulates tiny containers of dipping sauce which nobody will eat. We save the ketchup and chili sauce packets that come with pizza, even though none of us eat them. We have tons of keychains. We have tons of books. We have fifteen-year-old elementary-school textbooks. We have tangles of toys crammed into a plastic storage box under the stairs. We must have around a hundred mugs. And there are uncountable decorative bowls, vases, plates, figurines and other souvenirs.</span><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">Be it by nature or nurture, I have a tendency to obtain and accumulate things (Star Wars toys, amusing pillows and odd bits of nature extracted from their homes during field trips** all come to mind) and am averse to throwing them away. Luckily for me, I seem to be less averse than my parents, who once yelled at me for not eating the corners of a slice of cake.</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">Two weeks ago, I felt suddenly overwhelmed by how much stuff I had and threw out two trash bags' worth of stuff from my room, which was promptly picked over by the housekeeper. This means that a stuffed toy, a plastic CD case and other such items are now on display in the laundry room (which is of her domain, as she uses it a lot more than anyone else does).</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">All my old Star Wars toys (and there were many of them), anime figurines, a music box, a poster I never got framed are in storage; a lot of my ex-clothes is being put to use by other people (I only have one metal band T-shirt left!), I threw out a bunch of useless knickknacks, relocated a table elsewhere in the house, dusted everything…</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">…and I am still swimming in stuff, but at least it is now mostly things that I want and use.</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">Still, I've been bitten by the decluttering bug. Today I attacked some common areas and threw out what felt like 12kg of old magazines, threw out a bunch of garbage that has been lurking for who-knows-how-many years un the bottoms of decorative vases that lay, concealed and forgotten, behing potted plants, and amassed two dozen or so decorative bowls. </div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">Why do we have so many bowls? They just sit stacked on a shelf and gather dust and lost earrings. And that's just the ones that were in two rooms downstairs– in the display cabinets upstairs there are bowls all the way back o every shelf, and more bowls stacked in the cupboards underneath. When I asked my Dad if there was any one that he felt comfortable getting rid of, he pointed at one shaped like a green pig (it's not as kitschy as it sounds, it's actually quite nice) and then suggested I wrap up all the others and put them in storage because they're pieces of art.</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">In storage? Where? What for??</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">AUUUGH! I am ridding myself of the habit of accumulating things, even small, insignificant things like pen holders.</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">Oh, I didn't mention the pen holders, did I? We have a lot of those, too. But my Dad's tools of the trade are pen and paper (well, that and a few Apple products) so the pen holders are actually put to use. They're all over the house, on nearly every end table and desk. There's enough of them to be on every one, but some desks are selfish and can have three or four pen holders so there aren't enough to go around.</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">You know, there's something extra odd about having so many decorative things tucked away and piled on top of each other– none of them are actually hung up on a wall or anything. At most they sit, bunched together like merchandise in a shop, on top of a surface such as the piano. Maybe if we set some of them up properly, people would finally feel the house is "decorated" and stop bringing more things into the house.</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">Weekend project.</div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%;">** </span><span style="font-size:85%;">By which I mean things like a walnut shell, or a giant mushroom which my teacher had harvested and was going to throw out. You know, not stuff like a ghost crab for a pet or anything.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-80906766577284093352012-08-07T23:23:00.003-05:002012-08-07T23:46:17.179-05:00SchoolToday was my second day of school. I started fifth semester, which means I'm almost halfway through my bachelor's degree. Actually I'm supposed to be two-thirds done, because the degree is eight semesters long, but you need to take a workshop** during your last four semesters and I didn't join one this semester. <div><br /></div><div>I don't know what I want to specialize in, you see, and the workshop you join will define what you'll write your thesis about and who will be your supervisor. I was completely enamored with Parasitology, which turned out to be a dud when I took the class last semester, so I'm treading carefully in the world of Biology these days.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm getting interested in animal behaviour these days. There's a workshop on that but I didn't join it because what if I end up disillusioned with animal behaviour, the way it happened with Parasitology? </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm taking Ecology of Animal Conduct this semester and so far it's looking great. The teacher is really good, plus he's English so it sounds cool whenever he says a name or book title. The rest of the time he speaks Spanish with an accent reminiscent of my Mom's, so I feel right at home.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, the animal conduct workshop will open again next year. If I want it, I'll wait for it and add an extra year to my bachelor's degree. If not, I'll join something else next semester.<br /><div><br /></div><div>I also signed up Biological Anthropology because it sounded fascinating, but after going to the first class and getting a list of the recommended bibliography I can see that it's not what I was hoping for (it's mostly genetics), so I'm dropping it like a hot potato so I can concentrate on my other five courses, especially animal behaviour.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>** Workshop as in "<span style="font-size: 100%; ">meeting at which a group of people engage in intensive discussion and activity on a particular subject or project", as defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary widget I have on my dashboard. We don't spend two years carving table legs or something.</span></div> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-71603108667518642342012-07-12T21:58:00.003-05:002012-07-12T22:22:17.046-05:00Birdie<span style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Yesterday a bird fell out of a tree in the backyard while I was whittling a penguin out of wood**. I only figured it out when the Small Dog, who is a cocker spaniel and therefore is engineered to fetch birds, risked life and limb fighting the bamboo thicket and later a thorn bush while trying to get at it.</span></span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The bird was freaking out so it ran around the yard and I managed to tackle Dog just when she had the bird's tail in her mouth but hadn't chomped down yet. The bird ran away into the thorn bush and I tied up Dog so that the bird could regain its </span>composure<span style="font-size:100%;"> and fly away. It didn't, though, and stayed on the ground beneath the bush until not even the combined efforts of my dad, my sister, her fiancé and me were any help getting it out of the bush and away from Dog. Eventually we gave up when my dad pointed out that it was hopping around to get away from us and it was getting poked by all the thorns.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Georgia, serif;">Small Dog stayed tied up for the rest of the day, except for a brief stint where she tugged at the chain so much that her collar snapped in two (killer instinct, that dog has), and this morning the bird had migrated into a small bamboo on the other side of the yard. The bird's mom was flapping around the bamboo and screaming at her kid, and also screaming at Maxie when she wandered into the yard for some sniffing, a pee and possibly breakfast. It followed her around, hopping on the wall and on the trees, screaming at the top of its birdie lungs. Maxie totally didn't notice. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Georgia, serif;">I don't know what the bird's status is now. I haven't seen it since morning, although I heard it conversing with its mom in the afternoon. For my own peace of mind, and to make up for making the bird poke itself with thorns yesterday, I made a little bird bath and tied it to the braches of the tree. Next to it I put a slice of bread with almond butter and sunflower seeds. I read that in a kids' activity book when I was little, except in the book they used peanut butter. I figured that our peanut butter has some added oils and whatnot and probably the almond butter is better for the bird. Or for the bugs, who are probably going to be the ones to eat it.</span></div><div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">** I do not mention this to show of my whittling skills, but because "whittling" is a funny word. Like "soup". </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-55613701939610833982012-07-03T10:42:00.002-05:002012-07-03T10:57:36.458-05:00YogaI woke up today with a horrible headache, stiffness and pain all over my body, including my eyes (!). So I languished in bed for a while, then moved downstairs to languish on the sofa so that my parents could take pity on me more easily (I'm all about helping others).<div><br /></div><div>After some aspirin, a nap and some mother-brewed Chamomile tea, I did some yoga with a DVD. The DVD was bizarre, featuring a woman called Wai Lana who demonstrated the poses while wearing an assortment of colorful jumpsuits and a flower wreath decorating each of her extremities, in various picturesque sceneries (mountains, beaches, rivers…) on a big, orange living room carpet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, regardless of its weirdness, the yoga helped me loosen up my sore muscles and made the last bit of my headache dissipate. During the relaxation, when you're supposed to lie down with your eyes closed and enjoy the music, I peeked at the screen and was surprised to see footage of Wai Lana dancing in the snow, sledding with her friends and having snow fights.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm feeling much better now, enough to want some Ben & Jerry's ice cream. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-43223138094277173552012-07-02T19:26:00.004-05:002012-07-03T10:37:16.490-05:00VacationLast week, from Monday to Friday, I went with several of my friends from high school to Morelos. One of them has an uncle who built a weekend house there, though the place isn't used much. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms and an outdoor kitchen all in a row at the back of the property, and then a lawn with a few trees and a pool.<div><br /></div><div>We got there by bus (it's not a long ride– about 1.5 hours on a bus, then two half-hour rides on vans and then a short walk up a hill) and spent several hours cleaning the place and reclaiming it from the insects and arachnids who had staked out their territory in the absence of people. It had accumulated dust and dirt and did I mention the wasps?</div><div><br /></div><div>There were a few wasp nests here and there. Some of them we knocked down, but we left the bigger ones alone. The biggest was inside a bathroom, so it happened several times that someone would go in, shut the door, and then come barreling back out in a panic shrieking that there was a wasp inside.</div><div><br /></div><div>One night, most of us stayed up late talking, and then moved into a small tent that we had set up on the porch (on the porch because it was raining so hard). Seven of us somehow squeezed into the two-person tent to keep talking, and then six of us fell asleep inside (one guy was smart enough to go to bed at 3AM). We woke up in the morning feeling all stiff and crampy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another night we set up a bigger tent and slept in the yard. Sometime in the early morning someone woke up and noticed that their blanket was wet, and realized that it was raining and the tent was leaking. So we groggily went to our rooms, and stupidly left behind a bunch of sheets and comforters behind to get soaked in the tent.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, and on one day, my friend's uncle– the owner of the house– swung by with some other men to paint the walls. They brought a little boy, about four years old, who we took turns playing with ALL DAY. That kid did not know the meaning of the word "tired". For about an hour we played a game that consisted of him standing at the edge of the pool and "hiding" a plastic ball inside one of four inflatable swimming tires. He would then instruct me to swim underwater from one end of the pool to the other and surface through the hole in the tires, looking for the ball. Of course the ball was always in the last tire where he made me look. On the plus side, it was an excellent workout; that kid should be a personal trainer.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-47503990502752978292012-04-26T22:47:00.000-05:002012-04-26T22:47:09.247-05:00Baby salamanderI promised I'd be in bed by 11:00 PM, and it's now 10:50 PM on the dot. But I wanted to write a quickie blog post for some reason. So, photo review it is!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMKIojpE5cMFXslWbJr_n0HH_MqDhPiW13wEVXjlSLbetxR_RnlVSH0c1mrmnKOUY8u_XUSAKagQEySNwSDFe78wnVuJqT7L4IfUb3fq-SPm-zNI5rjqExXZielVHQJ_mfD655Q/s1600/CIMG0789.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMKIojpE5cMFXslWbJr_n0HH_MqDhPiW13wEVXjlSLbetxR_RnlVSH0c1mrmnKOUY8u_XUSAKagQEySNwSDFe78wnVuJqT7L4IfUb3fq-SPm-zNI5rjqExXZielVHQJ_mfD655Q/s320/CIMG0789.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A few weeks ago my Parasitology class went on our one-day field trip. I was falling asleep on my feet and eventually sunk into a little corner and suddenly my teacher was looking down at me with slight concern and asked if I wanted to go outside and breathe some fresh air. I was all, "Uuuurgh, uh, urgh. OH! Sorry, sorry, sorry, I, um, yeah, I'll go outside."<br />
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Anyway, we went to a somewhat big aquarium/fish farm to buy some fish. Back in the lab, we cut them open and looked for parasites (we didn't find a lot. A tiny copepod, but not much other than that). One of the things they were breeding was axolotls, which are well-loved by most people who know them. The axolotl tadpoles were kind of dumb and we could scoop them up and watch them wiggle around cutely, unlike the toad tadpoles who would turn tail and flee if you so much as thought about them.<br />
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So that picture up there is an axolotl baby in my hand.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-84752157129821422232012-04-19T10:10:00.004-05:002012-04-19T10:54:59.584-05:00Cuetzalan<span><span style="font-size: 100%;">My Natural Resources class went on a field trip to Cuetzalan, Puebla to visit the town and study the artisans, beekeepers, general population and coffee, bamboo, pepper, cinnamon growers, both independent and those belonging to a cooperative called Tosepan Titataiske ("together we will overcome" in Náhuatl). The cooperative has several branches so just about anyone can join and do different activities, or be a member of their bank.</span></span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Our group was split into teams and each team studied </span>something<span style="font-size: 100%;"> different about the community or the cooperative. My team studied something to do with the living conditions of the people who belong to the cooperative**. And after talking to the people in Cuetzalan, the (very poor) towns nearby and the people at the Tosepan cooperative, we reached some sad conclusions about the cooperative.</span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">I mean, we wanted the cooperative to be everything it said it was, but the only positive things I can safely say about it are:</span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div><ul><li><span>It employs organic techniques to grow coffee and some other things (but this isn't the same thing as being sustainable, keep in mind)</span></li><li><span>It got some roads built, so some marginalized communities have easier access to the sweet fruits of civilization. Such as cement.</span></li><li><span>The coffee growers who manage to get in have a set price for the coffee they grow throughout the year, if the cooperative buys it from them. Which isn't always the case, apparently.</span></li></ul><span>Other than that, well, it's not so nice. Let's just say that the woman I spoke to on our first day there wasn't missing out on much by not joining. She wanted to join, but she couldn't save up enough money ("my husband," she explained, "he's a Catholic. No, I mean, alcoholic. He's an alcoholic."). You need 800 pesos to join the cooperative as a member of the "caja de ahorros", which is basically a bank. My phone cost a few times that much.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE1xArNik0T9rqA19Ou662eonByd-5bdAhOeeLf7KjyHjjwKVQS27xPMCHhSfUyBKXiQ0hYVCb3ec4G0UgvFHmS21wnMIeKWWnJAaGlsiPj1ZLzb2rMjgCdmqR2C03fLgw38tGww/s1600/2012-04-12+18.26.00.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE1xArNik0T9rqA19Ou662eonByd-5bdAhOeeLf7KjyHjjwKVQS27xPMCHhSfUyBKXiQ0hYVCb3ec4G0UgvFHmS21wnMIeKWWnJAaGlsiPj1ZLzb2rMjgCdmqR2C03fLgw38tGww/s320/2012-04-12+18.26.00.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5733140482589869746" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span >This is Cuetzalan. The town center is at the end of this road.</span></div></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><span ><br /></span></span></div><div><span ><span><span>**</span><span>H</span></span><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; ">onestly, I'm not sure exactly what the objectives of my team's study were. One girl sort of </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; ">commandeered</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "> the whole thing and had an idea in mind that none of the other members of the team really understood. We were trying to all work on it but then she would resist any change we tried to implement, until eventually we all each reached the unspoken conclusion that we would just meekly follow her bidding. We asked again during the field trip what the exact objectives were and she floundered for a few minutes and didn't get around to telling us. I wasn't keen on the "lie back and do what you're told to do" idea until I had a panic attack during a Natural Resources class and the teacher found me curled up and sobbing in a corridor near the classroom and told me (nicely) to chill because "what we're doing in the class, it's nothing! It's shit! Real life s so much more complicated than this, in every aspect" etc. My psychologist and I agreed. The bottom line is that now I grasp our project by about 65% and my sanity is back up to about 90%, which is a better proportion than 85% and 55%, respectively.</span></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-25164499628072600032012-01-13T09:40:00.005-06:002012-01-16T16:20:17.174-06:00Decluttering<div style="text-align: justify;">I got rid of a ton of clothes. A drawer full of pajamas (I don't even wear pajamas. I sleep nak- um, I wear a T-shirt and shorts), about thirty tops including a load of huge-black-metal-concert-tees and some things that never really fit right, around eight pairs of jeans, some sweaters, loads of socks and underwear, some five pairs of footwear, and I <i>still have loads of clothes</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Where does it all come from??</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I mean, I gained a few items, too, because my sisters decluttered their closets at the same time. So I got some hand-me-down jackets and sweaters, some tops, and a skirt (for funerals, because I do have this one other black skirt, but it's a flouncy miniskirt and I'm not sure that other funeral attendees would appreciate it).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And I realize that sounds counter-productive, but some of these things are clothes that I lusted after for <i>years</i>. My sister's "I love you very mush" sleeveless hoodie shirt, for instance, which has four little mushrooms on the front. Or this one green jacket she bought in Europe.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Oh, and the jeans I got rid of– I was a size 3 in high school, apparently. Holy crap!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before giving it all away to our housekeeper (who has lots of daughters and grandchildren to give clothes to), we went through it all with our cousins so they could pick out whatever they might want. They all went home with a few things and we were happy knowing that this stuff is going to loving homes. I mean, most of it is in really good condition, plus it's good quality, brand name stuff.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRrDPLHUz9Woc32SqHLBJVoAWRmaCPCRWI_KJ7Q4ODnxXltjcSKCuDc0eFAKYGqNa9NT1Uslxs_EXoxEH6Okq_Cyl658k9VkJ0eyiQnqKhx-_TuEXxysAAUqkdlF0HhY6z-quWoQ/s1600/Photo+on+2012-01-13+at+10.04+%25232.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRrDPLHUz9Woc32SqHLBJVoAWRmaCPCRWI_KJ7Q4ODnxXltjcSKCuDc0eFAKYGqNa9NT1Uslxs_EXoxEH6Okq_Cyl658k9VkJ0eyiQnqKhx-_TuEXxysAAUqkdlF0HhY6z-quWoQ/s320/Photo+on+2012-01-13+at+10.04+%25232.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697146235058178050" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span>My cousin took this shirt by mistake and was about to make off with it. I was all,<i> nooooooo! Get away!!</i></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Although there were a few times when certain items were hard to let go of. One of my cousins was looking for clothes to make crafts out of, rather than wear: "Hey! This skirt would make a great cushion!" My eldest sister's eyes shot wide open and her mouth formed a tiny, horrified "o". Later that night I saw her wearing the skirt in question and telling my aunt, "She wanted to sew it into a cushion. This skirt, a <i>cushion</i>!"</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-11058700320891358062012-01-13T09:15:00.005-06:002012-01-16T16:20:57.404-06:00Good morning<div style="text-align: justify;">I set my alarm for 9 AM. It's a good time to wake up during the holidays, as it's neither early nor terribly late. When you wake up at 9AM, it's already light out and you don't feel like you're getting up into a dark, lonely world. You don't lie in bed for a while wondering what to do. The day has already started and it's the right time for going downstairs to fix yourself coffee and breakfast.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"9AM," I thought last night as I set my alarm, "that's a good time to get up tomorrow. I'll get nine whole hours of sleep."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I woke up at 7:30 and couldn't get back to sleep. Typical.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What is up with that? One of my resolutions for this year is to sleep more, but how do I do that if my body won't let me? Adolescents are supposed to get nine hours of sleep, but short of taking meds, I don't know how I can do that. I'm on <i>holidays</i>! Why can't I sleep more?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Also, it's really bugging me that I have these <i>bags</i> under my eyes that won't go away. I put concealer under my eyes so that they won't freak people out. Whenever I forget or don't have time to wear makeup, people take one look at me, remark that I look tired, and ask me if I'm okay or if I pulled an all-nighter.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've always looked tired, even when I was, like, eight years old. You just couldn't tell so much before because I wore glasses.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ao anyway, I got up at 7:30, stretched a bit, put on some music, read some blogs, danced around a bit, drank some water, took a body test on the Wii Fit and fixed myself a coffee.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm too lazy to use the coffeemaker very often, so by "fix myself a coffee" I mean "heated up my leftover tea from last night, plus some extra water, and put it in a mug with some instant coffee. Also milk." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Speaking of which, my sister and I have recently switched from drinking low-fat milk to whole milk. For as long as I can remember, my family's always had low-fat milk. My cousin said it was like drinking insipid, white water and I thought she was exaggerating… until I tried some whole milk in my coffee. After years of drinking 2% milk, drinking whole milk feels like drinking cream.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I get used to whole milk, I intend to start melting butter and stirring <i>that</i> into my coffee.*</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK2sQ3ej-dxQgDaMJ0-jDsMVsAoNJjVx93EmzquWm71e4LthKKOj80OZGVRAPZzyuvbqs-YNx8lgWL7bOiHuXo12jdMvzOecot20JVs7jwSLcSbTlpf9bPfeeJCcxiixb7VMtVcA/s1600/Photo+on+2012-01-13+at+09.43+%25232.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK2sQ3ej-dxQgDaMJ0-jDsMVsAoNJjVx93EmzquWm71e4LthKKOj80OZGVRAPZzyuvbqs-YNx8lgWL7bOiHuXo12jdMvzOecot20JVs7jwSLcSbTlpf9bPfeeJCcxiixb7VMtVcA/s320/Photo+on+2012-01-13+at+09.43+%25232.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697141265924356450" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span>Coffeeeeee</span>.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>*Just kidding. OR AM I?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-38953458515726820982012-01-03T00:16:00.004-06:002012-01-16T16:21:37.924-06:00Seven: a memoir<div style="text-align: justify;">When I was in second grade, we were learning to multiply in school. So, for a while, our daily homework was to learn one of the times tables. A new one each day, working our way up from 2 to 10.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, I've always been lazy. In kindergarten I <i>never </i>did my homework unless I deemed it a fun assignment. And in second grade, that still happened if I felt I could get away with it. It was fine when we were multiplying in 2's and 3's, but it got harder to fake as the number grew bigger. I'd sit in class while everyone around me recited "Six times seven, forty-two! Six times eight, forty-eight!" and I'd sort of mouth along with them. I was probably a bit nervous about getting called on, but not enough to want to study.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Eventually, my parents found out that I was slacking off. They were not amused. A laminated poster was purchased with the times tables on it, my mom made flashcards, and the pièce de résistance was a horrible educational CD procured from some dark corner of horribleness. The CD claimed to teach kids math… with rock music! I remember hating it: the stupid-sounding character (called Mr. Rock or something to that effect*), the bad music, the feeling of condescension that emanated from it all. Mr. Rock would recite the times tables (too fast for me to glean any nuggets of wisdom) and ask his listeners– his <i>buddies</i>– to join in!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Since the CD wasn't bad enough in itself, my sisters mocked me for it as well. In fact, my cousins were visiting a few weeks later and <i>they</i> made fun of me, too, when they found the CD. I hated that CD.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8Nikyj9c4GVUbs1WpddyAiAOux8zggVThWgujCFBtaYSWXLbW1zVK-4yJEFKEGL3h4toBrLaPx3Lz8DaXhpx8FjKLDGk77tAZBjB-hs3LT4b8LOE02hofWqD0ErpEW2L3ae8pA/s1600/id261324512.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8Nikyj9c4GVUbs1WpddyAiAOux8zggVThWgujCFBtaYSWXLbW1zVK-4yJEFKEGL3h4toBrLaPx3Lz8DaXhpx8FjKLDGk77tAZBjB-hs3LT4b8LOE02hofWqD0ErpEW2L3ae8pA/s320/id261324512.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693287536153218306" /></a><span><div style="text-align: center;">Yuck.</div></span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, my parents made me sit on my bed and learn the times tables using all the study aids they'd showered upon me. So I did, sort of. <i>That</i> was the day my class had been sent home with the mission of learning the seven times table. So that's what I focused on: seven times four is twenty-eight. Seven times five is thirty-five. Seven times six...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, I didn't study the <i>six</i> times table, or the <i>four</i> times table (the fives time table is easy, as we all know, and not worth mentioning). What for? Those had been covered on previous days and I'd never be quizzed on them again! No, I studied the seven times table, learned it by heart, recited it to my folks, and thus convinced them that their deed was done.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The same dedication did not go into the eight or nine times tables on following days: I slacked off one those, too. But I'll be damned if I didn't master the seven times table. And here's a little secret: to this day, I have to stop and think for a second when I'm multiplying small numbers... <i>unless there's a seven involved</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'd thank my parents if it weren't for that stupid CD.**</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">* I looked it up; it's "Professor Relamido". As in, musical notes: re-la-mi-do</div><div style="text-align: justify;">** Which you can <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/las-tablas-multimplicar-con/id261324512">buy on iTunes</a>. Don't, though.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-46815129787009438602012-01-01T00:25:00.004-06:002012-01-16T16:21:53.869-06:00Resolutions<div style="text-align: justify;">I haven't thought these through, but here goes:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Form these habits:</div><div><ul><li style="text-align: justify;">Dink 2 liters of water a day (more when exercising, obviously)</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Lie down and listen to podcasts* when I'm stressed</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Floss most days</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Go to bed early**</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Wash my face before bed</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Lose arguments more often (i.e., stop needing to be right all the time)</li></ul></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Break these habits:</div><div><ul><li style="text-align: justify;">Eating as soon as I get home even if I'm not hungry</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Eating before bed***</li><li style="text-align: justify;">PROCRASTINATION!!</li></ul></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Do these things:</div><div><ul><li style="text-align: justify;">Run two races.</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Throw out/give away/get rid of 60 things in my bedroom (i.e., declutter)</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Get a 10 in Parasitology</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Redecorate my room****</li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">* Such as: <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/dnto/">Definitely Not The Opera</a>, <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/vinylcafe/home.php">Vinyl Cafe</a>, <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/ideas/">Ideas</a>,<a href="http://www.cbc.ca/quirks/"> Quirks and Quarks</a>, <a href="http://www.microbeworld.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=category&layout=blog&id=99&Itemid=259">This Week In Parasitism</a>, <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/ageofpersuasion/">The Age of Persuasion</a>, etc.</div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">** I'm planning to still take afternoon/night classes, so... be in bed before midnight, most of the time.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">*** I now suffer of reflux (ew) when I eat big-ish portions, and I <i>do not want esophageal cancer!!</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">**** Put up a painting or something, at least.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-90498134658791682782011-12-31T12:45:00.003-06:002012-01-01T00:20:21.498-06:00Grading my yearAfter making it, I had described my list of 2011 resolutions as "eensy and doable". I'm not sure what I was thinking at the time, because when I read over it now it seems pretty lofty and huge– and this is the second version, which is smaller than the first one.<div><br /></div><div>So let's see how I did:</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i> Get a 9+ average one semester.</i> My second semester, which ended in June (I think) was my best semester in University, so far, with a 9.0 average. So this resolution has been met (never mind that I failed half of my subjects in my third semester, which just ended a few weeks ago. Rough patch).</div><div><div><br /></div><i> Talk to people more. </i>Compared to how the year started out, yes. I can talk to people more easily now, and all it took was practice.</div><div><br /><i> Make my own school lunches. Healthier and cheaper!</i> I don't always do it, but I bring food pretty often. I don't like to depend on packaged granola bars (unhealthy) or cafeteria dinners (sometimes tasty, but sometimes... well, not. Also I don't alway have time to choose, line up, buy and eat).</div><div><br /><i> Brush my teeth more often</i>. I did at first, but then I reverted back to twice a day.</div><div><br /><i> Learn to drive.</i> Nope. But I <i>did</i> get my licence, so at least that was a step in the right direction.</div><div><br /><i> Stay reasonably informed about the going-ons of the world.</i> See the teeth-brushing resolution.</div><div><br /><i> Read 100 books.</i> Failed. Read only 53 books in eleven months (started counting in February).</div><div><br /><i> Finish a 5k race (and get a free T-shirt from it or something).</i> Nope, but I did run a 7k race!! This is the only one where I went above and beyond.</div><div><br /><i> Eat 8-9 serving of fruit and veggie a day. </i>Nope. I did go through periods where I ate this much, but there were other times when I'd have 2 or 3. Currently I oscillate between 4 and 7.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, not bad. Not <i>good</i>, but pretty decent. I'd say 7.1 out of 11.3.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-740765423969900552011-12-30T12:46:00.007-06:002012-01-03T00:12:57.131-06:00Books 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53<ul><li>Book 48: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Roverandom-J-R-R-Tolkien/dp/0395898714">Roverandom</a>, by Tolkien</li></ul><div>It was by Tolkien, it was tiny, it was about a dog. It's also a children's book, and has a sort of a simple, old-timey feel about it that is reminiscent of The Moomins. Cute, but I didn't enjoy it too that much because it felt a bit tedious at parts.</div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>Book 49: was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Reptile-Room-Unfortunate-Events/dp/0064407675/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1325272634&sr=1-1">The Reptile Room</a>, by Lemony Snicket.</li></ul></div><div>I need fast reads to rack up my numbers before the year ends tomorrow. Pathetic, I know, but this is a good book so it's not as sleazy as it seems. Hopefully.</div><div><br /></div><div>I read the Unfortunate Events series once before, when I was in secondary school. It was the end of the school year so we were obliged to go to school, but there was nothing to do there except sit around and talk and play. I'm a boring person so I sat on a desk that last week and read all the books (there's 13 of them) except the first one. We don't have it anymore because my eldest sister lent it to her then-boyfriend and he never gave it back.</div><div><br /></div><div>Actually, we do have the first book, but only in French and I'm too lazy to read in another language (also, my I take this moment to express my admiration for the people I know who do read in English even though it's not their first language? You guys are ballsy and awesome).</div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>Books 50 and 51 were the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Death-Note-Vol-Tsugumi-Ohba/dp/1421501686/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1325272345&sr=1-2">first</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Death-Note-Vol-Tsugumi-Ohba/dp/1421501694/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1325272345&sr=1-5">second</a> Death Note graphic novels.</li></ul></div><div>Yes, they count as books. They're a bunch of papers bound together and there's a story in them, even if it's mostly pictures. Shut up, I'm not cheating!</div><div><br /></div><div>I watched the anime a few years ago and bought the first four volumes of the manga version because they were cheap, but I never actually read them. I'm making up for it now.</div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>Book 52: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0440237920/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_2?pf_rd_p=1278548962&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=0805063781&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=1PANBB7Z9MCV6MQCNT42">The Gospel According to Larry</a>, by Janet Tashjian</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>Someone mentioned it in a review of another book and it sounded good, so I asked my mom (holder of the Card of Credit) to buy it online if she saw a good used copy. She did, but it got lost in the mail so she bought it again after a few months.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was good, but I would have liked it more if it had been written for an older audience (it's for ages 12 and up) because although the story is pretty far-fetched*, the themes it deals with could be developed a little further. </div><div><br /></div><div>I really liked the idea of having only 75 possessions because I'm a fan of decluttering. Well, sort of– I love the idea but I have too much damn stuff to find a good home for (and I'll be damned if I'm throwing out my Darth Vader spiral-straw cup).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>* <span>17-year-old genius dude writes short lecture/sermon/rants about consumerism, hypocrisy, etc. and posts them on a website under a false name; eventually he becomes an anonymous celebrity and struggles to keep his identity secret. He's also in love with his best friend, so there's a side story about that, too.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGn8XwvqpUBojyGCC5dW9PSqoBGBBnhTTA1OTPgT3KjpZYpC72ZZVNccZTG2AayLCXk0YUQkb0NojWVvXFxuDYtXyVuBTUXipH3uGLp1zScAFwU1QsPSPXH2AdR-nu2leosmCew/s1600/Photo+on+2012-12-30+at+13.36.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGn8XwvqpUBojyGCC5dW9PSqoBGBBnhTTA1OTPgT3KjpZYpC72ZZVNccZTG2AayLCXk0YUQkb0NojWVvXFxuDYtXyVuBTUXipH3uGLp1zScAFwU1QsPSPXH2AdR-nu2leosmCew/s320/Photo+on+2012-12-30+at+13.36.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692006421783661106" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span>If you want it and you promise to LOVE IT FOREVER, give me a shout.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul><li>Book 53 is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Einstein-Told-His-Cook/dp/0393011836">What Einstein Told His Cook: Kitchen Science Explained</a>, by Robert Wolke.</li></ul><div>I finished several months ago, but I didn't mention it because I read it in parts. It lived on the breakfast table, so every time I sat down to eat, I'd read a section or three. First the ones about chocolate and desserts, then the ones about kitchen equipment, then the parts about temperature, and so on, until reading the ones dealing with salt. Plus all the recipes. Eventually, I ran out of sections because I'd finished it all up. It was <i>excellent</i>.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-21618140124311949092011-12-16T13:02:00.004-06:002012-01-03T00:13:11.230-06:00Books 45, 46, 47Book 45: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/HISTORIAS-DIVAN-Spanish-ROLON-GABRIEL/dp/9875803693/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1324089054&sr=1-1">Historias de Diván</a>, by Gabriel Rolón<div><br /></div><div>The only book in Spanish I'll have read this year, it seems. It's made up of eight short, true stories about the patients an Argentinian psychotherapist has treated. Apparently the author is quite famous in Argentina, having shows on television and radio wherein he dispenses advice to the public; sort of like Dr. Phil, but probably less annoying. Hopefully.</div><div><br /></div><div>I bought this at a book fair last Saturday for a measly 39 MXN (instead, I could have bought 4 liters of bottled water, 19.5 packets of gum or a movie ticket if it were a Wednesday. Fun fact for you.) The book, anyhow, was pretty good although not spectacular. Gave me a few things to think about.</div><div><br /></div><div>Book 46: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Princess-Spotlight-Diaries-Vol/dp/0064472795">Princess in the Spotlight</a>, by Meg Cabot</div><div><br /></div><div>The second book in the <i>Princess Diaries</i> series. I had a long journey via public transport ahead of me, so I picked this up because it's easy to read and very entertaining. Unlike, I might add, the last few books of this series which are kind of boring.</div><div><br /></div><div>Book 47: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Was-Novel-Meg-Rosoff/dp/B002XULY7S/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1324089084&sr=1-1">What I Was</a>, by Meg Rosoff</div><div><br /></div><div>Good up until the last quarter or so of the book, at which point it became very good. I liked that the main character wasn't entirely likable, yet I still sympathized with him. Usually when you don't entirely like a character it's because you hate them. At least, that's true in my case.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-29164692427858548902011-12-01T10:08:00.004-06:002012-01-03T00:13:24.517-06:00Books 42, 43, 44Book 42 was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Away-Laughing-Fast-Camel-Confessions/dp/0060589345">Away Laughing on a Fast Camel</a>, by Louise Rennison.<div><br /></div><div>This is part of the <i>Confessions of Georgia Nicholson</i> series, number five or six, I think (can't be bothered to look it up). I picked it up because I wanted something I could read on the bus during the weekend I spent on a field trip; our copy of this book has relatively large print (good for bus-reading) and is covered in plastic (essential for avoiding cookie crumb impregnations and accidents involving filthy pond water).</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, as for the actual book, I'm pretty sure I've read it before, because it seemed quite familiar. It was very, very silly but also entertaining and a fast read.</div><div><br /></div><div>Books 43 was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Then-Ate-Boy-Entrancers-Confessions/dp/006058937X">Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers</a>, also by Louise Rennison</div><div><br /></div><div>Next in the series of the<i> Confessions of Georgia Nicholson</i>. I read this because I wanted to know what happened after the last book, but this one didn't answer the big question (does Georgia end up with Masimo, the Italian Stallion Sex God?). <i>Pfff</i>, I thought, <i>have it your way. I'm done with these for now.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>It was fun, but I don't think I can read more than two of these in a row. My brain could quite possibly melt.</div><div><br /></div><div>Book 44 was my comfort book, my favorite book, the one I save for when I really want it. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bellwether-Connie-Willis/dp/0553562967/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322934201&sr=1-1">Bellwether</a>, by Connie Willis.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know what to say about this book. I like the format: short chapters (less than 10 pages, in most cases) that start with a short description of a fad. Much like Scott Westerfield's<i> Peeps </i>does, actually. Except <i>Peeps</i> is about parasites, and <i>Bellwether</i> is about fads.</div><div><br /></div><div>When you see a movie, read a book, listen to a song, look at a picture repeatedly, with enough time between viewings, you notice things that you hadn't seen before. Like in Shaun of the Dead, there's little jokes that hint at the end of the movie but you only catch them when you see the movie for a second time. Or the Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets VHS that's sitting on top of a pile of movies in Mean Girls, in the scene where they're watching scary movies on Hallowe'en.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sorry, I got sidetracked. Anyway, repeated readings of this book make me notice things that had previously gone in through one eye and out the other. One of the fads described at the beginning of a chapter was the Dr. Spock books (Spock the childcare expert, not Spock the Science Officer from Star Trek). A few months ago I was in a bookstore sifting through piles of used books from the bargain table with my mom and I found an old edition of <i>Dr. Spock's Baby and Childcare</i>. I was all "Hey, look, Spock!", and my mom looked over and briefly explained that Dr. Spock was really famous back in the day.</div><div><br /></div><div>It wasn't a hugely important moment to me, and I probably would have forgotten it completely if I hadn't been reminded of it by the mention of Dr. Spock in <i>Bellwether</i>. But I think it's interesting that my brain formed the association immediately and without effort while I was reading what I had repeatedly skimmed over many times before.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcbH6E4W37B3a2ac2s-qXvhfxfYS3xidruv1ESTIzwc7t0aFGkRi345L-EwkTQnGPGhTccKoW88ngZn4UzXlbHOyVGO6YFsjc_Z7IGh-gZZ0fibsMJEarmzZTzyEik73b3xITHA/s1600/Shaun_the_Sheep.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcbH6E4W37B3a2ac2s-qXvhfxfYS3xidruv1ESTIzwc7t0aFGkRi345L-EwkTQnGPGhTccKoW88ngZn4UzXlbHOyVGO6YFsjc_Z7IGh-gZZ0fibsMJEarmzZTzyEik73b3xITHA/s320/Shaun_the_Sheep.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681969637064762786" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's a picture of Shaun the Sheep, because sheep are an important part of <i>Bellwether</i>. In a herd of sheep, the bellwether is the leader sheep that the other sheep follow around, sheepishly. And Shaun is obviously the bellwether of his flock.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-29271608102955689882011-11-18T03:33:00.004-06:002012-01-03T00:13:36.044-06:00Books 39, 40, 41I don't have anything specific I wanted to write about. Actually, I clicked the "New Post" button by accident, but I figure I might as well write. Right?<div><br /></div><div>The end of the semester is starting. I didn't do too well this time around. I started out motivated and capable, but lost steam about one month into the semester and eventually dropped a class (I can't get home at 11PM, be at school at 7:30 the next morning, and do my homework in between more than a few times, it turns out). It was horrible deciding wether to drop it or not, but when I did I felt much better. And I'm going to fail another course (damn lab), which means that effectively I'm only going to pass four courses out of six. Ironically, I only decided to take six courses to make up for last semester, when I only took four.</div><div><br /></div><div>So that backfired. Lessons learned.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the other hand, I feel better in general. Better than I did a month ago (miserable) and much better than five months ago (<i>very</i> miserable). So that's good.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have no idea where this post is going. Oh, I read some books.</div><div><br /></div><div>Book 39: <i><a href="http://mealibris.wordpress.com/2009/10/14/this-place-has-no-atmosphere/">This Place has no Atmosphere</a></i>, by Paula Danziger</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought this book was pretty bad, but somewhat entertaining nonetheless. Entertaining enough that I finished it, anyway. At the end it gave me a few things to think about, but I'm guessing that's because I was thinking a lot about things when I read this book (I mentioned I've been feeling better; that didn't just happen serendipitously, but rather it is<i> fucking hard work</i>).</div><div><br /></div><div>Book 40: <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Salmon-Doubt-Hitchhiking-Galaxy-Last/dp/1400045088">The Salmon of Doubt</a></i>, by Douglas Adams</div><div><br /></div><div>A compilation of letters, essays, interviews, etc. etc. by Douglas Adams, as well as a portion of a book he never finished. Immensely funny and thought-provoking, and also made me feel rather guilty that I don't have strong opinions about some things (namely politics and society, and that sort of thing). I really enjoyed this book, especially so because I was still thinking a lot when I read it. The only bit I didn't quite like is when there are several articles about technology, one after another. I mean, it's fascinating stuff, but after a while I felt like I was reading the same things over and over again. Four stars.</div><div><br /></div><div>Book 41: <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Spot-Bother-Mark-Haddon/dp/0385520514">A Spot of Bother</a></i>, by Mark Haddon</div><div><br /></div><div>I was feeling miserable one day and spent some time in a bookshop to cheer up (also I bought some lip balm that claims to taste like cookie dough, but really just smells faintly of sugar). I was going to buy <i>The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy</i> because I can't find our copy at home and I've wanted to read it for about five years, but then I saw this and got it, instead. Firstly because I've read another book by Mark Haddon (<i>The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime</i>, which I think about half the English-speaking world has read as well). Secondly, I was sucked in by the description on the back cover (it said that a character "quietly begins to lose his mind". SOLD!). The first half was pretty hard to read and took me about a week and a half to chew through because it's really well-written and I kept getting nervous on behalf of the characters, but it got easier as they became less sane. Liked it a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wow, I write about the same things over and over. School and books, basically. I don't do much else that I want to write about...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-84339596496243696862011-10-15T16:12:00.005-05:002011-10-16T17:10:16.876-05:00Contact lensesI skipped the gym today and picked up my contact lenses from the optometrist's instead. Since it's my first time ever wearing them, I needed to have a one-hour session with one of the employees in order to learn the correct eye-poking technique necessary to insert and remove them, before being trusted with two boxes full of them (just in case I were to become hyper, rip the boxes open, and run around in a circle with contact lenses stuffed up my nose. Maybe). And don't think you can just drop by whenever you see fit and demand to be taught– no! You need to go early before the shop fills up, otherwise they'd run short of employees and eye-testing rooms. So the only time you can do it is right after they open, or at six in the evening on weekdays.<div><br />Since I have classes all day during the week, it had to be the weekend. Today I was really sleepy and so was delighted when I groggily realized that I could sleep in a little more, skip the gym and get my contact lenses instead: a win/lose/ultra-win situation.</div><div><br />While the optometrist taught me how to pull my eyelashes out of the way and pretend I was in a blinking contest so that I could get the lens in, we chatted about metal. Metal as in the music genre, I mean; we didn't converse about tin cans or remark about how, when you run a piece of metal through the sand on a beach, you come up with a bunch of microscopic magnetic particles. This, by the way, is pretty annoying if you're using a pair of metal tweezers to sift through a sand sample looking for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Foraminif%C3%A8res_de_Ngapali.jpg">foraminifera</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, after dropping a contact lens on the floor, exchanging band names and staring at my eyes in a magnifying mirror for about half an hour, I finally left the shop and wandered through the mall, the supermarket, the bazaar, a fabric shop, the street and a home goods store looking at stuff. Everything looks much clearer when you don't see it through a layer of fingerprints and muck accumulated on your glasses.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had to come home from my wanderings when my sister called me because she was locked out of our house and nobody was home, but that was alright because at that point I was debating whether it's okay to buy a plastic eggplant just because it's funny and on discount (!), despite the fact that you know it will sit around the house looking ugly, gathering dust and generally being clutter-y, until one day several years into the future, someone puts it in the trash.</div><div><br /></div><div>Logic says no, it'll sit in a landfill until the next ice age, but my heart was saying yes, yes, yes, it's an EGGPLANT!</div><div><br /></div><div>Now that I have contact lenses I can:</div><div><br /></div><div>a) See where I'm going in the rain</div><div>b) Identify people in the gym</div><div>c) Get an infection more easily and lose one or both eyes</div><div>d) See things under microscopes normally and not have to fiddle with, sharpening the image to my myopic eyes, and thus leaving it out of focus for everybody else</div><div>e) Get hit on the nose a bit less painfully</div><div><br /></div><div>That last one reminds me of that STUPID F***ING thing people do where they sneak up from behind you and cover your eyes. Half the time the idiots are too busy ham-handedly touching your face (ew) that they don't realize that your glasses are crushing the bridge of your nose.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ahem. Anyway, I have bionic vision now!! You know, sort of.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-90382100634891769942011-10-08T18:44:00.004-05:002011-10-09T22:49:59.829-05:00Nineteen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhem6FWGCOjht4nZHjYqlH9wqOSw7dM4mCjpM1mypkR13WCZT8aMWjetC05uf-JOkSKzVU06TYcjKpHOuPAXJwaU72_KjsagddeRXpY-qvh0_f9kpuQPgl3WGFjWK1Jowm5mAM7tw/s1600/nineteen.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhem6FWGCOjht4nZHjYqlH9wqOSw7dM4mCjpM1mypkR13WCZT8aMWjetC05uf-JOkSKzVU06TYcjKpHOuPAXJwaU72_KjsagddeRXpY-qvh0_f9kpuQPgl3WGFjWK1Jowm5mAM7tw/s320/nineteen.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661703304321176690" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">What a nineteen-year-old looks like from afar. Actually I was a few days away from being nineteen here, but whatever.</span></div><div><br /><div>Last Thursday was my birthday. On Thursdays, frozen yogurt is on sale (two for one) and there's a special deal on chicken wings– it's like the planets had lined up. On my birthday, my friends and I would eat frozen yogurt in the afternoon and chicken wings at night (and no vegetables! *hip thrust*)</div><div><br /></div><div>The frozen yogurt part of the plan was especially for the people who couldn't make it later that night, but everyone was too busy at the last minute (surprise!) and only three of us had assembled by one o'clock. Being lazy, we drank frappés and coffee in the cafeteria and chatted out heads off, instead of going to the mall. It was actually more fun that way, I think. I mean, it sounds lame ("Uuuuhh, we drank coffee. And, um, talked!") but it was really nice because normally nobody has an hour and a half to set aside and devote specifically to nattering.</div><div><br /></div>Ahem.</div><div><br /></div><div>At night, I skipped my last class (Botany, which I'm not a big fan of, anyway. And I've never skipped it before) and went out with a bunch of my friends to eat chicken wings. There was the obligatory sequence of the three cars losing track of each other, and only one person knowing where the place is, and yelling out the window "No! Don't turn there, it's straight ahead!", and confusing phone calls ("But the OXXO is <i>before</i> the supermarket! <i>We're</i> there, but where are <i>you</i>?").<div><br /></div><div>Anyway, we sat in a kiosk and ate a few batches of fried chicken wings (a whole lot of which were 80% skin) and my friends spelled out "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" in bones. And then we rolled around and laughed and so on. Really fun.</div><div><br /></div><div>And when I got home, my mom had made VARENYKY!! I was full of chicken wings and it was around midnight on a Thursday, so I didn't sit down and have my yearly feast, but still: <i>Varenyky and motherly love.</i></div></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>So I actually did something fun on my birthday, for once, other than seeing a movie and eating cake. Although I'll still be having cake, <i>make no mistake!!!</i> Probably the weekend after the next, when I have time… unless I have a field trip that weekend, I don't remember.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, whatever. I'M <s>OLD</s> NINETEEN!!!!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-77243227868937451262011-10-08T17:58:00.005-05:002012-01-03T00:13:56.194-06:00Books 35-38<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I'm not going to bother saying much about these books. This list is still tiny and it's already October... crap! I still have like sixty books to go before I meet my goal. School is getting in the way.</div><div><br /></div> Book 35 was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Enders-Game-Ender-Book-1/dp/0812550706/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1318117302&sr=1-1">Ender's Game</a>, by Orson Scott Card<div><br /></div><div>There's thousands of review of this book already and I don't have anything to add, really. Basically it was really, really good (a bit less so the second time around) and the ending was excellent. </div><div><br /></div><div>We have a used copy that once belonged to a student, so it's highlighted, annotated, and heavily decorated in marker. I googled the name written in the cover, and it appears that this girl is now a cross country runner. Cool.</div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrOe75E3yQBmecjFM8SzuBIRXcM-Jv1k3toDOU8_3Nq_Fp_8Mkn5R40Y4NUf3qAVtWh5hJeGxjB0BOQ-Jrpc2Jw-WiA4f9JPIaz1rsN0y3p3OkTfSf8hdq2EMbd4xQyzlKMBj8g/s320/Photo+on+2011-10-08+at+18.28+%25233.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661270389978646898" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Scribbled all over.</span></div><div><br /></div><div> Book 36 was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Enders-Shadow-Ender-Book-5/dp/0765342405/ref=pd_sim_b3">Ender's Shadow</a>, by Orson Scott Card</div><div><br /></div><div>It took me ages to finish this book. About two weeks, I think... I mostly liked it, about 8 out of 10. Since it takes place at the same time as Ender's Game, which was written before it, some parts felt a little forced (since they had to fit in with the other storyline) but there was nothing terrible about it.</div><div><br /></div><div> Book 37 was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Roll-Thunder-Hear-My-Cry/dp/014034893X">Roll of Thunder, Hear my Cry</a></div><div><br /></div><div>It also took me a while to finish this book. It was good, although it felt a little bit too educational. That's what it's for, though, so that's not really a problem.</div><div><br /></div><div> Book 38... crap, I forgot what it was. Oh, yeah, POD! Book 38 was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pod-Stephen-Wallenfels/dp/1608980103">POD</a>, by Stephen Wallenfels.</div><div><br /></div><div>My mom really wanted us to read this book, so she ordered it online. It got lost in the mail (bitch) so she ordered it again. It was reminiscent of the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Life-Knew-Susan-Beth-Pfeffer/dp/0152058265">Moon trilogy</a> by Susan Beth Pfeffer, except POD is faster-paced, and funnier. Also there's less emphasis on things such as hunger and thirst; they're all, "Oh, yeah, we're down to our last can of kidney beans. I'll go to the window and spy on my neighbors now." This has the advantage of not making you want to go to Costco and buy several dozen cases of tinned food <i>just in case.</i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-59578548086211048232011-09-27T23:53:00.002-05:002011-09-28T01:13:31.172-05:00Reporting homeI've started drinking a lot of coffee from the faculty café, which is run mostly by communists. The blend is actually quite good. I've been having one or two large lattes a day, and I look forward to them so much that it's weird. This morning I was nodding off during my first class, and the guy sitting next to me had a flask of coffee which he would periodically sip. It was tortuous. I felt like jumping on him and stealing his drink (I didn't).<div><br /></div><div>Oh, and also today I <s>crammed</s> studied all day for a test, only for the teacher to not show up. It's a bit weird, actually, because he's not the type to just vanish. I suggested that he maybe fell into an open manhole and lost his phone, so he couldn't call us to say he wouldn't be able to make it. Or maybe his mom is still in the hospital. I hope not. I hope it was a manhole with a pile of pillows on the bottom to cushion his fall.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Pardon my terrible writing. I want to get this over with so that I can do my homework before I get too sleepy.</div><div><br /></div><div>On Saturday it's my first field trip for this term. We're going to some mountain or other to gather mushrooms, so that should be fun. And then, in a few weeks I'm going to... um, I forgot where. Somewhere for Botany, someplace else for Earth Sciences, and then four days at the beach for Zoology.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Going to the beach should be a lot more fun than it was last term, for Algae class. I was in a funk that time, plus I didn't like anyone in my class and spent all my free time being talked at by a really annoying teammate:</div><div><br /></div><div> "Let me see your iPod! *grab* My ex-boyfriend had an iPod like this. I used to borrow it. But he's an ass because he..."</div><div><br /></div><div> "[Teammate dude] is making me really angry!! He didn't help carry the algae back up the beach [or something stupid to that effect]!! All men are the same. Like my ex-boyfriend, you know! He..."</div><div><br /></div><div> "…but he changed, and I changed. It just wasn't the same. We spent some great times together, but then he started to…"</div><div><br /></div><div> "…and his dog had seven puppies. One of them was called…"</div><div><br /></div><div>If I hadn't been in such a crappy, apathetic mood back then, I think I might've smacked her over the head with some ever-handy <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/blueyonder/3608906731/">Sargassum</a> and told her to shut the hell up.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, in my Zoology class I get along pretty well with my team and I don't feel like rolling around in a hamster ball all of the time anymore* so I'm looking forward to it. Also I always hated Algae class anyway, but this time we'll be looking for ugly, slimy, spiky, worm-like invertebrate... <i>things…</i> hanging out under rocks. Much more fun.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>* You know? So I don't have to talk to anyone?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19639743.post-91711969244058976342011-09-06T23:52:00.005-05:002011-09-07T01:09:21.977-05:00Tired + proseThis schedule is cracking me. Last week I had my first baby stress attack ("I thought this assignment was due next Monday! NOOOO!!! World... shrinking...! GAAH!"**).<div><br /></div><div>Actually, that's wrong, now that I think about it. The first stress monster was like two weeks into the term. I think.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, the point is that my schedule is kind of wearing me out. I don't actually hate it; in fact, I like not having lots of free time between classes, I like constantly having something I need to do, and I don't mind spending so much time at school. The only bad bit is that, in order not to fall back, I have to get a big chunk of my homework done ahead of time, so that I can do another big chunk of my homework ahead of time, and that way I can get the last chunk done in time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, time seems to pass really slowly. Today was Tuesday and it felt like Thursday. When I'm going home at night, I think back to what happened that morning and it seems like it was two or three days ago. The beginning of the semester seems like it was before the summer holidays.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, I'm not reading nearly as much as I used to. I used to get through a lot of books while I stood in the bus, during lulls in labs, and when I was procrastinating. Now I sleep even when I'm standing and I don't have time to procrastinate. Basically I read in lab, while waiting for our test tubes to stop bubbling*** or for our turn on the single spectrophotometer (the Molecular Biology 2 lab is sort of under-equipped. The Molecular Biology 3 lab, on the other hand, is REALLY under-equipped).</div><div><br /></div><div>I did finish two books... in the last month or so. I'll do a post on those sometime later.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wow, this post is boring. I'll tell you a story to try and salvage something from the wreckage. Your mission is to guess how much of it (if any) is real.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Peanuts</b></div><div><br /></div><div>So there I was, walking up the first flight of steps to the library. Some men in blue overalls kneeling on the steps, chatting about videos they'd watched on YouTube. Sawing at a thin, wooden board. Can't they do that somewhere else? This isn't a place to fill with dust. The hostile thoughts come to a halt when I become aware of the crunch underfoot. Glass. The glass that was in the library door lies shattered on the floor.</div><div><br /></div><div>The men in the overalls are cutting the wood to fit into the doorframe. I continue up the second flight of steps to enter the main part of the library. No shattered glass here, but the door is hanging off its hinges. I pass under it quickly– knowing my luck, it must be waiting for me to get near to finally collapse on top of my body.</div><div><br /></div><div>What happened here? The books I've so often browsed are lying in tatters on the floor. The library computers are spread out in pieces, the desks have all been knocked over. The bookshelves are leaning at odd angles against each other and against the walls. A loose page flutters down the staircase leading up to the reading room. The place is deserted.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hesitantly ascend to the reading room. I don't know what to expect. I don't even know if I should be here. I'm alone. Where is everyone? I consider asking the men I saw before, but then realize that the sawing noises have stopped. They've gone, too.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm jerked from my thoughts when I see the state the reading room is in. It's even worse than it was below. Feeling uneasy, I turn to leave– and see the peanut shells. They lead around the corner of the room, away from me, away from the stairs, away from the exit. A perfect trail. I can hear my heartbeat, feel it in my throat. Are the rumors true?</div><div><br /></div><div>I make a decision; despite my misgivings, I get down on my hands and knees. I don't want to be seen before it's inevitable. I slowly crawl forward, painstakingly inching my way towards the photocopy machine. There's a cracking noise now, constant, growing louder as I approach the source. Crunch. Crack. Munch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Munch?</div><div><br /></div><div>We catch sight of each other at the same instant. Stiffen in surprise. Hold each other's gaze unblinkingly. I stop breathing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then he blinks. The spell is broken, and I exhale in relief. The librarian left her peanuts here when she finished her shift. It was just the library elephant that got loose again.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, come on, it's 1:00 AM. Cut me some slack. Yesterday (or last week? I don't know, I told you about my time distortion) I went into the library, and some guys were boarding up one door, and the second door was on its hinges. As I walked under it I thought, "What, did an elephant run through here?".<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>** I'm just kidding. When I get stressed I find the nearest corner, put my forehead against the wall, close my eyes, hyperventilate and <s>cry</s> breathe deeply. If there are no corners handy I curl into a little ball. Then I go for a run the next day, or as soon as possible.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>*** Which sounds like an odd thing to do, but imagine they're full of strong acid. There you go.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1