How I Spent My Games of Thrones Vacation...

No, this post isn’t about how I spent my time visiting Westeros. I wish! Actually, no, I don’t. I think I’d last half a day in Westeros before having at least one body part violently removed. I’d be lucky to survive a week. Rather, this post is about how I spent the long, grueling months between the end of HBO’s Game of Thrones season 4 and this Sunday’s premiere of season 5. At the top of each of my season 4 recaps, I noted that while I loved the show, I had never read any of the books. A couple of commenters apparently didn’t notice that, which led to some unintentionally funny angry comments about me not being a “real fan” for resorting to nicknames instead of remembering the actual name of yet another brown bearded, scraggly haired white guy. The most common insult thrown my way was “Did you even read the books?” No, I didn’t. It said so right there at the top. I had no plans to read the books. I was really enjoying the TV show, loved the way the show presented the story and didn’t want to spoil any plot points from the story. I liked being shocked when the Red Viper had his face caved in by the Mountain. If I knew that was coming, it wouldn’t have carried the same weight. But when season 4 ended, I was jonesing Game of Thrones bad. I needed more. I went back and watched season 1 again. It didn’t satiate. I knew I could watch the entire series again and I’d still have the hunger for more content. So I did what I said I wouldn’t. I started reading the books. I started with the first book in The Song...