Komputer Lieben

Robots.

Pixar.

Robots.

Pixar.

Robots.

Pixar.

Just think about it. Let it sink in for a moment.

Wall-E is already my favorite movie of the year, and I haven't even seen it yet, foo'.

Even cowgirls get the blues.

At the bookstore I work at, we're keeping that Sarah McLachlan "Best Of" with the song from the uber-depressing flashback scene in Toy Story 2 on near-incessant rotation (sometimes when they're feeling particularly merciful they switch it out for Frank Sinatra [almost always "New York New York" and "It was a Very Good Year," which is decidedly more melancholy than its brethren and probably consequently my favorite of Ol' Blue Eyes'] or the new Elvis Costello). I have nothing against Ms. McLachlan, save for the fact that her music brings to mind images of neglected cowgirl dolls and abandoned animals. It occasionally catches me off-guard during slower periods in the day and is ridiculously conducive to self-pity; it's a fail-safe way to make me wanna to curl into the fetal position and sob

Otherwise, the Borders job is pretty amazing as far as working in retail hell goes. Speaking of all things Pixar-related, one of the greatest perks being able to take home pretty much any book I want for two weeks (I have an insane public library fine thanks to a combination of personal irresponsibility and junior year term paper, don't laugh at me). This means I'm checking out books that I want to read but would never buy like a mofo; I'm currently borrowing David A. Price's the Pixar Touch. I could write about how I find the company's history fairly inspiring (because I totally do), or how disheartening it was to find out what a dick George Lucas was to a bunch of enthusiastic young people, but instead I really just want to say...

...you thought eating raw fruit and seeds would eliminate the need to bathe? Really, Steve Jobs? Really? My goodness.


I had the day off today, so I spent most of it lounging around reading said book. Molly and I went out for dinner at our favorite local Jew-owned deli (Katz's). Note to self: I could totally swing the whole vegetarian thing if Reuben sandwiches weren't so damn delicious. Afterwards we swung by Sara's, got coffee, and window-shopped. I picked up a copy of Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke (a sci-fi biggie I've yet to read anything by, because frankly 2001 always intimidated me when it wasn't putting me to sleep) for a dollar at Half Price. Speaking of science fiction I own, I want my copy of PKD's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? back after rewatching Blade Runner; why it is no longer in my possession it is a long, complicated, and infuriating story. Okay, so it's really only the latter and I could always go out and buy another copy for fairly cheap, but it's really the principle of the thing and it makes me wary about lending my books out to other people ever again. Actually, since I'm terrible at returning books and people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones and all, I don't normally mind people keeping my books. Keep them, love them, whatever, god knows I do, that's what they're there for and chances are I probably won't be reading them again any time soon; just don't claim they're actually YOURS and make a big fucking deal about it, ya jerk. (Here's an abridged version of the heartwarming tale: Girl buys book, girl happily lends book to boyfriend's best friend, boyfriend's best friend returns book to girl in front of boyfriend, boyfriend claims it is actually HIS book that girl borrowed, boyfriend is wrong but girl does not feel like arguing anymore even though she clearly remembers purchasing book at Half Price for $2.98 and having a conversation with the cashier about it, girl offers to let boyfriend have book to avoid further confrontation because the relationship was already on the rocks as it is and hey, what's three dollars?, girl is a moron for voluntarily putting herself in the wrong despite knowing otherwise but and the considerable level of resentment she still harbors concerning her missing mass market paperbacks is probably unhealthy at best.) I digress!


As mentioned in a previous entry, the air conditioning in my car works only sporadically, meaning I show up to work looking like a refugee from a natural disaster as a result of having to roll the windows down. Luckily enough, some music (particularly all things 90s slacker-chic) seems to be made for the specific purpose of driving-with-the-windows-down-in-sweltering-Houston-heat. Off the top of my head, artists include Galaxie 500, Pavement, Slowdive (particularly at night), Spiritualized, Catherine Wheel, and Big Star. Perhaps a formal list will follow some other time, but for now I do believe sleep is in my best interest.

I'm sittin' here lookin' at the teevee, burnin' holes in everything that I can.

I made my triumphant return to the smog-filled metropolis of Houston, Texas to find that the livin' is, unsurprisingly enough, hell. The fan in my room is broken, my car's air conditioning is kaput and I'm currently too po' to fix any of it. Because of this, I've been driving with my windows down. After dropping my beloved compadre Maddy off (she kindly accompanied me on my epic hunt for the elusive mythical beast known as "Summerus Retailus Jobius," a traditional rite of passage in several countries throughout the western hemisphere), I decided to take action before I have any excuse to be cynical about this situation (yeah, I know what a swell attitude that is--shutupshutupshutup, it's called "Murphy's Law," bitches). Cue a one-man sing-along to Bjork's "Venus as a Boy" with the bass turned up and the windows down at 60 MPH! Woo!

Comprehensively meaningless.

Okay fine, Karma! You can stop now! I get it already!

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

My apologies for the last entry; it was a bad night and I was a bit frustrated after realizing that I'm in a bit of a stalemate with my current prospect. I of course chose to channel my frustrations through that one form of catharsis possibly unhealthier than not saying anything at all: ONLINE JOURNALING! You see, I can usually rely on my good ol' Compaq to bluescreen before I actually post whatever I write, but the gods chose not to spare me such embarassment this time around. This is for the record: I'm perfectly content with my Sci-Fridays and Dorothy Parker-filled evenings (spinster training!) and like to think that I am not nearly as pathetic as virtual sources would imply. I keep this thing primarily for my own personal amusement, which explains the utter lack of substance; I never really expected anyone to acknowledge, much less give a shit about my online presence. It's flattering, humbling, and bit odd, truthfully. So hello, readership! Nice to know ya!


Instead of preparing for finals, I've been looking into exchange opportunities that I probably won't be able to pursue if I don't start getting my lazy ass in gear. Hmm. Right now, my top choice through UNT is University of Leeds in...well, Leeds, England. Apparently Tolkien taught linguistics there for about five years before writing Lord of the Rings and going on to teach at Oxford. My nerdly heart just started goin' pitter-patter.


THINGS YOU DO NOT DISCUSS AT THE DINNER TABLE:
1. Politics
2. Religion
3. John Cage
4. 4chan

That is all.

Why I Love Denton, Texas: Part I

I was walking down to the Denton town square, a lone ranger on a quest for used books for ridiculously reasonable prices. There's this one intersection that requires pedestrians to say, like, six rosaries and a leap of faith in order to cross it and make it across intact. As I was waiting to cross, a guy on a bike rode up and waited next to me. We were finally able to cross, but more cars still were coming up to the intersection.

Once we make it to the other side, Guy on Bike (who is, as you can well imagine, going substantially faster than me since he's on a bike and all) turns to me and shouts: "IT'S LIKE A REAL-LIFE GAME OF FROGGER!" and zooms off into the horizon.

I fucking love Denton.

Alpha beta gaga.

+ Ordering books online.
+ DAFT PUNK.


- MOTHERFRACKING TECHNICAL WRITING

Ted on Ayn Rand.

"I read licensed fantasy novels, and she's STILL probably the poorest writer I know of."

It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls of independent means.

Had one of those astonishing "Wow, this song is oddly appropriate" moments yesterday.

If you are rational, indifferent, have a vagina, and would not mind listening to me whine and/or giving honest advice as necessary, you should give me a call. Your services would be greatly appreciated--I'm tired of being told what people think I want to hear (conversely, I'm also through with unwarranted paternalism and people who aren't related to me who think they know what I need--maybe I'm just fickle). For now, I'll just settle for a nice shower instead.

I came to the realization that I spend a ridiculously depressing amount of time thinking "Wow, I wish I would have thought of that" to myself. Ouch!

On another note, I got one of those Faith-in-Humanity boosts from an incredibly unexpected source the other day. I don't know if "reconcilation" is the right word for it, because we never really knew one another in the first place (save for some wildly misinterpreted third party information we'd heard about each other), but it was good to talk things through civilly instead of the potential catfight I had, for some reason, always envisioned ensuing. She seems like a decent sort and frankly, any questionable actions are entirely justifiable and I'm frankly a little angry at myself for even letting myself be convinced otherwise momentarily. Some people just need someone to talk to, donchaknow.

Of modern girls and old-fashioned men.

Frankly Tyler, you are awesome. Why? Because not many other people are willing to go out for coffee with me at 1 am and talk to me about about life, love, wuv, infatuation, the difference between the three, music, law, robots, and several combinations thereof. (The same goes for Zak.)

A sort of mournful cosmic last resort.

I've been feeling a bit out of step with everything, unfortunately. Spring Break really seems to have thrown off whatever equilibrium I'd achieved during the first half of the semester. They say "toe-may-toe," I say "toe-mah-toe," etc. I love them all, of course, to varying extents. Just not feelin' it, as it were, and any annoyance is really my own damned fault because I insist on socializing against my better judgment anyway and subjecting other people to my ridiculous mood swings and tendency to drastically over-analyze everything (pardonez-moi) instead of just sitting in my room and getting shit done like I really probably should be doing.

I've been trying my damnedest to strike a balance between online journaling and kickin' it old skool with ye olde pen-and-paper; the gods of technology have decided to spontaneously give me the blue screen (the greatest of digital "fuck-you"s). It's really quite generous of them, as it usually happens at the peaks of my angst and spares me a lot of potential embarrassment, assuming anyone reads this in the first place (highly unlikely). The internet is no place for the earnest.

"Goddammit Caroline, wear your pretensions on your sleeve." - the venerable Tyler Thomas

I'm currently taking a British Literature course that's moving far slower and covering way less material than the one I took in high school. However, my opinion on a lot of the stuff we're reading has changed with "age" and [minimal, admittedly] perspective (cue grandma mode; "back in MAH DAY..."; etc.) and it continually amazes me how much I'm LEARNING ABOUT MYSELF (ugh oh god how cheesy) by seeing how my opinions on some of them have changed. For instance, I'm actually enjoying Paradise Lost this time around. On the other hand, I don't get teary-eyed whenever I read the last stanza of "Dover Beach" anymore (yeah, that one reduced me to sobs at one point in my life, shutupshutupshutup). I appreciate it, but I don't think I'd be willing to jump Matthew Arnold's bones (or anyone else's, for that matter) if he recited his schmaltzily romantic verse for me anymore. Did I become cynical in my old age? Is it common sense? Am I secretly a replicant? The world may never know.

Truth be told, ironically, I've had a difficult time coming to terms with earnesty (my own and other peoples'). I've become increasingly aware that most of my friendships are built on an unspoken foundation of shared irreverence for pretty much everything. It's convenient in the short-term, but seems to complicate a lot of things that "matter." I suspect my difficulty with this results in many of my personal problems, ranging from rendering me terminally un-date-able (well, that's a problem, coupled with not wanting to be part of any club that would have me as a member on my side and the gradual realization that I'm not nearly as cool as I initially appear to be on theirs; yes, I HAVE been broken up with due to excessive self-deprecation before although I rarely mean any of it because I'm the biggest goddamn egotist I know) to rekindling my love for new wave music (possibly an unconsciously retaliatory action; artifice is most welcome in the wake of a bunch of acoustic guitar-wielding quasi-Bohemian douche bags) to my getting totally into the trailer for the Prince Caspian movie (please don't suck as much as Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe...) instead of putting a conclusive end (wow that was redundant) to this entry. Good night.

F-word, f-word, pardon my French.

Note to self: you should probably try developing a sense of reverence sometime in the near future.

There are some mornings when the sky looks like a road.

I was born in Houston. I've lived in the same house for eighteen out of nineteen years of my life. I've remained something of a Houston apologist long after many of my friends have virtually disowned the place. However, I've grown increasingly disillusioned with it during my last few visits for various reasons, many of which are personal and admittedly far beyond its control (and others which fuck with my allergies and make me cough like I'm a-dyin'). It's beginning to feel like that friend who never quite delivers, and so the drift ensues. Yeah, this is definitely partially hormonal-induced, and then there's also the distinct realization that there's just not much here for me anymore. Ah, well. Keep on keepin' on, I suppose.

I talked to my friend Norm today, which was beyond pleasant, as I've been running around like crazy this semester and haven't felt like I've carried on a half-decent AIM conversation with him in ages. As he is basically male FUTURE CAROLINE (almost creepy but totally endearing), and also because he gave me the best piece of life advice I've ever heard a couple of years ago, I'm obligated to love him forever. I'm a tad creeped out that I feel closer to an online friend than I do to most people I tangibly interact with every day, and it kind of makes me wonder how many other BIZARRO CAROLINES there are out there, lurking in the murky corners of the internet.

"If you have not as yet replied to my letter, please go on refraining. It is possible that I was mistaken and I do not willfully invite any disillusions at this point in my life. I am willing to stay in the dark."

And oh god it's pi am on easter morning and in spite of my exponentially increasing dislike of Houston, I still don't particularly want to go back to Denton. Hmm.

Inventory pt 1.

I'm a compulsive list-maker. It's an uncontrollable urge that seems to increase in conjunction with lack of sleep. Here are current high/low points.

Yay:

• My sister, because not many other people are thoughtful enough to deck my room out with creepy-ass pictures of Hilary Clinton upon my return.
• Urban Texas! Particularly Dallas, which I've really come around to during the past few days. It's dramatic and metropolitan and gorgeous--a real "superhero" kind of city. I would love to live out of state and eventually abroad for a while, but I definitely would not mind continuing to call Texas home (I never thought I'd say it).
• Non-painful crushes! No explanation needed!
• A cat to sleep on my head at night.
• Not having to toss $2+ in chunk change every time I want to do laundry.
  

Eek:

• Not having money to buy things with.
• "I am a Scientist" is the most deceptively amazing song ever; none of Guided By Voices other songs were really ever able to live up to its promise (at least as far as I'm concerned), sorry to say.
  
• My Compaq because it sounds like it's digesting small woodland creatures.
• Discussing anything involving money with mom and dad.
• I can't seem to shake this goshdarned cough.
• Coming across some short stories I wrote for junior year creative writing--ick.
  

Here's to destroying any hopes of substance!

'Unearthly' is the word.

I'm giving this Blogger thing a shot (or technically another shot; it was the first blogging service I ever used back in good ol' 7th grade), since I got tired of all of the ads on Livejournal. Maybe a post of substance in the morning, but for now, Heinlein and sleep.