Despite receiving two interesting books for Christmas—John Darnton’s The Darwin Conspiracy and Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father—yesterday turned out to be rather depressing: I didn’t call my mom to wish her a merry Christmas. I hadn’t planned on being at my friend’s parents’ house past five or six, so when I finally crawled through the front door at ten at night, I was already wracked with guilt. Mom’s pretty understanding—she lives on the east coast, putting her two hours ahead of me—but that doesn’t really make me feel any better.

The books I received are small consolation and though I’m pretty close to my friend’s family, I was a bit surprised that they picked books that pertain to my interests. I’ve always had a certain fascination with Charles Darwin’s The Origin of Species—I imagine my friend mentioned how much I talk to him about the theory of evolution—so The Darwin Conspiracy was a welcome surprise. And considering Barack Obama’s possible (certain?) presidential candidacy, his memoir is definitely something I should take advantage of, if only because (I hope) it’ll give me more insight into one of the country’s most popular politicians. It’s not every day—or any day, for that matter—that we’re offered a memoir that was written ten years before the author considered running for Senate and the presidency.