Bookworm Adventures: 2011 gave birth to these wonderful babies

Of course my list of to-read books goes on and on and might even come to the point of running across the entire length of China's Great Wall, but I would like to still hold on to the possibility that I may one glorious day be rich enough to walk inside National Bookstore and just grab whichever baby I lay my eyes onto.

Ergo, these five items (book descriptions from Goodreads):

How to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive by Christopher Boucher. Welcome to Christopher Boucher’s zany literary universe, a place where metaphors shift beneath your feet, familiar words assume new meanings, objects talk, trees attack, and time actually is money. Modeled on the cult classic 1969 hippie handbook of the same name, How To Keep Your Volkswagen Alive is an astonishing tour-de-force that tackles some of life’s biggest questions: How do you cope with losing a parent? What’s the secret to raising a child? How do you keep love alive? How do you get your car to start?

A Guided Tour Through the Museum of Communism by Slavenka Drakulic. Called "a perceptive and amusing social critic, with a wonderful eye for detail" by The Washington Post, Slavenka Drakulic - a native of Croatia - has emerged as one of the most popular and respected critics of Communism to come out of the former Eastern Bloc. In A Guided Tour Through the Museum of Communism, she offers a eight-part exploration of Communism by way of an unusual cast of narrators, each from a different country, who reflect on the fall of Communism. Together they constitute an Orwellian send-up of absurdities during the final years of European Communism that showcase this author's tremendous talent.

The Final Testament of the Holy Bible by James Frey. What would you do if you discovered the Messiah were alive today? Living in New York. Sleeping with men. Impregnating young women. Euthanizing the dying, and healing the sick. Defying the government, and condemning the holy. What would you do if you met him? And he changed your life. Would you believe?

The Postmortal by Drew Magary. Imagine a near future where a cure for aging is discovered and - after much political and moral debate - made available to people worldwide. Immortality, however, comes with its own unique problems-including evil green people, government euthanasia programs, a disturbing new religious cult, and other horrors. Witty, eerie, and full of humanity, The Postmortal is an unforgettable thriller that envisions a pre-apocalyptic world so real that it is completely terrifying.

Science Ink by Carl Zimmer. Body art meets popular science in this elegant, mind-blowing collection, written by renowned science writer Carl Zimmer. This fascinating book showcases hundreds of eye-catching tattoos that pay tribute to various scientific disciplines, from evolutionary biology and neuroscience to mathematics and astrophysics and reveals the stories of the individuals who chose to inscribe their obsessions in their skin. Best of all, each tattoo provides a leaping-off point for bestselling essayist and lecturer Zimmer to reflect on the science in question, whether it's the importance of an image of Darwin's finches or the significance of the uranium atom inked into the chest of a young radiologist.

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Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall google Santa's private line.

Mistakes, undead, and hormonal overrule

I was told that my age is the best time to collect mistakes. Coincidentally, I have picked up the message from a graduation scene in the famous "saga" of the glorified undead and the estrogen overdosed mortal that worships their existence.

After a few days of being affiliated with "outsourcing" people ("human traffickers," if you'd ask my new friend Dana -- dear Lord, bless the Jesuits for creating such a nice young lady), a morning spent sending out applications to the Katipunan area (four applications in less than twenty minutes, mind you -- again, glory be to the Jesuit heavens for sending me people who can be patient and nice under the melanoma-inducing Manila noontime sun), an afternoon of allowing hope to seep into my pathetic excuse for existence (it would be really nice to have employment at NFRDI as a Christmas gift), and an evening of talking about glow-in-the-dark toys, of intellectual masturbation, and of arguing about the hotness level of vampires and werewolves...

I realized that Amy Farrah Fowler of The Big Bang Theory and Tina of Bob's Burgers are made of the same stuff.

War With The Estrogen-Overruled Subconscious I: Amy and the Asperger's guy

War With The Estrogen-Overruled Subconscious II: Tina and the erotic undead

The scariest type of monsters are the ones that disguise themselves as people.

I have stared at frustration in the face. Along with defeat, failure, and rejection. Senselessness is also an inevitable presence, carrying along loneliness and misery. And you think, maybe someone couldn't go lower than that. Maybe.

Being aware about people claiming that they are lost, I couldn't help but imagine if we are in the same plane of existence. But then again, the realization that you are already too far gone is something entirely different from merely not knowing - what to do, where to go, which to believe - because essentially, being too far gone is knowing. Suddenly that Bible phrase professing "the more you know, the more it hurts," makes perfect sense.

Suddenly, an aching heartbroken teenager claiming that he is stuck in the moment fails monumentally in comparison.

Then, the human nature of finding someone to blame urges the soul to search for meaning in the dynamics, but utterly failing in all of its glorious futility. When something as grand and fundamental as existence is in question, pain becomes a sorry joke.

And trying becomes a daily effort. In the absence of philosophy's victory, science asserts control. The self becomes an object of evolution, of physics, of chemistry, desperately finding a single successful pathway of being. But even then, the tiniest molecules have surrendered to forces far greater, darker, stronger.

Finally looking in the mirror, you understand how evil is born.

The world through the eyes of pixlr-o-matic

Talking doesn't feel natural, and writing may have alleviating effects, but for the most part devouring old books wins again in the field of finding something to do with yourself while the better, microscopic part of your head makes everything all right (or manageable, at least). I finished re-reading David Sedaris' Naked yesterday, and since the only other Sedaris in my possesion is Me Talk Pretty One Day, an already very battered book, I had to find something else. I couldn't face another Zafra without reciting the lines by heart even before opening the book, and Robert Fulghum feels too preachy for my current taste.

I looked at my shelf, teeming with science textbooks more than anything else. In between the bunch of my genetics notes and a thin Don Delillo book I have yet to appreciate is my unread copy of New Moon (a friend's gift). I have read the entire Twilight saga on pirated e-book copies back in college, curiosity getting the better of me after all of my girl friends fell in love with the now infamous Edward Cullen. I cringe whenever Star Movies airs Twilight or New Moon, and was all the more disgusted when I had to explain the story of Eclipse to my mom who followed the series on cable TV. Not that it is so bad, but after a few years of mind-altering life experiences and bouts with alcohol intoxication, a story about a girl whose world revolves around a boy who happens to be a vampire suddenly becomes cheesy. Despite being a confessed reading geek, I still find it hard to associate myself with the teenage phenomenon. The nonconformist in me agrees.

But it was either New Moon or another 18-hour Sims Social session over on facebook, and since I think my genes are close to mutating from all the radiation I have been absorbing the past four months, I surrendered in bed with the book while simultaneously watching Dragon Ball Z with Emman. I think Majinboo is God's way of saying evil can be cute too.

I love the weather. It has been mildly raining endlessly, and obviously I don't mind because I have unlimited access to a blanket and a great cup of coffee. And a warm bath.

One thing's for sure though, despite the very attractive chance of sleeping for a straight 24 hours, I have to trade the sedentary lifestyle with something productive.

There goes the fear again.

Pon and Zi says hi

I think people are in a state of superlative fortitude during that split second after their last teardrop falls. If only we could stretch out that amount of strength, maybe crying itself would cease to exist.