Reviewing 13 Little Blue Envelopes

13 Little Blue Envelopes

by Maureen Johnson

Due to my Barnes and Nobles's lack of Maureen Johnson appreciation and my own lack of a library—stupid remodeling ruining my reading plans—I can honestly say this is the first MJ book I've ever read. Rest assured, I'm smitten.

Once again my reading ventures bring me to Paris—and some other places.

As stolen from Amazon:

"Seventeen-year-old Ginny had always admired her aunt Peg, a free-spirited artist who often disappeared for months, most recently to Europe. Now Aunt Peg has died of brain cancer, and in a characteristically cryptic gesture made before her death, she arranged for her niece to receive a plane ticket to London, where Ginny will begin a series of adventures. Guided by Peg's friends and the instructions in each of 13 letters her aunt wrote, Ginny sets off across Europe. Staying with Peg's contacts or in hostels, Ginny begins to peel away some of the mythic layers surrounding her aunt, even as she falls into thrilling escapades and a blossoming romance."

I read this book in two days. I normally savor books as opposed to guzzle them down, but this one was so captivating that I had to read more. It's an extremely light and easy read, so I'd recommend picking it up sometime between when your English class reads The Dwarf and The Iliad, if only to lighten your load a little bit.

As for the actual plot of the book, you'll have to suspend belief at some points, but if you can get over the fact that it's somewhat unbelievable—which didn't bother me really at all—then you're in for great story.

I really appreciated that we jumped right into the book, not a long introduction or lots of backstory. The whole book was like that—fast-paced. I always wanted to know what was in the next envelope, where Aunt Peg would take Ginny next.

The characters are very believable, realistic, the works. I'm of the notion that you could write a book about characters sitting in a room for a day, à la Breakfast Club, and it would be great as long as the characters are exceptional. Characters account for about sixty precent of my enjoyment of any book.


There are plenty of little twists and surprises sprinkled throughout the story to keep anyone satisfied, ones that aren't overused and are nearly impossible to see coming. I felt good about the end of the book, and I know there's a sequel—which I'll definitely pick up eventually—but I'm not sure it was necessary. I would have been happy with just the first book, but I look forward to reading more from Maureen in the future.

Rating: ★★★☆☆ / 5

You know, writing blog posts takes about twice as long as you originally allotted time for. Time to return to Trig. Sigh.

The Mysterious Altruist

There are many signs that winter is over the horizon: the significant drop in temperature from days of ninety degree weather to days of rainy coat and scarf weather, the increase in the amount of steaming beverages being carried into school and work, the sun setting before you've even thought about dinner, and the person standing outside of your Schnucks/WalMart/store of your choice with a red bucket and a jingling bell. While it still may be a little too early to be thinking about winter (Sacrebleu, is it still only September?), it isn't too early to be thinking about giving.

This isn't an advertisement telling you how good you would feel if you gave money to the Red Cross or the Salvation Army or the charity of your choice. This is all I have to say:

STOP—petite story interjection time—Every year around Christmas time, the Salvation Army is out around busy stores, the usual. I used to beg my mum to let me drop a dollar in the bucket—but only in quarters because, let's face it, it's way more satisfying to hear four quarters drop against a metal bucket than a piece of crumpled paper. Every year for many many years where I live, there was, and still is, a mysterious altruist. And like clockwork every year, he or she drops a gold piece in the Salvation Army bucket. The gold piece is valued at about $1,500. No one has ever found out who this mysterious altruist is. -End of petite story interjection.

I think there's something to be said for the mysterious altruists of the world. They are like little ninjas going around and spreading good tidings and cheer. I would say they could start a club, but if they know each other then they lose the mysterious factor—goshdarnit, I love clubs.

There was an episode of Friends a while back (wait a second, they were all a while back, Friends ended eight years ago, Sam) where Joey said there was no such thing as a selfless good deed, because you nearly always feel good about doing good. Then Phoebe spent the remainder of the episode trying to find a selfless good deed, which I can't recall if she did or not. If all good deeds are selfish though, I think a little egoism can be justified.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,
Sammie

P.S. Wait a minute, they haven't even started selling Halloween decorations. I am getting ahead of myself. Has anyone else felt like this has been just the longest September?

For Early Birds: a playlist for early birds

Get out of bed you sleepy head.

It might interest you to know that I am a morning person. Probably not.

High School Pranks

It's going to happen, teachers. If you are a part of high school, chances are you'll also be a part of a prank. The only qualm I have with high school pranks are that they are almost always subpar. At least the ones performed within the school. I do have a soft spot for band camp pranks for some odd reason.

My favorite prank of all time comes from John Green's Looking for Alaska. If you haven't, I highly recommend you read it. If you want a concise and completely true version of this prank click here. 

Last year's senior prank was pitiful. I'm sorry; there's no other way to put it. The seniors all went to the second floor and took naps in the hall in the passing period between second and third hour. Eh. No one's even tired between second and third period.

I wouldn't necessarily call these pranks, but the drama department does put on a couple of Improv Everywhere-esque scenes throughout the school year. Last year they rolled bubble wrap across the entire math hallway. They've also blown up several hundred balloons and scattered them around the halls—much to the teachers and janitors' dismay.

To get these last few high school pranks, you must first understand a little bit about band camp where I go to high school. Every year, we pack up on three or four busses an ride for about two hours to the middle of nowhere. The town we stay in for the week of band camp is literally two dorm rooms, a cafeteria, a library, a gas station, a football field a super Wal-Mart, and a good ol' fashioned Country Kitchen for if you're feeling really snazzy (e.g. on prom night). We literally pull over on the side of the highway, and that's where we spend the week.

Every year at the end of the week, we partake in end-of-band-camp-fun-times. This includes the world's largest game of duck duck goose, hitting open a nasty piñata (full of dog food, cake, something from the Country Kitchen, and some of that scintillating band camp coleslaw), and senior pranks.


There is exactly one port-a-potty at band camp, and there's a special club for the people that use it—other clubs include the no soda club and the you didn't get knocked up at band camp club. Last year, a senior saran wrapped the portable so no one could get inside.


This summer's was a little bit better unless you happen to be a supporter of the ethical treatment of frogs. The seniors drove over about twenty frogs with their cars and put them on all the flautists' music stands. Before I was in high school, someone put a live lobster in our band director's bed.


Wherever your pranking instincts take you this year, make sure you don't do a lame one like napping in the hall. Napping is strictly reserved for sixth hour Trig.

Amortentia: what does love potion smell like to you?

I'd smell...

the smell of the outdoors right after it's poured down rain

gingerbread or the general smell of something being baked in the oven

that smell of Christmas morning, which really can't be explained other than you know it when you smell it

a handmade fire, not the electric kind everyone opts for these days

fresh clothes, still warm from the dryer

new books and old books

and soup