A Handful of Pecans Against the Specter of Death

Posted on August 6, 2025 by Ryn PB

I am a pessimist. Just like being an optimist, being a pessimist has its pros (being prepared, less disappointment) and its cons (being overly stressed, less hopefulness), but the one thing I like most about being a pessimist is when I’m proven wrong. 

The original title of this entry was going to be “Not Even a Handful of Pecans Can Save Me From Death.” But it turns out, it can. At least, it can save me from a concrete manifestation of death. 

And if a handful of pecans can do that, what could a whole bag do? A whole grove? (Do pecans grow in groves? I have no idea.)

On a day when I was feeling particularly down, I took my usual mid-day break to go walk or sit outside. My desk job is fairly boring, and I get antsy sitting down all day, so the walk is usually a necessary break. On this particular day, though, I really needed a pick-me-up. There were (and are) a lot of DEI-erasure, budget cuts, and other situations that are making work difficult to stomach. 

I made my way to a bench in the shade, underneath two tall trees, where I’ve made quite a few friends over the past few months. The many, many birds and squirrels on campus all come asking for food if you sit on any bench, so I made sure to buy a snack that they can all eat—pecans. 

At this particular bench, however, there are a few squirrels who live in those trees and will come down specifically to see me. Well, they come down for the pecans… but it still makes me smile!

In search of a smile that had eluded me all day, I sat down at my bench and waited for some critters to come by for a snack. Then, off to the left, underneath one of the big trees, was a squirrel sprawled out on its stomach, unmoving. I even tried to scare it to see if it would move. Nothing. A dead squirrel. 

My mood immediately plummeted. I didn’t want to leave the bench because a few squirrels did stop by for food, and the sound of leaves rustling calms my mind, so I studiously avoided looking to the left. I already started thinking about how this would make a good blog post. Death is a part of life, unavoidable especially in the animal kingdom, but on an already hopeless day, this wasn’t the reminder that I needed in my few moments of peace. 

More quickly than I usually do, I stuffed the pecans back into their designated pocket in my bag and stood up to leave. I took a look at the dead squirrel as I walked by. I figured that it was better to acknowledge the thing in front of me rather than ignore it. 

A nose twitched. A little paw moved. The squirrel got up from its sprawled out position in the shade and sniffed the air. 

Agog that I’d mistaken this chillaxing squirrel for a carcass, I gave it a couple pecans and was on my way. 

And you know what? I felt better. 

It felt good to know that my negativity, in that moment, was wrong. Armed only with a handful of pecans, I’d been able to get at the more positive truth. My mind had misinterpreted reality, and reality had fought back to show me a little bit of light. 

I’m not saying there’s no reason to be pessimistic right now, and I’m not saying that death is a big, bad scary thing we should always avoid, but I am saying that I’m glad I let that small moment shift my point of view. 

Reality sucks, but not all of it. We have weapons at our disposal to find joy and to make a better reality, whether for ourselves, a few people, or everyone. Our weapons are as vast as a handful of pecans to a genuine smile to a loved one to collective bargaining for better legal rights.

However you’re doing it, I hope you’ve found a fold in reality that stops you in your tracks and proves your negative voice wrong, if only for a moment.  

-Ryn PB

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Do You Have the Time?* : Answering Questions from My Favorite Songs

Posted on March 15, 2025 by Ryn PB

Hey, there, how goes it? (“Partners In Crime” by The Strokes) Music and musicians have done so much for me by creating art that I connect with, so I thought it would only be fair if I answer some of their burning questions. It’s the least I can do, right? ImeantheyputoutsuchgoodmusicandprobablydontwanttowastetimeGoogling… Oh, sorry, am I talking too fast? (“I Won’t” by AJR)

Anyway, here’s the answers to questions posed in three of my favorite songs! Hopefully, I can help relieve the curiosity of a few lyricists with my research. 

Q: Is there a word for bad miracle? (“Heartbreak Feels So Good” by Fall Out Boy”)

A: Disaster.

My first instinct when researching this question was to hit up Thesaurus.com for an antonym for the word “miracle,” but their strongest suggestion was “expectation.” Ummm… no thank you. Not what I was looking for, but nice try. 

So my next step was to go to Merriam-Webster and find a good definition from which I could work backward. Here’s what I found: (1) “an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs” or (2) “an extremely outstanding or unusual event, thing, or accomplishment.” 

The English Language & Usage forum on Stack Exchange suggested “disaster,” “catastrophe,” or “curse.” The bot assistant on Quora also suggested “disaster” along with “misfortune.” (This Reddit post makes a strong argument for “spectacle” based on the movie Nope. I have not seen the movie, so I didn’t use this for my answer, but it might be interesting to some of you!)

Based on etymology alone, I tend to agree with the bots and English nerds. “Disaster” comes from the Latin “dis” (from) and “astrum” (star), generally meaning “ill-starred.” This ties in well with the first Merriam-Webster definition in that it’s something extraordinary coming from celestial bodies, whether that’s God or the stars. And “disaster” definitely has a more negative connotation than “miracle,” so it could be interpreted as a “bad” version of the word “miracle.”

Of course, this is only taking the English language into account, so maybe there’s a non-English word out there just waiting to be discovered by a humble blogger such as myself. Since a miracle causing me to know all languages is unlikely, I’m happy settling on the word “disaster”!

Q: Can you die of anxiousness? (“Next Semester” by twenty one pilots)

A: No, not really. 

I mean, according to this 2016 study, sort of? The data is a couple decades old, but the study found that there was a higher mortality rate in those with anxiety disorders, though the study was purely data-driven and did not investigate whether the higher risk came from other health issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, etc. Another study pointed out that ethnicity, age, culture, and life experiences can all affect how one experiences an anxiety disorder. 

But to ease your mind, the general consensus seems to be NO, anxiety alone cannot kill you. It’s the long-term, untreated effects—such as increased blood pressure, weakened immune system, and higher risks of heart disease and dementia later in life—that’ll get ya. 

Basically what I’m saying is that anxiousness alone won’t kill you. Short-term and low-level stress can actually be good for you! (Who knew, right?) It’s how you cope with it that matters. Untreated, not only can it take a toll on your mind, it will also take a toll on your body, as any illness does.

I personally have general anxiety disorder, and I’ve found that therapy, moderate exercise, and my cat’s begrudging snuggles help me out. If you’re worried about dying from your anxiousness, I recommend finding the things that work for you. Maybe it’s journaling and meditation. Maybe it’s writing lists and allowing yourself to ask for help. 

One thing’s for certain: you’re worth the effort it takes not to feel like you’re dying of anxiousness. 

Q: Why can’t I leave it unsaid? … Why you gotta be so talkative? (“Talk Too Much” by COIN)

A: Because you’re human.

Humans are inherently social creatures, and talking is one of our main means of communication. Also, keeping secrets from others can be exhausting—mentally and physically—so we want to share them… by talking. Talking with others can be a way to form bonds and get to know each other.

According to this article on the psychology of gossip, it’s evolutionarily advantageous to be able to share information with each other via language. It allows people in a society to know what’s going on and how people are feeling about it. Gossip, which is a form of talking, can act as a social and moral control in lieu of violence. And, I have to say, I’d rather be in a room full of chatty people than a room full of violent ones!

Even though we evolved to be a talkative species, there is such a thing as excessive talking, which can sometimes just be a personality trait, and other times points to an underlying mental health disorder such as bipolar disorder, ADHD, or schizophrenia, among others. There are even different types of excessive talking that can indicate why you might be talking too much—pressured, compulsive, circumstantial, hyperverbal, or disorganized speech. 

However, there are often more benign reasons for why you might be unable to leave things unsaid—social anxiety, insecurity, frustration at not expressing thoughts, needing to maintain control, thinking aloud rather than communicating, or overexplaining because you don’t trust others. 

This Psychology Today article and this Verywell Health article offer a few steps and tips to cut down on your talking if you’re concerned about it. These include asking someone else to help you out during a conversation, acknowledging and accepting your frustration or anxiety, and paying special attention to social cues. 

I mean, COIN themselves summed all this up simply: “We could blame it all on human nature.” So maybe this whole research process was unnecessary after all. Oh, well, I just wanted to talk!

Conclusion

If you made it this far into the blog post, I have one question left that only you can answer: Do you wanna be my best friend? (“Bobby Sox” by Green Day)

-Ryn PB

*The title comes from “Basket Case” by Green Day, one of my favorite songs of all time. The full lyric (“Do you have the time to listen to me whine about nothing and everything all at once?”) felt a little too long for a title, so I shortened it up!

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27 Books for 27 Years: Ryn’s Reading History (Part 3)

Posted on February 22, 2025 by Ryn PB

Welcome back, my friends! Though I’m uploading this a little late, I’m happy to present the last installation of my 27-year reading history! Thanks for making it this far, if you have. This last leg of the race is mostly about my adult reading life and the books that have stuck out in my memory as I live through my 20s. The more I’ve read, the less often a book makes a lasting impact on me. Of all the books I’ve read as an adult, these are the ones that bring me back to a time and/or place that I’m no longer in. 

Enjoy the last of this three-part series as I now present to you Books 19–27!

  1. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green 

We’re starting this one off with a bit of a rewind. This is a title I meant to have as part of my high school reading career but totally forgot to include in my last post! So I hope you’ll forgive this brief break from chronology to talk about another John Green book, because I can’t get enough of that guy’s writing. 

I’ve always had an issue with being comfortable expressing my emotions, and this was an even worse problem in high school. But when I was sitting in the big, striped red chair in my parents’ living room at around 1 in the morning while finishing this book, tears came to my eyes. 

Crying while reading The Fault in Our Stars is not really a unique experience, because a YA book about terminally ill teens falling in love is going to make a lot of people cry, but for me it stuck out. I tried so hard to suppress my emotions, but sitting in the near dark, alone, with a book, I felt safe enough to cry. And I think this was the first time I realized I couldn’t stop feeling things just because I didn’t want to. 

Also, on a somewhat unrelated note, I freakin’ loved that big, striped red chair. When my parents refurnished their house, they let me have the chair for my apartment, and it made the place feel even more like home. That was the chair in which I’d slept while sick, cried while reading, and watched Doctor Who every night the summer before eighth grade. RIP to the big, striped red chair, and thank you for all you’ve done for me, including giving me a place to express grief while reading TFIOS. 

  1. The Polysyllabic Spree by Nick Hornby

I, of course, had to include this other gem that was a big part of my blog for a few years. This is basically a compilation of Nick Hornby’s reading column from some newspaper or magazine. And you know what? It’s really fun to read about other people’s reading!

I loved the structure of these columns, which was that he would list the books he’d read, the books he’d bought, and then write a few paragraphs about his reading life—whether that was actually a review of the books, why he hadn’t been reading, or the circumstances in which he’d read/bought the books. I liked it so much that I based the format of my blog posts on this structure for a while, and it was really fun! It allowed me to take a closer look at what I was reading and why, as well as acting as a sort of online book journal. 

But mostly the reason The Polysyllabic Spree is on this particular list is that I would sneak in chapters between the rush of articles, allowing me to experience journalism from two different angles at the same time. 

I had a lot of issues with that job, but I remember there were a lot of fun people I worked with, and I got to talk to lots of people I never would have met otherwise. Reading these articles, even in a proofreading capacity, made me feel connected with the community around my college and the city. And reading Hornby’s public book journal gave me the courage to share my thoughts on reading and believe that they were valuable even if they were seemingly mundane. 

  1. Sorted: Growing Up, Coming Out, and Finding My Place by Jackson Bird

This is one of the first books I read about a transmasculine person that felt intensely personal to me. Jackson Bird is a YouTuber who is open about his transness and often talked about pop culture in his videos. The book’s title is a reference to Harry Potter, and while I haven’t reread Sorted in the wake of all the transphobia spewed by the author of Harry Potter, there are big chunks of this book that made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t before. 

I read this when I was grappling with my own transness, and I have a vivid memory of reading this book during family Thanksgiving. While I wasn’t out as trans to my family at the time, it felt like the first time I was truly being myself in my family home. I was experiencing these deep realizations and emotions right in front of everyone, even if they didn’t know.

There’s a specific scene in this memoir that I thought of years later after my own top surgery. In it, Bird describes a scene in which he comes out of the shower shortly after having chest masculinization surgery with his towel hanging around his waist instead of over his chest. The first time I could do this, it was so exciting to me, because I felt like it was the way I should have always been able to wear towels. It seems small, but that moment was huge for me, and one I’ll always remember. 

And though this book may seem like just one of many memoirs by a minor Internet celebrity, it made me feel so much less alone in the world. 

  1. Ulysses by James Joyce

I read this book basically just to say I’d read it, but hey, I’ve read it now!

One summer in early college, when I was still at my parents’ house for the summer, I was deeply depressed and looking for a way to distract myself from my internal turmoil. So, like anyone whose identity was still attached to being a good student, I gave myself homework. 

Every day I would read a certain amount of this book, often with the SparkNotes website open next to me, because I had no idea what was going on most of the time. 

I would often sit outside on the front porch with the sun giving me that good, good vitamin D and slog through the portion of the book I’d set for myself that day. 

Even though it feels now like it was probably a waste of my time, I was actually very proud of myself for sticking with the book. I was proud of the fact that I’d set a difficult goal and achieved it with only SparkNotes to help me along the way. It was hard for me to feel any sense of pride in myself at the time, so this book will always be an important part of my reading history because of the moment of self-appreciation it offered me in the end. Plus, it is kind of cool to say I’ve read the book even if I only remember the grossest scenes. 

  1. Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk by Legs McNeil & Gillian McCain

I’m not gonna lie. I only picked this book up because one of my favorite Gilmore Girls characters reads it in the show… But it’s one of my favorites now! 

At the time I started reading it, I was just getting into reading nonfiction about music and counterculture scenes. What better marriage of these two topics than punk? I fell in love with reading about alternative music, and I absolutely loved the oral history structure (even though it’s often a difficult one to read). You get the intimacy of having someone tell a story they were a part of while also getting many different perspectives and a sense of the community. 

I learned a lot from this book, not only about punk but about myself, and whenever I think of this book I think about Gilmore Girls, too, and how this show taught me to both respect and appreciate pop culture as a way to interact with collective thinking. (I’m not sure if that sentence makes any sense to anyone but me…) Gilmore Girls got me through my freshman year of college, and Please Kill Me started me on a whole new reading journey that I’m still on today, so they will both be a part of me forever. 

  1. This Savage Song by V. E. Schwab 

Not only was this the series that made me realize I love duologies, but it’s also a series I got as a gift for my birthday one year! 

As some background for this story, I’ve never been good at holding onto friends. They often seem to be temporary relationships in my life, partially because of my own reticence to be vulnerable. So the fact that the person who gave me these books is still in my life so many years later is actually a big deal for me. 

Receiving this gift is one moment I think of often when I reflect on why I am still friends with them. They specifically went into a bookstore and asked a worker there for a book without romance in it. I had recently gone on a rant about how I wished there were more books without romances in the main story, and the fact that my friend listened to that rant and went to the effort to find something for me just shows how much they cared about what I had to say and what I was feeling. 

They went out of their way to find not only a book without romance in it, but one in a genre I already loved (YA fantasy). I was touched by this gesture, because we had only been friends for about a year at that point, and I always tend to doubt whether my friendships are “real” or not. This one was and still is undoubtedly real. 

  1. After by Anna Todd

This is not a good book at all, but oh boy, did I have fun reading it! 

While I was recovering from top surgery in my parents’ basement, I decided I needed to listen to an audiobook I didn’t care about. For some reason, I settled on After, maybe just to sate my curiosity, maybe because I was a Harry Styles fan, maybe I got sucked in by the hype. Who knows?

All I know is that I remember sitting in the basement listening to this book and being fully amused by it. It’s super problematic and not always well-written, but it was a blast to just indulge in some random fanfiction and have not-too-serious thoughts about it. Like the fact that Anna Todd has clearly never kissed someone who has a lip piercing, because she kept describing his lip ring as “cold.” Why is his lip ring so cold? Is he dead? 

Top surgery has changed my life for the better, but the healing process was far from easy. Thanks, Anna Todd, for helping me along the way. 

  1. The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green

I know, I know, another John Green book? I can’t help it! John Green’s books seem to come into my life at pivotal moments, and who am I to deny reality in this list? 

The Anthropocene Reviewed was originally a podcast in which John Green rates aspects of the human-centered planet. I remember listening to this podcast while I walked to work in the summer of 2020, when we were all unsure what the future held, and when I truly needed John Green’s particular emphasis on beauty in the mundane. Or maybe profoundness in the mundane. Everything was changing, but I still had these thirty-minute walks to work to listen and appreciate the things around me in a new light. 

When the book version came out, we were in a different part of the pandemic, more used to what was going on but still shrouded by uncertainty. And again, it was helpful to read these little snapshots, little tidbits, and remind myself that it can be beneficial to reflect on both small and large things. Plus, I think about bananas way more than I used to, so that’s fun. 

  1. The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

I’m ending this list with my current favorite book of all time. 

Erin Morgenstern’s book The Night Circus was (and maybe still is) one of my sister’s favorite books, but the first time I read it, I didn’t care for it that much. It just left me feeling confused. Even after rereading it as an adult, I still have a middling opinion of it in terms of my own enjoyment. But Morgenstern does write beautifully and creates an atmosphere in her books that is almost palpable. 

Cut to the release of her long-awaited sophomore novel, The Starless Sea. I went into it with hope, because it sounded magical and bookish, but also some reservations. And lo and behold, this is now my favorite book of all time! I’ve reread it a few times already, and there’s always some new detail or connection to notice each time. Even typing this, I want to go on a long, long ramble about the book and why I love it, but I’ll keep it brief here, I promise!

I first read this book with my sister as part of our sibling book club, and if I’m being honest, having a favorite book by the author of one of her favorites makes me feel more connected with my sister. It makes me feel like I can understand a part of her better than before. I’m not sure if that’s actually true, but that’s how it feels!

This book is cozy and full of feeling. It leaves you with questions you want to ponder all day long. It’s both otherworldly and deeply rooted in reality. It’s existential and beautiful and bookish and cat-filled. I truly cannot emphasize how much this book feels like home to me. 

Conclusion

Well, there we have it! I’ve made it through all 27 books on this list and hopefully didn’t bore you too much in the process as I indulged in reminiscences. There are many books that didn’t make it on this list that I count among my favorites, but this list is not about favorites! It’s about history. It’s about the impact even a book you don’t love can have on your life if you read it at just the right time. 

Books have been a constant companion throughout this journey we call life, and I hope that they always will be. Because as long as I am reading, I am still alive. And what is more wonderful than that?

Here’s to 27 more years of reading! 

-Ryn PB

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27 Books for 27 Years: Ryn’s Reading History (Part 2)

Posted on February 15, 2025 by Ryn PB

Welcome back to this walk down memory lane! Part 2 of this list covers mainly my high school and early college reading career. I was not a particularly happy or whole person during high school, which is why many of the books I read during this time have shaped who I am. Though I felt helpless and confused, there were characters in these books that taught me it was okay to feel this way. That it was a normal human experience. I didn’t always appreciate those lessons at the time, but I can look back and see that these books had an impact.

Note: I couldn’t figure out how to change the numbers fast enough to post when I wanted to, so pretend that the list says 10-18 instead of 1-9! (It’s the p4a, and I got distracted too easily by the joy it brings me. )

And now, onto Part 2 of this long, long list!

  1. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

We’re back on the angst train! Even as an adult, I enjoy reading angsty YA novels. Not only was this one of the first novels I read in which a teenager admitted to going to therapy without feeling embarrassed about it, it’s also one of the first I learned had been “banned” for its honest depiction of teenagehood (which involved drinking/drugs, sex, mental illness, and gay people). 

My literature teacher at the time had us do a project for Banned Books Week in which we would do a video reading a passage from the banned book of our choice—within reason, of course. This was a Catholic school, after all. 

So of course, I decided to read part of this one for my video. This was in the 2010s, when YouTube culture was a bit different than it is now, so it was thrilling to post a video to YouTube, even an unlisted one only meant for my teacher to see. I’m sure if I went back and watched it now, I would be cringing for a week straight, but it’s still a fun memory. And I still enjoy rereading The Perks of Being a Wallflower every now and then (just without the cameras rolling).

  1. Paper Towns by John Green

I actually debated which of John Green’s books to put on this list, because Paper Towns isn’t actually the first one I read. I started with An Abundance of Katherines. But Paper Towns is one of my favorite books of all time, which earns it a place on this list. 

Paper Towns isn’t a book that sparks a specific memory but rather a whole slew of memories. It makes me think of watching the Vlogbrothers in junior high and high school. It makes me think of leaning into nerdiness and loving what I love unashamedly. It makes me think of imagining others complexly and making the world suck less. 

I’ve reread this book more times than I care to count, but I’ll never get over how much I love the flawed characters. They’re teenagers who are realizing that people aren’t always what they seem, that people have many different sides and facets to them. And I think Paper Towns does this really well. Plus, it’s a road trip book, and who doesn’t love that?

  1. A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking

Those who know me know that I love outer space. It’s just so fascinating to me. I even went into college as a physics major (though I did not leave college as a physics major…).

In my high school physics class, my teacher assigned us part of this book to read. I, of course, was still in the mindset that I couldn’t just read part of a book. So I read the whole thing. It was around this time that my interest in physics was really taking off, partially thanks to my physics teacher. He would do lots of things to make it easier to understand and more fun. We even learned about the math behind black holes! (I promise, this was exciting to me!)

Reading Stephen Hawking’s writing was not easy but was definitely worth it. Finishing the book allowed me to have fruitful conversations with my physics teacher that made me feel respected as an intelligent person, not just a student. This class proved to me that a shared excitement for a topic can bridge the gap between people, can make a teacher and a student merely two people talking about something they both enjoy. 

Stephen Hawking writes in a way that respected his readers. He doesn’t assume you know everything he does and explains physics in a way that conveys his passion for the subject. That, coupled with the fun conversations I had with my teacher, made me even more excited about learning this particular science. 

Though I still like learning about physics (particularly astrophysics), I’ve never been able to rekindle that pure enjoyment I felt in high school physics class while discussing Hawking’s work. At least, not yet!

  1. The Poppy War by R. F. Kuang

This book brings me back to the Omaha Public Libraries. Some time in my teen years, I checked out a well-read copy of this book from the library and read it while sitting on the floor in my family’s living room. It’s a difficult book to read, not just because it’s long and complex, but because the emotions and history behind it are all too real. 

It was around this time that I started to become aware of the many atrocities around the world that had been mysteriously absent from my history textbooks. And nothing made me feel that more than this book. It has stuck with me, even though I never got to the second book in the series until recently. (I still haven’t read the third one, though I want to get to it soon.)

Not only that, but part of the reason I chose my name was because of this book. The main character in this book is named Rin, and since reading this book, the name has stuck with me. The character is strong and resilient but also flawed and stuck in an imperfect world. She fights for something she believes in but doesn’t always do the right thing. The world around her forces her into horrible situations, and she does the best she can to survive. 

Though I do spell my name differently than this character, and it’s also a version of my birth name, I’ll always feel somewhat connected to Rin because of our names and because she made such an impression on me in a time that I felt like I didn’t recognize myself, the world, the people around me, or anything. If that Rin could survive horrible atrocities, some of which she created herself, then so can this Ryn.

  1. The Mrs. Dalloway Reader by Virginia Woolf (& edited by Francine Prose)

Virginia Woolf is one of those authors I really want to get into but just can’t. Woolf is definitely an important writer and has an interesting style, but every time I try another book or story by her, it just doesn’t pull me in. 

Mrs. Dalloway is one that I decided to read because my aunt gave me her copy while we were on vacation at our family’s cabin in Wisconsin. The cabin is (or at least used to be) one of my favorite places in the world. I used to feel at peace there, surrounded by tall trees and listening to the sound of the lake. I would read and write and hang out on the boat feeling that I belonged there. 

I read Mrs. Dalloway on the tail-end of this peacefulness, when I still loved being there but was experiencing some internal turmoil. Even though I didn’t love the book, it still reminds me of sitting on the boat, the sun shining down, waves rocking me, book open on my lap—either being read or sitting open while I took in the view. At some point, I even dropped the book in the lake, leaving it crinkly and damaged but not unreadable. 

It took me a long time to get rid of the book despite its damage, because of the way it reminded me of that feeling of peace I felt on the boat while reading it. Though the waterlogged book no longer sits on my shelf, the memories I have at the lake are ones I return to often.  

  1. Alfred Hitchcock Presents 12 Stories for Late at Night by various authors

You didn’t think I would make a list of books without mentioning this blog’s namesake, do you? Of course not!

You can read where the specific title for my blog came from here, but for the purposes of this list, I have a different memory attached to this book. For some reason, I bought this book from the clearance section at Half Price Books and asked my dad if he wanted to read the stories together. I don’t remember why I had this idea, because I’m not a huge fan of Alfred Hitchcock films, nor do I read a lot of books out loud with other people. But it ended up being a lot of fun!

The stories weren’t very scary, but they were intensely amusing, especially while reading them aloud with someone else. My dad and I don’t have a ton of the same interests, so it was fun to bond over these fun stories together. 

  1. A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas

Bet you didn’t expect to see ACOTAR on this list! Surprisingly, this book actually does hold a special space in my early college reading career. I wasn’t a huge fan, but it was the book I was reading when I came out to my parents as queer in an email. That’s right—an email! I remember ACOTAR was in its first stage of booktube fame at the time, and I had just gotten into booktube (which is a big chunk of what I watch nowadays). 

Basically, the way that I first came out to my parents was that I sent them an email, immediately closed my laptop, and went across the hall of my dorm to a study room with my phone and a book to await the inevitable phone call. So ACOTAR offered me a distraction in a moment that I needed one. I was able to convince my brain momentarily that my heart was pounding because of the plot and not because of my nerves. 

Even though it wasn’t for me, I sure am glad I had it at the time, and now that it’s back in the limelight, I can follow conversations around the series… at least vaguely. 

  1. The Angel of the Bridge by John Cheever

This short story was originally published in the Fiction Edition of The New Yorker in October 1961, so you’re probably wondering how I heard about it. Well, much like the angel of the bridge in this story, this book was fated to come into my life at the right moment.

I’ve chronicled elsewhere that I have the bridge from this story tattooed on my wrist and that it has a deep meaning to me as a chronically anxious person, but this isn’t about that! This is about my memories!

As I’ve also said before, my favorite bookstore is A Novel Idea. I often go in there and browse without looking for anything specifically, just enjoying the cozy vibes and cats. I found a copy of this story in a slender book while there for one of the first times and bought it on a whim, not knowing it would become one of the most important things I would read, nor that A Novel Idea would continue to be a safe haven for years to come. 

This book always reminds me of the unexpected and fun things I’ve found at A Novel Idea and the comfort that I feel there. I just love browsing the books, knowing that there’s a treasure in there for me to find as long as I give it a chance!

  1. Check Please! Book 1: #Hockey by Ngozi Ukazu

I’m pretty sure this book ended my “I don’t read graphic novels” pretensions, full stop. I’d read a few before this one, but Check Please! is one of the first graphic novels that I actually loved. Wholesome friendships, queer romance, baking and sports—what more could you ask for? Oh, that’s right, amazing illustrations! 

Check Please! brings me back again to my early booktube watching days, especially discovering the pocket of queer booktube. I loved watching ProblemsofaBookNerd, because she would always recommend and talk about a wide array of queer books as well as the other nerdy things she was into. Like the Vlogbrothers channel and nerdfighteria at large, queer booktube is often a place where people can enjoy what they enjoy with no embarrassment or shame. Plus, books! 

Conclusion (to Part 2)

Well, that’s the second part of my 27-book list! Thanks again for sticking around for this part. Going back through my bookish memories is really fun, and I hope it’s fun for you to see the evolution of the reader named Ryn!

Until I see you for the final nine books in this list, happy reading!

-Ryn PB

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27 Books for 27 Years: Ryn’s Reading History (Part 1)

Posted on February 7, 2025 by Ryn PB

Happy February, everyone! And happy birthday to me! As is the tradition I set for myself, I make a list on this blog for my birthday, and this year is no different. 

This is kind of a weird list. Though it does include some of my favorite books, this is not a list of my favorite books. This is a list of books that have memories attached to them. Books have been such a big part of my life, and it was fun to think back on all the good memories I’ve had with books, whether the books themselves were good or bad. It’s kind of like a look at my reading history. What better way to celebrate another year of life than to look back on the ones that I’ve lived?

Like all of the best vlogbrothers videos, this post comes to you in three parts. The list is too long to post all together. It’s hard not to ramble when you’re reminiscing. I tried to put them in somewhat chronological order, so part one is my early reading career highlights.

And now, without further ado, please enjoy part one of this somewhat random list of books that hold a special place in my heart! 

  1. The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover by Jon Stone & illustrated by Michael Smollin

My love for reading started early. In fact, my earliest memory is of being in preschool, reading a book underneath a fake tree inside, and not wanting to put it down so badly that I peed my pants. Unfortunately, I don’t remember what book that was, otherwise it would for sure be on this list. 

However, one book that I remember from my early childhood is The Monster at the End of This Book! It was a favorite of my sister’s, and of course, mine. Why, you ask? The meta humor? The familiarity of the Sesame Street characters? No! It was the Grover voice my dad always did while reading it. Let me tell you, my dad has got that Grover voice down pat. He should have an Oscar (the Grouch) for it!

I have lots of fond memories of sitting on my sister’s bed in her purple room, listening to my dad read this book in his Grover voice. I even bought a board book version of it to decorate my bookshelves in my apartment. And let me tell you, even if you’re over the age for reading picture books, this one will delight you!

  1. Biscuit (I Can Read!) by Alyssa Satin Capucilli & illustrated by Pat Schories

You’ll quickly notice a dog theme in many of the books I read when I was younger. And that’s because I was absolutely obsessed with dogs. I even collected Puppy in my Pocket toys and constructed a whole town of Barbie and Polly Pocket stuff for them to live in, affectionately known in my household as Dog World. 

Dogs were my favorite thing in the whole entire world. Despite being a cat owner, I’ve always been a dog person. Accordingly, some of the books I read until they fell apart were the Biscuit books. I remember one night, my grandpa was reading a Biscuit book to me. Because he’s deaf, he was pronouncing the word “biscuit” incorrectly, and I remember being distraught that he couldn’t get it right. Because how could someone not know Biscuit, the amazing golden retriever puppy I read about all the time? 

Of course, later, I understood that there was no way for my grandpa to know the correct pronunciation of “biscuit,” but it’s still a funny memory to me. One that reminds me not only of my overwhelming love for dogs, but also the fact that I’ve learned a lot about how to be a more compassionate person. 

  1. Hound at the Hospital (Animal Ark) by Ben M. Baglio

This book is the reason beagles were my favorite dog for a few years. For those who don’t know, the Animal Ark series follows a kid whose parents run a veterinary clinic in Yorkshire. She, her friends, and the townspeople help out animals in need and sometimes solve mysteries about what happens to those animals. While I did read some of the non-dog-related books, I checked out every single one of the dog stories from my school’s library.

This book in particular is about a beagle who got run over by motorcycle. I’m not sure why this book stuck with me so long. I remember being incredibly emotional about the way the dog’s injuries were described and realizing that some people don’t really care about animals. This sounds like a bad memory, but it’s actually a good one. I felt everything so deeply as a kid, and I wasn’t afraid to feel those things, because it meant I cared. 

I’m also convinced that it’s one of the things that contributed to me becoming vegetarian later in life. I still have trouble reconciling the love I have for dogs and animals with eating them, so I just don’t eat them. Simple solution (for me)!

  1. The Adventures of Wishbone series by various authors

I know, I know, another dog book, but I did tell you it would be a theme! The Wishbone books hold a special place in my heart because they were books I would get from the public library’s reading program. Every summer, we would participate in the summer reading program, and if you completed it, you could choose a prize. And I always chose a Wishbone book. 

Going to the library was like an adventure, especially because I got to leave with a treasure at the end of it. My mom would look at the spinning racks of mass-market cozy mysteries while my sister and I looked at the kids’ books. There was a big sculpture near the front that looked like a dandelion. What’s not to love?

  1. The Name of This Book Is Secret (The Secret Series) by Pseudonymous Bosch

This series, along with A Series of Unfortunate Events and The Mysterious Benedict Society, cemented my love for books about smart, precocious kids who are underestimated. It’s also, like ASoUE, told by an author/narrator who is actually part of the story. This author is very Lemony Snicket-esque. 

I learned a lot while reading this series, like what a homunculus is, and briefly got interested in Egyptian mythology (helped along by an Egypt-based Nancy Drew computer game). This is also the first book I remember reading with footnotes, which in my opinion, are underused in creative writing. I love a good footnote!

I remember curling up on the brown leather chair in my living room, reading this book, and feeling so smart. It was thrilling!

  1. Legend series by Marie Lu

I revisited this dystopian series in the 2020s, and let me tell you, it hits harder now that I’m living through the COVID-19 pandemic and more aware of the environmental issues facing the world. Part of why I remember reading this series so vividly is because it made me think about American society differently while also providing me with two amazing main characters. I mean, if you read this series as a tween and don’t have a crush on Day, I don’t know what you’re thinking. 

These books were some of the first dystopian books I ever read and introduced me to the genre that would become popular while I was in high school. It was also the first time I read a series and loved it without knowing anyone else who’d read and loved them. I stanned these books so hard, but no one else I knew had read them. Part of me loved that, because I was a pop punk kid who would never admit to actually loving popular things, but part of me wanted to talk to everyone about them. Plus, all the angst in those books… dang, so much angst in such a short trilogy. And like every tween, I was chock full of angst and felt like I could see some of myself in these characters. 

  1. The Later Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I was hanging out with my aunt one time in about eighth grade when we walked into Jackson Street Booksellers. I have no idea why we were downtown, but I saw the bookstore and had to go in, of course!

For some reason, I was set on finding Sherlock Holmes books. Maybe I was thinking about the Enola Holmes series, maybe I’d read one of those kid versions of a Sherlock Holmes story and wanted more. Either way, we enlisted the help of the bookstore’s owner to find the Holmes books in the seemingly random stacks of books everywhere. And what do you know? Success! We found one! It was an old-ish and fancy-looking tome, and I loved that it felt like a piece of history. I still have the book to this day. 

Reading these stories was no easy task for me, but I remember sitting in the music room after school (where all the teachers’ and TAs’ kids hung out while their parents were still working) and enjoying the puzzle of figuring out the 1800s language while Sherlock Holmes puzzled through another mystery. I will admit, this was the start of my pretentious “I read classics” phase, but this early introduction to Sherlock Holmes never left me. I ended up eventually reading all the Sherlock Holmes stories and still love reading and watching adaptations. So at least one good thing came out of that phase!

  1. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger 

This is the first book on this list that I would say isn’t one of my favorites. Not that I didn’t enjoy it. This book is full of angst, and that’s all I wanted in a book during my tween and teen years. The reason this book is on the list is because it’s the first book I read for my high school’s book club. It was mostly my sister’s friends that were part of the book club, because she was one of the people in charge of the club, but eventually the reins would be passed down to me and another book club participant when my sister graduated. 

Book club was the first thing I joined in high school, and even though I’d joined because my sister was in charge and I already knew her, it ended up being such a boost in confidence that I could meet new people and have good conversations about something I loved. My opinions mattered in the book club. And being in charge of the book club later on was so fun, even if it was a small club. It’s one of the few good memories I have of high school, and for that, I will always think fondly of The Catcher in the Rye!

  1. The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

I actually have two specific memories attached to this series. The first involves my high school self, the second involves my college self, and both involve my relationship with my sister. The Raven Cycle is one of my sister’s favorite series, and I remember asking her about it in high school. She told me I probably wouldn’t like it, and being the obstinate teenager I was, I wanted to prove her wrong. So I borrowed her copy and promptly spilled a cup of coffee on it. 

One thing you must know about my sister is that she likes to keep her books in good condition, while I’m a “chuck the book in my bag and write in the margins” reader. I freaked out that I’d ruined her book and had my mom drive me to Barnes & Noble to buy a new copy to give back to her. She didn’t know about it until years later when she asked why I had a copy of the book, too, and I told her the story. 

To my delight, I actually did enjoy the book and continued with the series. They also became some of my favorites. Which is why, when both of us were in college, my sister and I decided to reread the series together. Though we are a bit sporadic about it now, we used to read a book together every month, starting with this series. 

So even if I didn’t absolutely love The Raven Cycle, they’d always be special to me because of the way they are linked to my relationship with my sister. 

Conclusion (to Part 1)

Thank you for reading this far! This list is mostly an indulgence for my own reminiscences, but I think it’s important and fun to look back on all the things books have brought me in my life. 

Until next time, when I come back with part two, happy reading!

-Ryn PB

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A Language, Little Known

Posted on January 15, 2025 by Ryn PB

The steps led down, down, down—far away from the sun, where no flowers should be able to grow. And yet—

“She said the Third-Eyebright would be here.”

The angry red scratches on Trev’s face had only gotten worse since the morning. When the lady stormed into Trev’s shop and whipped out a thorny rose, he had not expected it to come flying at his face. All because she didn’t like her bouquet. The lady couldn’t even pick a good corsage. Amaranths were far too droopy.

“And why are we searching for an imaginary plant?” Joon used their ratty Converse to kick a rock into the darkness.

“Because we have to.” Trev unrolled his sleeves and took a steadying breath of sunshine-filled air. The pink rhododendrons surrounding the tunnel’s entrance seemed to scream, “Beware! Danger!”

“Hey!” A girl burst from the heath in an explosion of pink petals, standing between the two friends and the tunnel. She wore all-green hiking gear with a dandelion pinned to her shirt. “You can’t go in there.”

“You don’t look very scary with a twig behind your ear,” Joon pointed out.

“It’s thyme,” Trev corrected. He didn’t bother mentioning that he’d considered making himself a flower crown for strength—thyme, oak leaves, dill, and lion’s heart.

“You can’t go in there,” the girl repeated.

“Why not?” Trev asked, grip tightening on the branch he’d been using as a walking stick. Chronic joint pain and long nature walks didn’t exactly go well together. Then again, neither did pollen allergies and floristry.

His mom used to gather eyebrights for a compress that would instantly clear up his itchy eyes. They were the first plants he’d fallen in love with. The way their petals bent looked like they were giving the air a hug.

“This isn’t private property. We can go wherever we want.” Joon stepped forward, and the girl launched herself at them. Trev swung his walking stick, swiping her aside with a blow to the gut. The girl clung onto the branch and tugged so that Trev stumbled forward into Joon, who toppled over.

With a frightful battle cry, the girl jumped on top of Joon, straddling their body and pressing the branch into their neck. Trev scrambled over to save his friend when, without missing a beat, the girl whipped out a knife from her belt and leveled it at him. Despite only using one arm to hold the branch to Joon’s neck, she pressed hard enough to make breathing difficult.

“Who are you?” Trev asked, frozen in place by the girl’s blade.

“I’m a Weed.”

Joon’s snort cut off with a choking sound. They tugged on the branch until the pressure let up.

The girl’s words rang alarm bells in Trev’s mind. One of his books about the language of flowers had mentioned The Weeds. Joon had given it to him for his botanical library, but it was so old that Trev hadn’t thought to read it until that morning. He’d wondered why someone would choose a red amaranth as a corsage.

According to the book, The Weeds were known for traveling to extreme locations and resorting to violence to ensure their monopoly on Legendary Flowers. “Please,” Trev said carefully. “Let us through.”

The girl shot him a glare as sharp as her knife. “And why should I do that?”

“The Amaranth Society threatened to burn my shop down.” Trev pointed to the scratches on his face. “I offended them with a bouquet.”

In a footnote on the Love-Lies-Bleeding amaranth, The Weeds were mentioned as the main opponents of the Amaranth Society, “a botanical club which endeavors to locate rare flora for the enlightenment of the human race.”

She narrowed her eyes at Trev. “What flowers did you use?”

“Um, celosia, alyssum, asparagus fern, and geraniums.”

The girl dropped her knife-wielding arm and released Joon with a laugh. Joon took Trev’s outstretched hand and slunk behind him. “You’re lucky they didn’t light you on fire.”

“What’s wrong with those flowers?” Joon asked, still hoarse.

After sheathing her knife, the girl held the branch out to Trev so he could use it for support again. Joon flinched, their hand flying up to protect their throat. “Geraniums mean ‘stupidity.’”

Trev shook his head. “I thought they symbolized ‘confidence’ or ‘gentility.’”

“Not the red ones. You basically called them idiots.”

Trev couldn’t return home empty-handed if he hoped to save his shop, and the Weed worried that the Amaranth Society would continue coming after the Third-Eyebright. So they made a deal. They would find the Third-Eyebright, and Trev could bring back a single flower. That would be enough for the Amaranth Society to test the flower’s effects.

The Third-Eyebright was rumored to give its consumer extra-human sight. Whether that meant super-sensory eyesight or a type of clairvoyance, no one seemed sure.

“So you’ve never actually seen this thing?” Joon asked the girl, who told the florist and his friend to call her Rho.

“Weeds always explore with partners. She’s the one who found the flower.” Rho turned on the flashlight she kept in her belt and led the way down the stone steps. Joon refused to go last, so Trev brought up the rear. “A few days ago, she went back in, and I stayed to guard entrance.”

Joon stopped on the last step. Trev walked into them with an “oof” that echoed around them. “A few days ago? No, nope, we’re leaving.”

As they turned, a football-sized object tumbled down the stairs and burst into a dark, moving cloud. Buzzing filled the air.

“Ow!” Something stung Trev on the neck. Then the shoulder. A bug zoomed past Joon’s ear.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Joon shouted, pushing Rho to move faster. “I hate bees!”

The three of them took off through the tunnel, the flashlight beam bouncing around wildly.

“Those aren’t bees,” Rho huffed. “They’re yellowjackets.”

Trev took the brunt of the yellowjackets’ attack. He was smacking one away from his face when Joon grabbed his sleeve and yanked him into an offshoot of the tunnel. The venom was already making him hallucinate. The tunnel seemed to be glowing.

Two twists and a turn later, they’d lost the yellowjackets.

As they slowed down to catch their breaths, Rho switched off the flashlight. The tunnel really was glowing. A bioluminescent fungus had made its home there.

This offshoot was much rougher than the man-made tunnel, more like a cave, and wide enough for them to walk side by side. The trio’s damp shoes squelched over the wet ground.

With every step, pain radiated from Trev’s aching joints and yellowjacket stings. He would’ve killed for a chair, or some basil leaves.

“Lea never mentioned anything about a cave,” Rho said, pressing a hand to the wall so that her fingers came back glowing.

“Maybe she kept it from you.” Joon reached across Trev to do the same thing. They wiggled their now-glowing fingers in front of Trev’s face.

Rho shushed them and cocked her head. A low moaning sound came from ahead. The sprig of thyme behind Rho’s ear trembled.

Trev’s heart sped up, not from fear, but from relief. “Wind. There must be an exit ahead.”

“Yes! I’m not gonna die down here!” Joon whooped and ran ahead as Rho and Trev followed at a more measured pace.

“I wish we could’ve found the Third-Eyebright,” Trev admitted as they neared the cave’s mouth. He’d thought, maybe, if he’d found it, he could keep some for himself. When he was in school and worried about a test, his mom used to make a bitter eyebright tea that would clear up his mind just as easily as it unclogged his sinuses. Now, pain clouded his mind all the time. Maybe the Legendary Flower could cure that pain. Nothing else had.

The fungus’s glow faded and the cave grew brighter until they rounded a curve into a wall of sunlight. Trev threw up his arm to shade his eyes. When the Weed and the florist exited the cave, Rho’s hands shot up in a gesture of surrender. Once his eyes adjusted, Trev saw why.

Joon pointed a gun at her. Despite its ornately carved handle, the gun looked out of place amidst the greenery and sunlight. Next to Joon stood a regal woman with a drooping red amaranth pinned to her chest. The very same who had threatened Trev. She held a staff fashioned to look like a giant thorn.

From behind the woman, a girl dressed in the same green hiking gear as Rho—down to the dandelion corsage and sprig of thyme—stepped out with another gun leveled at Trev. He mirrored Rho’s surrender.

“You were right, Joon,” Rho said. “Lea was keeping things from me.”

Lea narrowed her eyes but stayed silent.

The woman smiled, her scarlet lipstick the same shade as the geraniums Trev had put in her bouquet. “Azalea here has been infiltrating the Weeds for years.”

“But we didn’t find the flower,” Rho said. “Lea did.”

“I was trying to get you to abandon your post,” Lea spat. “I can’t believe you didn’t come looking for me.”

Trev swayed on his feet, suddenly dizzy, and wished he still had his walking stick. Instead, he leaned on Rho for support. Lea’s gun tracked his movement, though she didn’t see the wimpy florist as much of a threat. “If the plant isn’t in the tunnel, why did you need her to leave?”

“Because the eyebright is at the entrance,” Rho realized aloud.

Before Lea could respond, the Amaranth woman fell backward with a loud cry, a knife protruding from her shoulder. Rho took advantage of the distraction and wrestled the giant thorn from the woman, tossing it to Trev. He tried to swipe Joon off their feet as he’d done to Rho earlier, but Joon merely stumbled back a few steps.

Free from the threat of Joon’s gun, Rho attacked Lea, knocking the gun out of her hand. Lea yanked the thyme from behind Rho’s ear. Rho ducked and dodged and blocked, barely fending off Lea’s offense.

“I didn’t think you had that in you,” Joon said. They reraised their gun, now aiming at their friend. “Smart move, swiping Rho’s knife.”

Seeing it was useless as a weapon, Trev repurposed the thorn to prop himself up.

“I don’t get it.” Joon had always supported his floristry. They’d bought him books and accepted flowers even though they didn’t care much for the outdoors.

“Sure, you do. Superpowers in exchange for drinking some bad tea? Only an idiot would say no to that.”

From behind Joon came a pained shout. “Leave them! Get the Flower!”

Instantly heeding the injured woman’s orders, Joon sprinted in the direction of the cave. Rho gave Lea no such chance. Unable to do anything about Joon, Trev turned his full attention to the fight. The sprig of thyme had fallen out of Lea’s hair in the scuffle.

Lea doubled over from a blow to the gut. Trev called out and tossed Rho the giant thorn. She caught the thorn midair, tackled Lea to the ground, and thrust the thorn through her hand. Lea shrieked, curling onto her side and tugging at the spike that now pinned her in place.

Breathing hard, Rho rushed over to Trev to keep him from collapsing. “Joon got away,” he said. “Go get them.”

“Uh, I don’t think I have to.” Rho pointed toward the cave as a familiar buzzing noise arose. Moments later, Joon emerged, screaming and flailing their arms as the yellowjackets pursued them. The stings on Trev’s back twinged as Joon fled through the field.

As the two weary flower hunters made their way overground to the tunnel entrance, Trev leaning heavily on the Weed, Rho explained, “The Amaranth Society keeps tabs on all up-and-coming botanists and florists. When you gave her that bouquet, she must have thought you knew what they were up to.”

Trev shook his head. “I’m never using red geraniums again.”

-Ryn PB

Note: I originally wrote this for a writing contest that I didn’t win, but I still like it enough to share! Hope you enjoyed!

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Days Well Spent: The Building Doesn’t Fall Down

Posted on December 31, 2024 by Ryn PB

A few nights ago, as I lay in bed, waiting to fall asleep, I was hit by the vision of the building around me crumbling down. No matter what I tried to do, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The ground beneath me was so unstable. Everything was unstable. It felt as if I might be waiting for the ground to fall forever.

Perhaps this was a result of the movie I’d watched earlier with my sister, The Boy and the Heron (Miyazaki 2023), which involved collapsing buildings and worlds. Perhaps it was a result of being in my thoughts for too long, feeling hopeless as I lay sleepless. Perhaps it was just a run-of-the-mill intrusive thought. But I couldn’t shake it. 

As I normally do when I can’t get a thought from my head, I wrote it down. My late-night brain summarized my whirl of thoughts as simply “the misfortune that could be.” I spent a lot of that night and the next morning thinking about “the misfortune that could be.” The truth is, this building I’m in could come down at any moment. It’s just not very likely. But if you try telling that to an anxiety-filled mind, it’s not the comforting thought it should be. 

You might be wondering why I decided to end the year on such a downer note. Well, the truth is, I don’t have a lot of hope for 2025, for many reasons with which I’m sure you’re familiar. But I’m trying to focus less on “the misfortune that could be.” I’m not even going to focus on “the fortune that could be,” because it can be frustrating when it’s hard to see that fortune ever coming true. 

Instead, I’m just going to focus on moments. Do I feel good in this moment? Yes? That’s good enough. 

I just finished the book Welcome to the Hyunam-dong Bookshop by Hwang Bo-Reum and translated by Shanna Tan. (Thanks for the awesome Secret Santa gift, Dad!) A lot of this book involves the characters wondering what success really means—to them, to society, to the people around them—and which definition really matters. 

Toward the end of the book, there’s the quote, “A day well spent is a life well lived.” While it’s a bit simple, this idea was just what I needed to hear. Even if it’s a mantra that can only be sustained for a little while, and probably not even every day, it’s something I’m going to try to keep in mind. 

A picture of Star to combat the existential thoughts

The problem here is that I tend to get hung up on words. What constitutes “a day well spent”? Daily happiness seems like too big of a reach. Is it just a day that I’m not sad? Well, I can’t control that. Is it a day that I did something I enjoy? Some days nothing is enjoyable. Though those days are less often now, they still happen. 

As I continue to make my apartment in this potentially unstable building a home, I will ponder what makes “a day well spent.” Maybe, it’s just that the world around me didn’t crumble. There’s some hope in that, right? Even after my brain conjured that horrible image, the world has continued to hold up under my feet. 

I hope that you can have days well spent in 2025, no matter what is troubling you. 

-Ryn PB

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I Want an Alien Sighting for Christmas

Posted on December 15, 2024 by Ryn PB

December 2014

Dear Santa,

I like aliens but my sister told me aliens aren’t real. Can you prove aliens are real?

Merry Christmas.

-Tally

P.S. I also want a sonic screwdriver. I think it will help when my dad tries to fix things but can’t.

December 2024

This is not how the bathroom normally looks. For starters, it’s usually much smaller. And emptier.

“Hey, Mom and Dad made hot choc—woah. This is not the bathroom.” 

I didn’t have time to give Maya a “no shit” look before a huge beast clomped past us on its way to the bar that had replaced the sinks and counter. It walked on two hairy and hooved legs, standing at least seven feet tall. Its arms were basically the same as its legs, its entire body was covered in thick brown and white fur, and atop its horse-shaped face were two thick antlers. Because of its posture, it took me a while to realize that it was a reindeer. 

By the time my brain had made the connection, the reindeer was sitting on a bar stool and talking to the creature pouring drinks. This creature was decidedly not a reindeer. It was scaly and small and humanoid, its eyes like vertical slits, its ears pointy. An… elf? Were elves reptilian? I couldn’t remember any mention of scales in any story of elves. 

The reindeer and elf exchanged a few words after which the elf poured an amber liquid into a glass and slid it over to the reindeer, who picked it up with both hooves and downed the whole thing. 

My older sister grabbed my arm. “Um, Tally, that reindeer just slammed a bourbon neat.”

I rolled my eyes. Ever since she went to Ireland for a summer, she was always pretending she knew more about alcohol than I did. She could’ve just said whiskey. 

“Hey, Jingles, is the Milky Way Skyline open again?” the reindeer said in English. 

The elf shrugged, its eyes blinking sideways like a lizard instead of up and down. “I hope not. Why?”

“You got a few visitors.” The reindeer nodded its antlers toward us, and my sister stepped slightly behind me. 

When the elf—Jingles—looked over at us, I dumbly raised my hand and waved. Jingles looked less than thrilled to see us. In fact, Jingles let out a big sigh. “Santacles is back to his old tricks, I see. It would be nice if he opened the portal somewhere else.”

“There’s only so many places you can put a knot in spacetime,” the reindeer pointed out. 

Jingles crunched their tiny claws into a fist. “Well, I’m not dealing with them. Humans can never keep their cool.”

“Excuse me, kids,” a voice boomed from behind us. 

Maya jumped and made a small noise. A creature as big as the reindeer had stepped out from our bathroom door. It was emanating coldness, rendering our Christmas jammies utterly useless—even Maya’s matching old-fashioned flannel set. The sight of my sister, at a bar, wearing an outfit full of skiing penguins almost made me laugh. Then I realized that my own wasn’t much better. My pants were adorned with reindeer in various poses, tangled up in Christmas lights. I hoped the reindeer at the bar didn’t look too closely. 

The cold creature behind us was basically a sentient white blob with a pointy nose, black mouth, and black eyes. It also wore a red scarf, though it was unclear whether it was wearing the scarf or if the scarf was part of its body. Despite its size and dark eyes, the creature was smiling kindly down at us, waiting for us to move out of the way. I tugged my sister off to the side and the creature blobbed toward the bar. 

“Fr. Ostie!” the reindeer greeted. “Happy Holly Days!”

“Happy Holly Days!” Fr. Ostie returned, taking the drink Jingles had already made for him—a steaming hot drink at odds with the big blob’s cold atmosphere. “Looks like you got a fan over there, Dashaway.” Out of the blobby mass formed an appendage that again pointed in our direction.

The reindeer peered at me and then waved us over. I immediately followed orders, but Maya held me back. “Wait, you’re seriously going over there?”

“Duh.” I wasn’t going to miss the chance to talk to… whatever these things were. “What else are we supposed to do? Stand in the corner and stare?”

“Yes,” Maya said. “That’s exactly what we should do.”

Extricating my arm from her viselike grip, I shook my head. “Staring is rude.” Then I put on what I hoped was a friendly smile and trotted over to the trio of nightmarish Christmas characters. When the reindeer got a better view of my outfit, he let out a roar that I interpreted hopefully as a laugh. 

“I didn’t realize my tumble with the Garcías’ twinkle lights had reached all of Earth,” the reindeer said. 

“Hey, kid, what’s a Gunsen Rose?” Fr. Ostie asked. 

“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. 

“I think it’s a type of rock,” the reindeer answered. “It’s usually like a squarish or round shape. I’ve seen ’em when the big guy takes us over to Earth.”

“It’s a band,” my sister answered, startling me. I hadn’t realized she followed me over to the bar. This declaration didn’t seem to explain things more for the creatures, who stared blankly at her. “A classic rock band.” She pointed to my torso, and I realized I was wearing a Guns n’ Roses T-shirt. 

“How did you two get here?” Jingles asked in their grating voice, unamused by the gaiety their friends were sharing with us. 

“We walked through the bathroom door,” I explained. “Where exactly are we?”

“This is the Biegan-Polnoznee,” Jingles squeaked. “Home to the best bar in the North Galaxy.”

“You’re aliens?” I said. Goosebumps formed on my skin. I remembered when I was little and obsessed with aliens—E.T., Alf, Doctor Who, Star Wars, Star Trek, the works. Anything to do with extraterrestrials had my attention. Which my dad loved—he was a cosmologist—and my mom endured—she found the idea of aliens intensely disconcerting. In her role as older sister, Maya had taken it upon herself to declare aliens weren’t real and that any conversations discussing them were moot. We were a divided household. On this topic, at least. 

“Well, he can’t be an alien. We have reindeer on Earth,” she added, gesturing to the bipedal reindeer. 

The reindeer roared out another laugh. “Oh, I’m not a reindeer.”

Maya’s elbow jabbed into my side, and she whispered in my ear, “Clearly we’re having some sort of shared hallucination. That eggnog tasted weird earlier. Not like grandma’s at all.”

“All eggnog tastes weird if you haven’t had the real stuff,” the not-reindeer said, unabashedly revealing he’d been listening in. “Jingles, get the two humans some eggnog on me.”

Jingles begrudgingly nodded and hopped down off the stool they’d been standing on to climb a ladder to a high shelf behind the bar. 

“So are all Christmas stories based on aliens?” I asked, climbing onto one of the tall stools next to the reindeer. Fr. Ostie was a little too cold for me to sit next to without a jacket. “Is Santa an alien?”

Before either alien could answer, Jingles was back, slamming down two clear glasses of a chai latte-colored drink with brown powder on top. Curiosity getting the better of her, Maya clambered awkwardly onto the stool next to me. We each took a sip of Real Eggnog and shared a glance. It tasted nothing like my grandma’s eggnog, and especially not like the almond-based stuff my mom had us drinking this year. This was thick and sweet and spiced with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was like the warmest spice ever invented, heating me up from the inside even though the drink itself was cold. 

“I don’t think it’s all non-humans,” Fr. Ostie said, answering my question. “Jack Frost was a man.”

My sister snorted, wiping off her eggnog mustache. “Sure.”

Well, well, well, I thought, Look who’s on board with aliens now.

“And the yeti is just fake,” the not-reindeer added. “Though I don’t know if that’s specifically a Holly Days thing.”

“Are you trying to say ‘holidays’?” Maya asked. She seemed to have just decided to ignore the fact that we were talking to LITERAL ALIENS and fell back into her habit of correcting people so they knew she was the smartest one in the room. Though, when I thought about it, she’d been grumpy this whole Christmas. It was our first without our grandma, who usually made cookies and her own eggnog. 

The not-reindeer shook his big head, nearly whacking me with an antler. I ducked just in time. “Is that what humans are calling it these days? No, we don’t do Christmas or Hanukkah in the North Galaxy. We celebrate the Holly Days, when the Holly comes into view.”

“Dashaway, they don’t know what the Holly is,” Fr. Ostie said, slapping his friend’s furry back with a blob arm. 

When I looked at my sister, she giggled a little and pointed to her upper lip. I reached up to feel my own eggnog mustache and grinned, wiping it off with the back of my hand. 

“Everyone knows the Holly!” Jingles squeaked, scratching behind their pointed ear. “Stupid humans.”

“Oh, come on, Jingles. Go get these kids some more eggnog as an apology,” the not-reindeer, Dashaway, countered. Jingles grumbled under their breath but hopped back down off the stool, presumably only because Dashaway was going to pay again. 

Both Maya and I had already chugged our Real Eggnog and were not about to decline another glass of warmth. Even if it was coming from a grouchy alien elf. 

With said grouch out of the way, Dashaway and Fr. Ostie explained the North Galaxy’s version of Christmas. 

Every “galactic era” in the North Galaxy—which corresponded to about a year on Earth—a strange pulsating light appeared in the sky that no alien scientist had been able to explain. It seemed to wink in and out of existence with strange regularity and seemed to have no mass despite the heat radiating from it. The light was reddish and roundish with a few leaf-shaped flares that were different every galactic month. Apparently, holly plants existed in the North Galaxy, too, and so the strange light was called the Holly and became a beacon of togetherness. Everyone would gather on Biegan-Polnoznee, where the Holly was most visible, to marvel at the unknown and appreciate the things the universe had to offer. 

“But I still don’t understand how the Holly Days spread to Earth. Or got attached to Christianity,” Maya said, eagerly watching Jingles sprinkle that mysterious brown spice on top of the new glasses of eggnog. The only food Maya got this excited about were my grandma’s chocolate chip cookies. 

“You can thank Santacles for that.” Jingles set our second round of drinks down more gently but their tone was still tortured. “He just loooves using the portal to go to Earth. I hope he gets here soon to deal with you.”

I was too excited to be hurt by Jingles’ obvious disdain for us. Actual fucking aliens were chatting with me, giving me space drinks—who cared if they liked me or not? At least they weren’t trying to kill us or anything. So I smiled at Jingles and said, “Thanks for the eggnog. It’s even better than a portal that brings us Christmas.”

Jingles rolled their eyes but allowed a small, pleased smile to break through their scowl. “It’s my sibling’s recipe.” They paused and added, “The eggnog and the portal.” 

Still thinking of Grandma and her cookies, I dipped a finger into the eggnog and stuck it into my mouth just to get a taste. A tingly warmth spread through my chest. “It must be hard to celebrate the Holly Days without your sibling.” This Christmas had been less than jolly for us, too, and even though I tried to just ignore it, seeing my sister smile and engage in the conversation for the first time this whole Christmas season made it clear that she was hurting just like Jingles was. 

Dashaway cut in to say, “Nickles was one of the good ones. Put the portal in this bar so anyone could stop by for Jingles’ fare.”

“Nickles and Santacles were thick as thieves,” Fr. Ostie added. 

“What happened to them?” I was surprised that my sister asked this. She usually stayed away from any topic that might make someone uncomfortable. Unless, of course, the discomfort came from being wrong; Maya loved being the one in the know. Especially after being the first in the family to go to college. 

Fr. Ostie and Dashaway exchanged an uncomfortable glance, but it was Jingles who answered us. “Portals aren’t always stable. Nickles created one on Ostie’s planet that went to a galaxy nearby yours. Hasn’t been back since.” Jingles pointed to a shelf so high above the bottles of liquid that even Dashaway had to look up. The shelf was full of what looked like different rocks and gems. “Nickles always brought back a sample from their travels.”

Jingles’ stoicism almost distracted me from the two main things they’d just said: 1) Their sibling was basically an alien Indiana Jones, and 2) all of these portals seemed to open fairly close to humanity. Of course, I wasn’t sure what they considered “near.” Probably light-years away at least. If only I’d paid more attention in my physics class; maybe I could have been hailed as a genius for discovering something new about space.

Next to me, my sister’s eggnog was already almost gone again, whereas I’d been too distracted to take more than a sip or two. Maya’s cheeks were rosy and her eyes glittering. Even though I didn’t want to share, I slid my cup over to my sister to let her have the rest of mine. She never really enjoyed things without restraint anymore. Even something as simple as an eggnog drink. Well, it wasn’t so simple when I factored in the context surrounding the eggnog, but still, it was just a drink. And Maya was fully enjoying it. 

All of a sudden, as if to burst the bubble of the somber moment, the bathroom door—or, I supposed, the portal—slammed open to reveal another gigantic, furry beast. Different from the not-reindeer, this beast was mostly covered in red fur with hands like white mittens, feet like leather boots, and a nose as luminescent as I imagined Rudolph’s to be. “Ho ho ho ho ho!” the creature boomed, and all three aliens—even Jingles—perked up at the sight of this guy. 

“Santacles!” all three shouted as the creature clomped over. 

Santacles looked… not how I’d expected. I’d expected him to have tentacles, because of his name, or to be mostly humanoid. Not this red-and-white sasquatch with a lightbulb nose. But he was smiling and jolly and had a big belly, just like the Santa Claus I was familiar with. He ordered a plate of cookies and an eggnog for himself before looking directly down at me, his eyes like warm chestnuts. “It seems I owe you an apology, Tally,” Santacles said, holding out a piece of worn notebook paper. 

Mouth agape, I took the paper from him and studied the writing. It was a letter I’d written to Santa Claus ten years ago. More accurately, it was a letter I’d dictated to my grandma to write to Santa for me. Ten years ago, I’d asked for aliens to be real. And they were. 

Maya read over my shoulder, eyes full of not-just-sadness. Anytime something reminded her of Grandma, she would usually cry—or try not to cry. But faced with my grandma’s distinct handwriting, she was smiling as if remembering how much Grandma used to love writing our Santa letters for us. Instead of just focusing on how Grandma wasn’t here anymore. 

“It took me a decade, but I hope it was worth it,” Santacles said to me, gesturing around at the bar. 

Jingles huffed and stood up on their stool. “Don’t use my bar for your gift giving act!” 

Instead of getting mad, Santacles laughed in ho’s again and shook his head. “Oh, come on, Jingles. You won’t be so upset when you see my Christmas gift for you!”

Jingles crossed their scaly arms, long nose pointed in the air. “I don’t need a Christmas gift. Escort these humans home.”

“You’ll like this one. Even though it’s ten years too late, too.” Santacles winked at my sister and I before reopening the portal door. In came another scaly, elf-like creature, almost identical to Jingles but taller and more purplish in color. 

“Nickles!” Jingles launched themself over the counter and into their sibling’s arms. Nickles had the same voice as Jingles—high-pitched and reedy—but their tone was more like Santacles’s. Fr. Ostie and Dashaway joined in the reunion. Something with Santacles’s magic or alien powers seemed to be making everyone feel warm and fuzzy. Or maybe it was the eggnog and the Holly.

Santacles smiled at the sibling-and-friend reunion before turning to Maya and me. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long for your Christmas wish. Ten Earth years ago, when Nickles got stuck in the portal that we thought led to the Andromeda Galaxy, it was because I’d granted his Christmas wish—a new portal. So I stopped granting wishes that were too multidimensional.” 

“Do a lot of people ask for ‘multidimensional’ gifts?” I asked.

Santacles nodded. “You’ll be surprised to know that most gifts actually come from parents or families; I only have to be around for the big ones.” He leaned forward. “But when Nickles popped back into existence on my sleigh-ship with a story for the ages, I knew I needed to make things right.”

“But why did Maya have to come along? It’s been so inconvenient for her,” I asked Santacles. 

Maya’s cheeks got even redder; she wouldn’t look me in the eye even as Santacles handed her a similar piece of notebook paper with her own handwriting on it. She didn’t even read it before handing it over to me. She’d been old enough to write her own Christmas letter ten years ago. 

As my eyes scanned the words, I burst into laughter, and soon, my sister joined me, for once not embarrassed to have been proven wrong. About eggnog and aliens. 

Maya and I enjoyed the rest of our Christmas Eve night with Santacles and the other Christmas aliens, learning about other extraterrestrial origins of holiday stories, as well as Nickles’ travels to the Andromeda Galaxy. Nickles had brought back a dark, coal-like rock back with them that left charcoal streaks on our hands after we held it. 

Maya and I drank our weight in Real Eggnog, both enjoying our Christmas wishes coming true. Even though it was ten years later than asked for, it felt right that it was Grandma’s letters that brought back the Christmas spirit.

December 2014

Dear Santa Claus,

I really love Grandma’s cookies. We leave them out and you eat them every year, so I’m pretty sure you do, too. But she can’t really ever get eggnog right. What I want this year is the recipe for my grandma’s cookies so I can make them myself now that I know how to cook, and the best cup of eggnog ever. I don’t understand the hype, and I always feel bad when Grandma pours me some and I don’t drink it all. 

Thanks and Merry Christmas,

-Maya

P.S. I think Tally wants to see aliens for Christmas. I don’t think they exist, but if they really are real, that would be cool. I’d like to see that, too. But don’t tell Tally. 

-Ryn PB

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this odd, alien Christmas tale that started as a note on my Notes App, as many of my stories do, which only read “Christmas on another planet” and got mixed with the astrophysics book I was reading as well as the inevitable sadness that comes from missing a relative you want to be with you during the holidays. So this story is for Grandma Ronnie, whose game “The Farfanoogles” I’ve also considered making into a story.

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The Soup-Port Group

Posted on November 15, 2024 by Ryn PB

“Okay, everyone, welcome to the group. I’m Holden, this is my brother Harry, and we decided to put this thing together for people who’ve had similar experiences to us.” Holden’s effeminate voice pierced the air like the rainbow flag pin had pierced his lapel. 

Holden’s hirsute older brother added, “This is an open forum. Feel free to introduce yourself and talk as you like.”

The backroom of the cafe echoed the small noises of people shifting in their seats, no one willing to break the ice until a man in a snowflake-patterned Hawaiian shirt spoke up. “Um, hi, I’m Seb Zero. And I know what you’re thinking: ‘Why doesn’t he just go by Sebastian?’ Because it makes me sound like the crab from Ariel.”

“It’s actually called The Little Mermaid,” a greasy, pimply fellow corrected. “I bet people don’t even comment on your name that much. You just want to sound interesting.”

Seb Zero narrowed his eyes like icicles boring into the fellow’s mind. “Oh, yeah? Well, what’s your name?”

After pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, leaving a fingerprint in the middle of a lens, the fellow answered, “My name is Chris P. Bacon.”

“Why don’t you introduce yourself without your middle initial?” asked a small woman with dangly earrings in the shape of musical notes. 

Chris P. Bacon wiped his hands on his dirty trousers. “Because my dad’s name is Chris Bacon, too, and you can’t be a ‘Junior’ or ‘the Second’ if you have a different middle name.”

“But if nobody knows your dad…” Seb Zero mumbled coldly. 

Harry quickly redirected the conversation so he wouldn’t have to step in and do anything ballsy. “And what’s your name?”

“Amanda Lynn Case,” the woman answered in a lilting voice one might describe as songlike. 

“Well, why don’t you just go by Amanda Case?” Chris P. Bacon shot back. 

Amanda Lynn Case straightened her spine like she was getting ready to play in an orchestra. “I’ve already printed business cards, paid for the URL, and auditioned by this name. I can’t change it now.”

“Um, actually, my last name is Case, too,” an anxious-looking young man said. “But I feel a little stupid. I chose my name.”

“What name did you choose?” Holden asked, half-distracted by admiring the delightfully rosy cheeks of the beautiful man next to him. 

“Justin,” Justin Case answered, fiddling with the extra cash in his pocket that he always kept on hand for Cash Only businesses. “And I kinda knew it could cause people to make fun of me. But it really feels like my name, you know?”

The dazzling blonde bombshell next to him nodded theatrically. “I think we can all agree with that. Otherwise we would all change our names.” After a dramatic pause, she stood up and introduced herself as if reciting memorized lines, “My name is Holly Wood.”

For some reason, everyone felt the need to applaud her performance. Holly Wood bowed before she sat down. The girl next to her even set down the book she’d been clutching this whole time. “Yeah, sometimes being a little different makes me feel like a main character,” she agreed. “My name’s Paige Turner, by the way.”

“Don’t you feel like it’s sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy, though?” asked the hearty and hale man with the largest afro anyone in the group had seen. “My name’s Brock Lee, and I’ve always been that weird kid who likes vegetable soup more than chocolate fondue.”

“Totally,” agreed the sweet old lady who probably had candy in her purse. “My name’s Ness Lee and I’ve always had a thing for hot cocoa. I even sometimes share a little with my cat, Mr. Jean-Clawed Van Damme.”

The mousy old man furrowed his brow. “But I don’t like chipmunks.”

“What name suggests an affinity for chipmunks?” Paige Turner inquired, eager to learn more about this character. 

“Chip Monk,” the old man squeaked. 

“I mean, you kind of look like a chipmunk.” This came from the fuckboi who had only half-listened to anyone who wasn’t a man. 

Chip Monk stood up and bared his large front teeth. “You want me to kick you in the nuts, boy?”

The fuckboi just grinned and spread his legs out even more as if daring the old man to try. “Only if you think you can win a fight against Mike Hunt.”

“Let me guess,” Seb Zero cut in, “someone in your family is named Michael Hunt so you have to go by Mike.”

“Nope.” Mike Hunt’s smug grin rankled even the calm young lady in a vintage dress who had not spoken up yet. 

“It might be best to put a pause between your first and last name,” she suggested in a Transatlantic accent. “Or take a close look at the past.” 

“I don’t think so,” Mike argued. “Who are you anyway?”

The gangly girl who had driven the old-souled young lady to the cafe straightened up. At her full height, she seemed about five stories tall. “Anne Teak is my longest lasting friend, and I, Ella Vader, will not stoop to your level, Michael Hunt.”

Holden held up his hands to get the attention of the group before resolves hardened and tempers flared. “Okay, okay, everyone. So we don’t get short on time, let’s cut off the introductions for now and get to the main event. Holden and I have started off this first week with our thymeless white bean soup and a Donot Blanc port wine.”

“Thanks for coming to the Soup and Port Group! Dig in!” Harry added, spreading his arms out so wide that his chest hair poked out from between his shirt buttons. 

As the group served themselves an odd soup and wine combo, Holden approached the rosy-cheeked man to get his number. 

Beau K. was as cute as a water lily and spoke in flowery language when addressing the brothers. “There is a certain air of familiarity about the two of you, as though your faces are etched in the corners of some forgotten memory.”

“We’ve been told we look like our distant cousin, Courteney,” Holden explained. 

Surveying the happy and fed group, the Cox brothers patted themselves on the back for bringing together this group of like-minded people. It was hard to find people who enjoyed the provocative duet of soup and port, and even harder to keep them standing proud together. 

-Ryn PB

Author’s Note: This story is meant to be a big old joke! No stereotypes are meant to be taken too seriously! I just wanted to write something frivolous and stupid, so why not write about a bunch of people with punny names in a club together? This was inspired by the SNL Change-of-Name skit, Colin Mochrie’s funny newscaster names in Whose Line…?, and my mishearing of the name “Jen N.” as “N. Jen” (“engine”). 

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TBR Playlist: Play It By Ear Edition

Posted on October 31, 2024 by Ryn PB

Hello, I’m back! Happy Halloween! I’m afraid this post has nothing to do with the Halloween season.

Though I’ve been writing, I haven’t been writing much that I wanted to share with the Internet. I’ve mostly been writing different iterations of the same story over and over, because I’ve been a bit overwhelmed by life. Basically, life turned itself into a cartoon anvil and fell on my head a couple times.

Lately, however, I’ve found a new hyperfixation to bring me some joy, and I want to share that joy with you. I recently paid to be a member of Dropout’s YouTube channel (formerly CollegeHumor) because of one show in particular: Play It by Ear (PIBE). I’m a huge fan of musical improv—Wayne Brady, Bo Burnham, etc—and that is exactly what Play It by Ear is. (Although, Wayne Brady did not appear on PIBE; he instead made his guest appearance on a karaoke episode of Dropout’s Make Some Noise, which also involves musical improv.)

So for my comeback to the blog, I thought I would ease my way back into writing for the world by mixing one of my favorite As Cool As Mint Ice Cream installments with one of my new obsessions. It’s a bit of a stretch to call this a playlist, but the Play It by Ear improv musicals have brought me so much joy that I just wanna talk about them all day long! 

Here is my Play It by Ear TBR playlist, in which I pair episodes of Dropout’s Play It by Ear with books I want to read. Please enjoy!

Season 1

“Humpty Dumpty”: Other Ever Afters: New Queer Fairy Tales by Melanie Gillman

Of course, to go with this somewhat communist retelling of “Humpty Dumpty,” I had to pick a book of progressive fairytale remixes. Both focus on characters we don’t always think of complexly and tell their stories with surprising but happy endings. And just like Dropout, this book makes it a point to have a diverse cast of characters. 

“The Muck of Merkmere”: The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens

I’ve also always found Dickens’s stories to feel fairytale-ish, which was why I thought of pairing this musical with a Dickens book in the first place. Both of these stories are set in the Victorian era and highlight the differences between the rich and the poor classes. They point out societal issues with humor and involve a bunch of random, quirky characters whose stories are sort of intertwined. 

“Whimsy on Wheels”: Bookshops & Bonedust by Travis Baldree

If you want light fantasy that’s meaningful but not too deep, I encourage you to read Travis Baldree’s books. “Whimsy on Wheels” has the same vibe. The lesson that what we need isn’t always what we want runs through both of these stories, as well as characters who are mythical creatures with a twist. 

“Skyline Flight 314”: Lord of the Flies by William Golding

I actually had a lot of trouble with this episode, but Lord of the Flies seems to fit the bill; it’s trippy, involves a plane crash, highlights the best and worst of the human condition, and explores the emotions surrounding an emergency situation. “Skyline Flight 314” is obviously lighter and wackier, but the ideas are similar enough. (Also, yes, I still haven’t read Lord of the Flies… can you believe it?)

“Space Rocks!”: The Galaxy and the Ground Within by Becky Chambers

Becky Chambers writes the perfect stories to go with this Play It By Ear episode. In her sci-fi books, she often explores connections between different species, highlighting the differences of alien and human societies while showing how they can coexist. There’s also usually some sort of non-heteronormative romance in the books, too, which definitely exists in “Space Rocks!” A fun time in outer space for everyone!

Season 2

“Mallapalooza”: The Miracles of the Namiya General Store by Keigo Higashino & translated by Sam Brett

Though I was tempted to pick a book set in the 1990s just like “Mallapalooza,” I went for more of a thematically similar story. Both of these stories are about staying overnight in a store/mall, a group of friends on the precipice of the rest of their lives, and some time funkiness (or “wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey stuff,” as the 10th Doctor so succinctly put it). Plus, the character of the janitor in “Mallapalooza” is like a humorous echo of the former owner of the Namiya General Store in that they’re both wise, magical keepers of their small domains. 

“Animal Style”: Punk Rock Mouse and Country Mouse: A Graphic Novel by Brandon Terrell & illustrated by Alex Lopez

Listen, who doesn’t like stories that involve unlikely animal friends who make music? Certainly not me. Not only do these stories both center around animal characters, they also both explore the idea of animals wanting to live the lives of other animals before realizing their own lives can be just as fulfilling. Or, in simpler words, not everyone follows the same path. 

“Heartbeat Hospital”: Exciting Times by Naoise Dolan 

Because it’s supposed to be a medical soap opera parody, “Heartbeat Hospital” was another one that was hard to pair with a book on my TBR. So even though Exciting Times involves a banker, lawyer, and teacher—not doctors—the melodrama, the messy romances, the characters who make a sudden return, all of these can be found in “Heartbeat Hospital”—and probably any soap opera.

“Trade School Musical 2”: My Education by Susan Choi

This pair would’ve been better if I’d picked a book in a series, because “Trade School Musical 2” is supposed to be a sequel “for some reason,” but I focused more on trying to find a book that takes place in a school with adult characters. My Education is set in a graduate school, not a trade school, but involves people with life-altering secrets and at least a one sexy/erotic moment—just like “Trade School Musical 2.”

“The Missing Member”: The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie

“The Missing Member” is a 1940s noir mystery, so I was looking for a classic whodunit to pair with it. What is more of a classic whodunit than Agatha Christie’s first book? Christie’s suspect list always includes a cast of quirky characters, as do pretty much all of the Play It By Ear episodes. And, of course, PIBE’s Darren Vapes is an eccentric “ahead of his time” detective, just like Hercule Poirot is an eccentric “stuck in his ways” detective. Gotta love an eccentric detective. 

“Cornhole in One”: Fence series by C.S. Pacat (reread)

I’m cheating a little on this one because I’ve already read the Fence series, but it just fits so perfectly with a musical about cornhole that I thought it would be okay to include a series I want to reread. Plus, I make the rules, so as long as I say it’s okay, then it’s okay! Fence is, of course, about fencing, a fairly niche sport, while “Cornhole in One” is about cornhole, a somewhat niche party game. Plus, both involve a wholesome gay romance, and I’m always down for that. 

“Backwards Compatible”: The Daydreams by Laura Hankin

There are many books told in reverse chronological order just like “Backwards Compatible,” but I, again, went more with thematic similarities than narrative similarities. Both involve a friend group that reunites publicly after a big explosion of their friendship in the past. Friendship is complicated whether it’s centered around super healthy mushrooms or a classic 2000s TV show. 

“Joust Because”: Saffron and Honey: How Should I Know You? by Aphy Ray

A Renaissance Faire, which is the setting of “Joust Because,” basically takes historical fantasy and plops it into the present, so I picked a book that includes fantasy in the modern day. Journeys of self-discovery, queer romance, exploration of boundaries, and life-or-death stakes—what more could you ask for?

“Elevator Pitch”: Everything and Nothing by Jorge Luis Borges (translated by Donald A. Yates)

“Elevator Pitch” is bonkers. There is nothing like it on my TBR, so I literally picked this book because one of the repeated lines in “Elevator Pitch” is “Nothing, everything, children, glass.” (It doesn’t make much more sense in context, trust me…) However, one could argue that the metaphysical technology-based moments, the blurred line between reality and fiction, and things being out of their proper timeline are all things that this episode has, as well. Borges’s ideas are bonkers in the best way possible, just like Play It By Ear episodes. 

“Heebie Jeebies”: Ravenfall by Kalyn Josephson

I love a good found family story, and I love a good ghost story, which is why I wanted to read Ravenfall in the first place. Although it’s not quite as fitting for “Heebie Jeebies” as perhaps a creepy short story collection, a middle grade ghost story seems like a pretty good vibe match. Both involve a creepy old location, a supernatural creature, orphans, and the border between life and death. 

BONUS: “Legend of the Lake (Dress Rehearsal)”: Wicked Fox/Gumiho by Kat Cho

“Legend of the Lake” is more or less about the Loch Ness Monster, and Wicked Fox (sometimes published as Gumiho) is about another mythical creature—the nine-tailed fox from Korean folktales. These local legends are both, naturally, entwined in generations-old feuds, as well. 

Conclusion

And there it is! My comeback post! I hope that, even if you don’t particularly care for musical comedy, you’ve found a few titles you might be interested in. 

Play It By Ear is definitely not the only musical comedy out there, so fair warning, I may bring back this kind of TBR Playlist in the future. (Side note: Zach Reino and Jess McKenna, the main performers on Play It by Ear, started with a musical improv podcast first, so if you like PIBE, you’ll probably like Off Book, too!)

Happy laughing, happy listening, and happy reading!

-Ryn PB

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