Author name: Roger Hyttinen

Why I Ditched Audible and Fell in Love with Libro.fm (And Why You Might Too)

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Handsome clean-shaven young man 18-22 wearing headphones

So here’s a little confession: I used to be that guy. You know the one—I had a recurring Audible subscription and a library of audiobooks narrated by overly peppy voices that I kept meaning to finish. It was convenient. It was easy. But somewhere along the way, I realized I was quietly funneling money into the great, sprawling Amazonian beast. And the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me.

Then I found Libro.fm, and suddenly, I felt like I’d just discovered some magical little indie coffee shop in a world full of Starbucks. You know that feeling when you walk into a used bookstore and the air smells like paper, dust, and endless possibility? That’s what Libro.fm feels like, but for audiobooks.

Not Just Another Audiobook App

At first glance, Libro.fm works pretty much like Audible. You pay a monthly fee (currently $14.99), and in return, you get one audiobook credit per month plus access to a bunch of great deals and curated playlists. But here’s the kicker: instead of handing over your money to Amazon, you’re supporting a local independent bookstore of your choice. Every. Single. Time.

Yes, seriously.

You get your audiobook, and your chosen indie bookstore gets a cut. It’s like the ultimate bookish win-win. I chose Boswell Books in Milwaukee, which is one of my favorite real-world bookstores—friendly staff, great events, and that dreamy smell of old wood floors and new pages. But there are tons of bookstores you can pick from, depending on where you live or just who you want to support. No gatekeeping.

Why I’m Smitten With Libro.fm

Let’s talk pros. Because there are many. Grab a snack.

1. It Feels Good to Shop Here
There’s something deeply satisfying about knowing my audiobook habit is actually helping keep indie bookstores afloat. Every time I hit “Buy,” I don’t feel that little pang of regret like I used to with Amazon. I feel… kinda noble? Like a literary Robin Hood, but less arrows and more earbuds.

2. You Actually Own Your Audiobooks
This is a big one. With Audible, you’re kinda renting your books—if you ever cancel your membership, you can keep what you’ve downloaded but you’re still locked into Amazon’s ecosystem. With Libro.fm, you’re buying DRM-free audio files. That means you can download them, back them up, play them on any device. It’s yours. Forever. Like in the Before Times.

3. The App is Pretty Dang Good
I was skeptical. I mean, could they really rival Audible’s slick interface? But yeah, they totally can. The Libro.fm app has all the good stuff: sleep timer, variable speed playback (hello, 1.25x, my old friend), bookmarks, and an intuitive layout that doesn’t require a PhD in “why won’t this play on my phone.” I’ve used it on both iOS and Android with no hiccups.

4. The Staff Picks and Playlists Are Actually Cool
They’ve got these themed playlists curated by real bookstore employees—people who actually read and care. Not weird algorithm-generated “You might also like this 27-hour lecture on 18th-century plowing techniques.” I’ve found some absolute gems this way. It’s like having your favorite bookseller whispering in your ear.

5. You Can Gift Credits or Start a Membership for Someone
Perfect for that friend who says they don’t have time to read (but you know they’re stuck in traffic for 40 minutes every morning). Or just for someone who could use a pick-me-up that isn’t socks or a scented candle. Audiobooks = serotonin.

6. They’re Transparent AF
I love that they’re super open about where the money goes. You can see how much your bookstore earns, what the revenue split is, and they’re big on community and ethics. It’s refreshing. There’s no sleazy corporate fog hanging over them.

The (Very Tiny) Cons

Okay, I promised to be honest, so here are a couple of minor nitpicks:

  • They don’t have every single book Audible does. Some publishers are still being weird about distribution. But I’ve only run into this a handful of times, and it’s getting better.
  • No fancy “free Audible Originals” or whatever. But honestly, I never listened to those anyway, so
 no real loss?

So yeah…

Libro.fm just feels better. Like, spiritually. It aligns with my “support small, skip the Bezos empire” values, and it doesn’t ask me to compromise on quality or convenience to do it. If anything, it makes me feel more connected to the book world—and more excited to hit “play” on the next story.

So if you’ve ever felt a little icky sending your audiobook money into the Bezos void, give Libro.fm a try. You might just fall for it like I did. And hey, if you do sign up, pick your favorite indie bookstore to support. Or copy me and go with Boswell Books—those folks are the real deal.

Currently listening to: “The House in the Cerulean Sea” and crying in public like it’s a lifestyle.

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Books That Made Me Cry in Public (And I Regret Nothing)

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man reading a book and crying at a cafe

Yes, I was That Guy sobbing in the corner of the coffee shop. No, I’m not sorry.

Look, I didn’t plan on turning into a human puddle on a park bench while reading a paperback with a cracked spine. It just
 happened. You know that moment when you’re so deep into a book that the world kind of melts away—and then the author wrecks you with a single sentence? Yeah. That.

Books have a dangerous power, and apparently, I like to flirt with emotional destruction in public spaces. Here’s a short, shame-free list of the books that made me cry in full view of strangers—and why I’d 100% do it again.

1. A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

Oh boy. I started this one thinking I was emotionally stable enough for a 700+ page literary drama about four friends in New York. I was so wrong. This book broke me in quiet, sneaky ways—little things at first. And then, somewhere around page 400, I was full-on sobbing into a napkin at a local cafĂ© while trying to discreetly blow my nose like I wasn’t unraveling on a Thursday afternoon.

The writing is haunting. The trauma is relentless. And Jude? Don’t talk to me about Jude unless you want me to spiral again.

2. They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera

Yes, the title kind of spoils it, but no amount of mental prep saved me from the gut punch this book delivers. I read it in one sitting on a long train ride. Picture me: headphones in, hoodie up, trying to look cool while weeping silently as Rufus and Mateo live out their last day. Strangers absolutely noticed. One lady offered me a tissue. It was a moment.

It’s sad, yes—but also weirdly life-affirming. Which is such a Silvera move.

3. The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

This one hits different if you know your Greek mythology—and by “hits,” I mean it launches a spear through your heart and twists it. I read most of it on my porch, but I made the very bad decision to finish it at the park. Let’s just say I looked like I was going through a breakup with someone named Patroclus, and I absolutely whispered “no” out loud like five times.

The prose is lyrical. The love is tender. The ending? Cruel. Beautiful. Unforgettable.

4. The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune

Okay, this one is less “devastation” and more “crying because something is so pure it makes your heart ache.” I was on a plane, minding my own business, when Lucy (the Antichrist, by the way) said something heartbreakingly sweet and I just… lost it. Quiet tears. Very sniffly. I think the guy next to me thought I was terrified of flying. I wasn’t. I was just overwhelmed by wholesome queer found-family joy.

This book is basically a gentle hug that sneaks up and karate-chops your tear ducts.

5. The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

Existential crisis, party of one! I picked this up at the library and ended up reading half of it at a quiet diner during breakfast. Nora’s journey through all the lives she could have lived had me wiping my eyes between bites of French toast. The woman pouring coffee didn’t say anything, but she did keep refilling my mug like she understood the assignment.

It’s a hopeful book about regret, choices, and finding meaning in your current mess of a life—which is exactly what I needed that week.

6. If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio

I brought this to the beach, thinking I was getting dark academia vibes and maybe some light murder. I was not emotionally prepared for the ending. Sand stuck to my tears. I looked like a character from a tragic coastal romance. But the writing? Absolutely stunning. Shakespearean without being pretentious. Dramatic in all the best ways.

Would I cry in public again for it? Yes. Even knowing what’s coming.

Crying in Public Is My New Superpower

There’s something weirdly cathartic about losing your composure over fictional people while surrounded by real ones. It’s like your soul just can’t contain itself, so it leaks out your eyeballs, and all the people in the coffee shop get front-row seats to your literary breakdown. But honestly? I kind of love it.

These books cracked me open in ways I didn’t expect, and if that means occasionally embarrassing myself at Panera Bread, so be it. I’d rather feel too much than not at all.

So yeah, I’ve been that guy crying on the train, at the airport, in the corner of a bookstore. And if you spot someone doing the same? Don’t judge—maybe just slide them a tissue and ask what they’re reading.

Because odds are… it’s worth it.

P.S. Got a book that emotionally destroyed you in public? Tell me. I probably want it.

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My Favorite Queer Movies That Don’t End in Tragedy

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AdobeStock 285486791.

There was a time when watching queer movies felt like voluntarily signing up for emotional devastation. Like, “Oh, what’s this? A touching love story between two men set in a small town? Cool, can’t wait to watch one of them die slowly in the rain or get sent away forever by disapproving parents.” Cue violins and trauma.

And don’t even get me started on the whole “bury your gays” nonsense. I’ve seen more tragic queer storylines than I’ve seen reruns of Golden Girls—and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of Golden Girls.

So today, I’m serving up some cinematic joy. These are my go-to queer movies that don’t end with heartbreak, funerals, or one partner flying off to another continent to start a life of quiet suffering. These are the movies that gave us queer characters who live, love, and—gasp—get a happy ending. Imagine that!

1. The Way He Looks (2014)

Brazilian, tender, and so sweet you might get a little sugar rush. It’s about a blind teenager named Leo and his friendship-turned-romance with Gabriel, the new boy at school. There’s no dramatic outing, no tragic accident—just a slowly blooming love story that left my heart feeling weirdly… full? Like, in a good way. I watched it with a stupid grin the whole time.

Bonus: the music is lowkey perfect and makes me want to dance barefoot in the rain.

2. Love, Simon (2018)

Yes, it’s teen rom-com fluff, but it’s our teen rom-com fluff. I cried when I first saw this—not because it was tragic, but because I realized I’d never had anything like this growing up. Simon is just a regular high school kid with a supportive family and friends, trying to figure out who his anonymous online crush is. The Ferris wheel scene? Adorable. This movie walked so more queer rom-coms could run.

And yes, I absolutely shipped Simon and Bram from the moment Bram spilled that Oreo.

3. Red, White & Royal Blue (2023)

This movie is pure fanfic energy in the best possible way—and I say that with total affection. The First Son of the United States and the Prince of England accidentally fall into a cake, and then fall into each other. There are secret rendezvous, flirty texts, political drama, and a steamy lake house moment that had me pausing the movie like five times just to grin at the screen.

It’s campy, dramatic, earnest, and incredibly satisfying. And the ending? Oh yeah—they fight for each other and get their happy ending. Cue me yelling “YESSS” at my TV while clutching a throw pillow.

4. Saving Face (2004)

Okay, this one is so underrated it hurts. A Chinese-American woman is juggling being closeted, a surgeon, and dealing with her very pregnant and very traditional mother. Sounds stressful? Yeah—but it’s also romantic, funny, and warm in all the right ways. There’s queer joy, cultural identity, and actual character growth.

Also, Vivian. Just
 Vivian. You’ll see what I mean.

5. Imagine Me & You (2005)

If you’ve ever wanted to shout “LOOK AT HOW CUTE THEY ARE” at your TV screen, this one’s for you. It’s a British rom-com where a woman realizes she might not be as into her new husband as she is into the woman arranging the flowers at her wedding. Classic setup, right?

The chemistry between Rachel and Luce is off the charts, and yes, it actually ends happily. It’s charming, awkward, and full of those “oops I fell for a woman” vibes.

6. But I’m a Cheerleader (1999)

Campy. Colorful. And absolutely iconic. Natasha Lyonne plays a teenager sent to a conversion camp (gross), where she ends up falling for fellow camper Clea DuVall (swoon). Yes, the setup sounds tragic, but the execution is pure queer rebellion wrapped in neon pink.

This movie is equal parts absurd satire and genuinely heartfelt. It flips the conversion trope on its head and gives us a sapphic ending that still makes me cheer. Pun intended.

7. Dating Amber (2020)

Set in 1990s Ireland, this one hit me in the feelings but didn’t leave me broken. Two queer teens—one gay, one lesbian—decide to fake-date each other to get through school without harassment. What starts as a plan of convenience slowly becomes this deep, supportive friendship that had me yelling “PROTECT THEM AT ALL COSTS.”

No one dies. No one gets hit by a truck. It’s just… honest and hopeful.

8. Alex Strangelove (2018)

Another high school coming-out film that ends on a high note. Alex is figuring out his sexuality while navigating a straight-presenting relationship. It’s awkward, messy, and super relatable. And the final kiss? Yeah. I might’ve squealed. I regret nothing.

A Few Honorable Mentions:

  • Happiest Season (2020) — Okay, this one is a little fraught, but we still get a happy couple at the end, and Aubrey Plaza is in a suit. So. There’s that.
  • Moonlight (2016) — Not exactly sunshine and daisies, but it’s not tragic either. It’s quiet, emotional, and ends on a moment of connection and softness.
  • Maurice (1987) — A literal miracle for its time. It’s a period drama with a happy ending. Like, what?

Why This Matters (and Why I Won’t Shut Up About It)

Look—I love a good cry as much as the next queer drama queen. But sometimes? I just want to see people like me fall in love and not be punished for it. I want soft kisses under streetlights, clumsy confessions in bedrooms, dancing in kitchens, and goofy smiles at the end of the movie instead of existential despair.

We’ve had enough of the tragic endings. It’s time we get more queer stories that end in laughter, love, and maybe even a sequel.

Alright, your turn: what are your favorite queer movies that don’t wreck your soul?

P.S. If you haven’t watched Red, White & Royal Blue, please go experience that joy. I’ll wait.

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Best Travel Hacks I’ve Learned from Frequent Flyers

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Inside of the airport 2 pieces of luggage in front of window

Because I want to glide through airports like a smug little travel goblin and never get stuck behind someone unpacking their entire life at TSA again.

So, I’ve caught the travel bug. Not the “oops I ate something sketchy on the street in Bangkok” kind of bug, but the “I literally browse Google Flights like it’s Netflix” kind. My new favorite hobby is jetting off to random places and pretending I’m starring in some indie movie about self-discovery (complete with dramatic airport walkaways and mysterious background music that only I can hear).

And because I’m extra like that, I started collecting travel hacks like PokĂ©mon cards—especially from those magical beings known as frequent flyers. You know the type: people who somehow look fresh after a red-eye, know which airports have the best bathrooms, and pack like they’re playing 3D chess.

So here are some of the best travel hacks I’ve picked up from those well-seasoned sky nomads, complete with personal notes, mild chaos, and the occasional over-share.

1. TSA PreCheck (or Global Entry) Is Not a Luxury—It’s a Sanity Saver

I used to be one of those people doing the frantic laptop-sneaker-liquids strip dance at security. Not anymore.

Get. PreCheck. I swear this is the most life-changing $78 I’ve ever spent (and yes, I’ve bought LED shower heads and an emotional support water bottle—this still wins). Global Entry is even better if you do international travel; it includes PreCheck and gets you through customs like a boss.

Bonus: no more side-eye from TSA agents while you untangle your backpack like it’s a fishing net.

2. Packing Cubes Are Your New Religion

I used to scoff at packing cubes. I mean, how organized could one person really be?

Then I tried them. And now I evangelize.

They keep your stuff from exploding all over your suitcase and make living out of a bag feel… weirdly peaceful? I organize by category—shirts in one, underwear in another, questionable impulse purchases in their own “what was I thinking” cube.

You can also play Tetris with them in your suitcase and feel like you’ve got your life together. It’s deeply satisfying.

3. Always Pack a Change of Clothes in Your Personal Item

I learned this the hard way, friends. My checked bag once took a surprise vacation to Toronto while I landed in Paris, smelling like airplane and regret.

Now I keep a change of underwear, socks, and a fresh t-shirt in my backpack always. If my bag gets delayed or goes rogue, at least I’m not wandering around a foreign city looking like a disheveled travel zombie.

Also handy if someone spills tomato juice on you mid-flight. (It happens. I have stains to prove it.)

4. Roll Your Clothes, Don’t Fold Them

Another tip that sounded dumb until I tried it. Rolling = more space + fewer wrinkles. I even roll my socks and shove them into my shoes like a travel gremlin storing treasures. You’d be amazed how much extra space that frees up.

Especially important if you’re like me and can’t resist buying “just one more shirt” while abroad. (Spoiler: it’s never just one more.)

5. Use Google Maps Offline Like a Local Wizard

Before you leave, open Google Maps and download the area where you’ll be staying. It’ll still work without Wi-Fi or data. You can wander around confidently while pretending you know what you’re doing—even if you’re hopelessly lost and just trying to find an ATM that doesn’t charge you $12 for withdrawals.

Bonus: if you star restaurants and museums ahead of time, they’ll show up on the map like magic little breadcrumb trails.

6. Hydrate Like Your Life Depends On It (Because It Kinda Does)

Flying dehydrates you more than you think. One frequent flyer told me they drink a liter of water before boarding and avoid caffeine completely.

I… don’t go that far. (I’m not giving up my airport latte, let’s not be dramatic.) But I do bring a collapsible water bottle and fill it up post-security. It’s way cheaper than paying $6 for airport water, and my skin doesn’t feel like it’s been sandblasted midair.

7. Hotel Hacking: Ask for a Corner Room or a Higher Floor

This one’s gold. When checking in, ask (nicely) if they have any corner rooms or higher floor options. A lot of times, you’ll get a quieter, larger room with better views without paying extra. Politeness goes a long way—and if you’re traveling solo, they sometimes even bump you up just for being easy.

Worst-case scenario? They say no. Best case? You’re sipping tea in a skyline-view room like a smug little travel cat.

8. Noise-Canceling Headphones Are Not a Luxury—They’re Armor

If you’ve ever sat near a screaming child, a loud snorer, or a guy watching TikToks at full volume, you know the pain.

Get noise-canceling headphones. Trust me. Not only do they make flights less rage-inducing, but they also double as a universal “please don’t talk to me” sign. Slip them on, cue your travel playlist (mine’s a weird mix of lo-fi beats and synthy 80s pop), and just vibe.

9. Screenshot Everything

Hotel reservations, flight info, local directions, that weird voucher email you swore you’d print but didn’t—screenshot it all. Don’t rely on Wi-Fi or battery life when you’re panicking at a check-in desk in a country where you barely speak the language. I keep a “Travel” album in my photos app just for this stuff.

You’ll thank yourself when you’re running on two hours of sleep and trying to remember if your hostel is called “Casa Luna” or “Luna Casa.”

So… Why Am I So Obsessed With Travel Hacks?

Honestly? It’s partly control-freak energy, but it’s also about making travel feel good. I don’t want to just _get through_airports and hotels—I want to enjoy the whole dang thing. I want to glide through security like I belong there, pack like a minimalist ninja, and arrive at my destination feeling human, not feral.

Travel’s already chaotic. A few good hacks make it way less stressful and a lot more fun.

So if you’re also out here pretending to be a glamorous world explorer when in reality you just got toothpaste on your hoodie… welcome. You’re my people.

P.S. If you have a weirdly specific travel tip (like how to smuggle bananas through customs—I’m not judging), drop it my way. I’m always collecting.

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Brains, Brawn, and Bizarre Flags: Asimov Might’ve Been Psychic

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cowboy waving an American flag

You ever read a quote and feel personally attacked by how spot-on it is?

“When stupidity is considered patriotism, it is unsafe to be intelligent.”
—Isaac Asimov

Yeah. That one hit me like a rogue shopping cart in a Walmart parking lot. Full force, no warning, and possibly carrying a six-pack of Mountain Dew and a tattered American flag.

I’ve always admired Asimov for being this beautifully brainy sci-fi sage with a thousand IQ points and an eyebrow permanently raised at humanity’s messes. But this quote? This quote feels like he time-traveled straight into 2025, took one look around, muttered “Oh hell no,” and zipped right back to his typewriter in the ‘80s to warn us.

Let’s talk about it.

So here we are, in a world where yelling conspiracy theories at a school board meeting gets you applause, but citing peer-reviewed research gets you side-eyes and possibly a restraining order from your cousin. (You know the one. Everyone has that cousin.)

I don’t know when intelligence started to feel like a threat to people, but it’s like somewhere along the line, critical thinking got replaced by TikTok rants filmed from the driver’s seat of a pickup truck. And heaven forbid you say anything nuanced—anything that involves maybe two thoughts existing in the same brain at once. Nope. That’s dangerous. That’s unpatriotic. That’s—gasp—elitist.

It’s like we’ve collectively decided that knowing stuff is suspicious. Scientists? Lying to you.
Historians? Probably part of the deep state.
Teachers? Indoctrinators.
Librarians? Literal witches.

Meanwhile, if you scream “FREEDOM” while waving a Don’t Tread on Me flag you bought on Amazon, you’re suddenly a national treasure. A bold thinker. A patriot. A “real American.” (Whatever that even means these days.)

I don’t know, friends. I love this country. I really do. But I’m tired of watching intelligence be treated like a liability. Like asking questions, changing your mind, or—god forbid—admitting you were wrong is somehow un-American.

Wanting kids to learn real history? Shouldn’t be controversial.
Supporting science? Not an act of war.
Not wanting to die in a climate apocalypse? Honestly feels kind of reasonable?

Anyway, Asimov nailed it. He saw this coming decades ago, and now we’re living in his “I told you so” moment. It’s not fun. But it is weirdly validating?

So what do we do?

We stay smart.
We stay curious.
We ask questions, even when it’s uncomfortable.
And when someone tells us that intelligence is the enemy, we remind them—gently, if we can, bluntly if we must—that loving your country doesn’t mean turning your brain off.

It means wanting better. For everyone.

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“So Many Shows, So Little…Interest?”

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handsome clean-shaven blond man watching TV

So here’s a weird little confession: I love TV. Like, love it. But not in the way you’re probably thinking. I love the _idea_of TV. The potential. The promise. The sweet, tantalizing list of series lined up in my queue like a buffet I will definitely never eat. I’m subscribed to so many streaming services I’ve honestly lost count. Hulu, Netflix, Max (is it still just “Max”? It sounds like an off-brand multivitamin), Apple TV, Prime, Disney+—I basically fund half of Hollywood and watch maybe… 2 episodes a month? On a good week?

And yet—yet—I keep adding shows to my list like I’m collecting rare stamps. Shows people rave about. Shows that win awards. Shows I’ve watched trailers for and thought, Yes. This. This will be my next personality for the next 10 hours. But by the time I finish writing for the day, squeeze in an editing session, feed myself something vaguely resembling dinner, and stare at my open notebook like it personally betrayed me…I’m done. Spent. Wiped. All I want is to read a book, which, let’s be real, is still a type of escapism—I just happen to prefer mine with paper cuts and zero autoplay countdowns.

Seriously, my “Continue Watching” list is pure shame. There’s a show I started in 2019 still sitting there with one episode watched. One. Episode. I apparently didn’t even have the stamina for the full pilot. And don’t get me started on documentaries. I’ll be like, Ooooh, a four-part series on cursed towns and haunted sewers! and then I never hit play because it’s 9:15 p.m. and that’s practically midnight in writer time.

And yes, I hear you: “But you’ll miss so many good shows!” I know. Trust me, I know. I’ve read think pieces, seen the memes, nodded along in group chats pretending I’ve seen The Bear (I haven’t), Yellowjackets (nope), The Last of Us(only clips). I could practically write essays on shows I’ve never watched. Maybe I should start doing that. Meta-reviews. Ghost-viewing, if you will.

At this point, I think it’s time to admit that my streaming subscriptions are more of a security blanket than an entertainment source. I keep them around “just in case.” Like how I keep five jars of peanut butter even though I don’t really eat peanut butter. It’s the idea of possibility. Possibility is seductive.

But maybe it’s time to Marie Kondo this mess. If I haven’t watched anything on Starz in a year…do I really need it? Is it sparking joy or just sparking $8.99 monthly charges?

So yeah. I like the idea of TV. I like imagining that I’ll someday sit down and watch Stranger Things season 4, or Succession, or whatever new buzzy show everyone’s yelling about. But I probably won’t. Not because I don’t care. But because my to-be-read pile is flirting with structural collapse, and I’ve got a fictional detective to wrangle into a plot twist before midnight.

Alright, I’m off to cancel a streaming service. Or at least think really hard about doing it.

P.S. If you’ve figured out how to balance TV, books, and writing without losing your mind, please share. I’ll probably read your message…while not watching TV.

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