All right. Even though I've seen it numerous times and it is all kinds of politically incorrect, I still find this can make me fall off my chair crying with laughter every time.

Although maybe it's just me.

I'm seriously loving Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars."

It gives me the same teary tingly tearing-up feeling as Coldplay's "The Scientist." And that's saying something.

Granted, the fact that they're adorably, moodily British helps lots.

In light of my recent entry:

You know you saw this one coming.

Dear Abby,

I wanted to share with your readers some advice, given my recent experiences. My advice is, NEVER take the Literature in English GREs. That is, unless you are particularly masochistic and enjoy suffering through 230 test questions for four hours on obscure aspects of medieval British literature that you did not know you should have ( Read more... )

Oh. That's it. Is there no such thing as love anymore? I ask you this.

At least Paul McCartney and Heather Mills are still together... oh wait.

Whitney and Bobby?

Nicole Richie and Brody Jenner??

TOM AND KATIE???

Oh good. There is some love in the world. It's just gag-me-with-a-spoon love.

Sooo today I was in the CAB office, talking to cutely adorably helpful and puppy-like Charlie about the slam in the spring. Things were going well. Until.

Me: So thanks, this sounds great. We'll let you know what date works best.
Charlie: Okay! That's great! Just let us know! I'm adorable!
Me: All right, will do. Thank you again!
Charlie: No problem!! ( Read more... )

Today was one of those days that I felt guilty for being young.

I saw an old man shuffling past the Hogan center this afternoon. I gave him a quick smile as I passed by him, because he was small and adorable and quaintly old and I just had to give him something.

He looked at me and gave me a small smile back. For a moment, in the slight curve of ( Read more... )

I am dying of postmodernism. And its nonsensical unsensible random gibberish that holds more randomness than Gertrude Stein's left pinky finger.

My question is if, in reading a postmodernist novel, the point of the novel is that it holds no meaning, must I still read it?

Maybe a better question is, is it possible to die of a literary movement?

Shut up shut up shut up. I love these. And these. And oddly these. And I'm seriously considering getting these. To give to Pat Anderson.

Hi. My name is Kara. I'm a shoe-a-holic, and my fix is expensive.

I'm so going to Payless.

Honestly I feel like a bit of an idiot for liking this.

But seriously, they could be the next Coldplay. There's even an Apple.