UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
We can ill afford another Klendathu You are just a number to me! And that number is: PAGES UD MADE: My Books Page My Reviews Page My Reference Page My Music Page My Pictures My Store UD-RELATED PAGES: My LiveJournal My MySpace music page My Flickr page My del.icio.us page My Last.fm page My Amazon Wishlist HEAVY ROTATION Dan Deacon: Bromst Animal Collective: Merriweather Post Pavillion Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago Vampire Weekend: Vampire Weekend Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes BLOGS ETC claude le monde nuncstans rock 'em stock 'em tomato nation postmodern drunkard tuckova 22 ghastly mess constintina total virility fuzzysquid drunken bee stacey nightmare elyse from ANTM stereolabrat dark side points jf_franklin 123 i love you READ NOW brotherhood 2.0 NOT BLOGS ETC qwantz (dinosaur comix) go fug yourself the burg cat and girl book of ratings married to the sea icanhascheezburger fire joe morgan fivethirtyeight.com READ NOW hospitality on parade WEIRD LOVE dead amusement pks craters! all content © 2002-2010 Jeremy Broomfield
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Tuesday, April 29, 2003
I used to hate sports, I really did. I hated sports, jocks, sports fans, sports magazines. I hated sports arenas and their stupid parking lots. I wrote a lengthy rant for a my never-published zine Vitriol about how gut-curdlingly revolted I was by people who pick up a perfectly good newspaper and flip directly to the sports section, bypassing everything that matters in the universe. I actually sneered at people who wore clothes with team logos on them. Yes, sneered. Who does that? What an insufferable, dogmatic ass I was.
So, you know, after high school and college, I didn't feel the need to set myself apart from any perceived mainstream, no, not so much. Like gym socks in a hamper, I mellowed. Jocks were no longer my enemies, they were allies, equals, compadres, defining me in contrast; the obverse of my reverse, the yin to my yang, the brawn to my brain, the frick to my frack. Would I look so awesome if there weren't so many goddamn idiots woof-woof-woofing at every flickering tube suspended above a Corona-slicked bar? Welcome, friends! You are dumb! Come stand next to me! Let's talk numbers! We love numbers! And we hate hippies! But here's what's not okay: sweatpants. Sweatpants are not acceptable outdoor wear, people. In the comfort of your ugly home, on laundry day or before naptime, you may wear your shapeless togs as you please, and may god have mercy on your soul. But if you have any remaining self-respect (hah), you will consider eating a handful of Xanax before poisoning the visual commons with your pinchless garments. Have you seen these new breeds of sweatpants that pretend to be, like, actual pants? Bleached-out downtown gym bunnies walking their dogs in flip-flops and "designer" sweats, butt-floss straps peeking insistently from drawstrung waists? What is this, Venice Beach? No! This is Manhattan! Don't tell me "oh, these are stretch workout shorts" or "breathable pilates activewear," BECAUSE ANYONE CAN SEE YOU ARE WEARING SWEATPANTS. Oh, god. Since when did sweatpants say anything other than "I have given up, I can no longer compete; bring me a gallon tub of Edy's Cookie Dough Ice Cream"? Here's a quarter: go rent a samurai to lop off your stupid head. 0 comments |
OTHER REVIEWS: Scrabble NEW! LATEST BOOK REVIEWS: The Game Moneyball One-Upsmanship Siddhartha You need the Fear Not Guide to Life. Buy it already. ($4) Now available! The Broomfield Variations CD ($10) or go to The UD Store
MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS Chan Marshall Rotem of the IDF Eleanor Friedberger Amy Goodman Bernardine Dohrn ('69) Maya Rudolph Joanna Newsom Imogen Heap Caroline Dhavernas Shana Rae Ray DISALLOWED FOREVER "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" - "from whence" - "...the exception that proves the rule" - any use of the question "spit or swallow?" - the phrase "drop trou" - fake-o reviewer verbs: "penned" for wrote "helmed" for directed "lensed" for whatever - "expat" - the euphemism "passed away" - pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!" (see also: "grassy-ass!") PET PEEVES "confinscated" - trying children "as adults" - "drownded" - misuse of reflexive pronouns, as when someone says "Please talk to Bob or myself." Come on people now. "Myself" is not just a fancy version of "me"! LEARN IT. - tattoos in the Courier font - any use of Comic Sans |