First off,

I finished another book for that damned English class yesterday. A Cab Called Reliable. I stepped into it thinking, "Aww man, another book by an Asian-American woman. More crap flowery poetry about cranes and orchids and shit." I was wrong, but I wasn't pleasantly surprised. There was some amount of village lore, which of course pissed me off. But the main thing I didn't like, was how the book was trying to get you to feel sorry for the girl for being abused. Like she made a list of crappy things that happened to her as a kid, and why that made her a rebellious bitch in middle school. There is no excuse for being a bitch. You are a bitch because you are a bitch. Not because your dad rubbed your belly, not because an older man called you pretty. And anyways, I read books to escape reality, not to go into a terrible reality. And if it is going to be a terrible reality, it has to be ridiculous. So that it's no longer a reality. You know? Anyways, one more book...