1. Can't get enough of this article by David Holthouse about twenty-something whites partying with shabu in Denver. The first sentence is well-crafted, and the fly-on-the-wall approach works well with this kind of journalism--detached but personal, to the point that Holthouse seemed like he melded his voice to the story, a narrator from some hidden surveillance camera. Just neat erasures of the author's presence.
  2. Aside from that, I'm reading Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49--an impossible book. Really tough to read during commutes, especially when there's a constant barrage of whole-page paragraphs, but absolutely well-written satire; and R.K. Narayan's Tales from Malgudi, a collection of short stories about this imagined town in India.
  3. There's this graffiti in Buendia written in cursive: humbly, it said. I swear to take a picture of it tomorrow.
  4. Just this week (Wednesday?) the rainy season started with thunderstorms. It so happened that one of our lampposts were struck by lightning. No kidding. Until now we don't have an Internet connection. (Hopefully the gods at PLDT would hear our plea, but I could foresee their customer service placating us with apologies: hundreds of electric poles have been struck by lampposts these past few days, etc.)
  5. Ashbery used this word in Flow Chart: chrysoprase. One beautiful word. Also, an inventory of various stones under the chalcedony category.