One is the loneliest robot

Joining my voice to the chorus: WALL-E is awesome. It's incredibly beautiful, poignant, important, and satisfying. The end credits alone are worth the price of admission (even worth watching it in a room full of restless children). The animation, the nuance and expression imbued in dialogue-free sequences of robot love, yes it's all you have read and more. And it frickin' killed me.

Earlier in the weekend I made a tour of iconic Bay Area subcultures, flitting from Berkeley hippie party to Dyke March Dolores Park madness to Karaoke Revolution with software engineers. What did I learn? Vegan mint cupcakes taste like toothpaste, Arab lesbians rule SF, and "Fame" is really hard to sing. Also, avoid special cookies in Dolores Park.

After all that exhausting activity, I made it home to start a re-read of Harry Potter 7. It's been a little less than a year since my first read, but I have found Harry to be therapeutic in the past and it beats Degrassi marathons on The N. Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing beats Degrassi marathons! Programming executives at The N who have chosen to make episodes of Degrassi: The Next Generation 40% of all content shown on the channel, thank you. I will never be sated. Teen melodrama will never get old.

And then, this afternoon, despite all the friendliness of the weekend, I told my therapist why WALL-E made me so sad.

"So, you feel like you are the lonely robot," she shrinktalked (which is not quite asking, not quite stating). I nodded, tearing up remembering WALL-E's little robot pincers miming human hand-holding.

Pause. "And we need to stop for today."

"But you should really see the movie," I told her as I shuffled off the couch, "it's really good."