Reading list

New Heightsers were made to lend one of their books to old members in the beginning of the year. Gian lent me Nick Hornby's 31 Songs, which is why Marie for the longest time referred to him as Hornby every time she couldn't remember his name.

I believe tomorrow's the start of vacation for the Rizal Library staff, which means no more borrowing of books for me for a little under a month (the last two library books I read over the past month were Styron's Sophie's Choice and Updike's The Coup). And my newest hobby -- photocopying old Free Press articles and Nick Joaquin essays -- will also have to take a break.

The brown leather thing I call my wallet remains empty and my birthday's still a couple of weeks away (and I rarely get anything outside of greetings anyway) so I've been relying on the New Yorker web site for my short fiction fix (read Paul Theroux's "Mr. Bones" today).

And yep, after months of basking under the fluorescent glare of my reading light, 31 Songs has finally been opened -- meaning I can get it back to Hornby by the start of second sem. (So far not bad -- but not exactly my cup of tea. Poverty tells me to read on anyway.)

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NOTICE: If any of you saw (and laughed) at a picture -- featuring me, a couple of CW juniors, and another guy sitting around a Monobloc table with empty bottles and plastic kiddie party plates -- taped on the second floor counter of the lib, ask the curly-haired co-fellow. It's her fault.