This is not a review, but a review sparked a memory of reading. I may litter more of these (including the time I started dreaming in print) later on, but for now, here’s the first:

Back in the zeitgeist of The Hunger Games, I found myself reading the good but very depressing series.

I can’t remember how I originally came about reading the first book. I’d seen it on the shelves, and I’d heard of it, though I didn’t know anyone who’d read it (at least no one was talking about reading it).

It was just a book with some media buzz.

Eventually, I gave it a try and thoroughly enjoyed it. I read it over the span of a few days. Once it was done, I got the second book, of course. It was only available in hardback then

When I’d grabbed Catching Fire, I’d intended it to last me through a trip. I was heading for a conference in Canada, so I thought it would work for my plane trips from Florida.

I underestimated myself and the crack-like nature of the series.

The problem started because I began the book before I got on the plane. I had to travel with some other folks, and they had a conference they had to attend, so I was tagging along at a work event that I wasn’t working.

So I read.

I had nothing but downtime and nowhere to spend my time. I was reading in the hotel room. I read in the car on the way there. I read at the conference center. I read in the airport.

And then I finished the stupid book that was supposed to last me through the week before I even got on the first plane.

So I bought the third book. Also in hardback.

We flew from Orlando to Houston, and I read most of the way. And I read during the layover. And I read on the flight from Houston to Edmonton.

And I finished the stupid book before I got off the plane in Canada.

After the conference is when the real trouble starts. If you’ll remember, I’d taken Catching Fire with me to last the trip. And then I finished Mockingjay before I’d officially set foot on Canadian soil.

I was still two flights and a two-hour car ride short of finishing the trip.

In the airport, I went looking for a book to read. One of things I like about flying (re: the only thing I like about flying) is that airports are one of the last places that bookstores still exist in earnest. People get bored and need a book to read on the plane so they can ignore their neighbor. And so I have a (bad) habit of wandering into airport bookstores because they’re the only bookstores I see on a regular basis.

Except in Edmonton. At least in the terminal I was in.

Instead of getting a bookstore, I was stuck with one of those kiosks that sells books, water, chips, and pillows.

Luckily, the selection was pretty fair. I ended up landing on a book I’d actually been avoiding for a few months: What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell.

I actually really enjoyed his first three books, but I’d dodged this one because I knew it was old articles of his, from The New Yorker if I remember correctly. I didn’t like the idea of buying a book of recycled articles. Luckily, it actually read fairly similarly to his other books and was enjoyable.

The real kicker is that it was another hardback. Yep, that’s three hardbacks on one trip.

Now if I was really awesome, I’d tell you about how I finished the book before I landed in Orlando. Unfortunately, I’m not quite that awesome, and What the Dog Saw is a more-involved read that The Hunger Games books.

But yeah, that’s one of my favorite reading stories. I set out on a trip with one hardback and came home with three. It’s because of stories like this that I’m glad I have a kindle. I would have lost an entire shelf to Game of Thrones books, whereas on my current trip, I was carrying 8 unread books, and almost 60 books I could reread all without taking up the space of a single paperback.