UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
We can ill afford another Klendathu  feed it up!
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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, December 02, 2003
Unfortunately my office has kept me as busy as Pussy Willow at a hobo convention, what with all these numbers that need to have mathematical operations performed upon them, so I'm sorry I haven't had time to give you a rundown on the reunion situation. But see the reunion itself did not turn out to be the rich font of comedic inspiration I had hoped. It was, in fact, rather blandly great. At least half of my class of 750 grads showed up, and after an initial panicky run at the undertended bar, most of them calmed down enough to act human. Which is more than I can say for how we acted ten years ago, but blah blah blah sour grapes blah blah blah 90210 blah blah maturitycakes.
People were puffier, baldinger, or marrieder, or just the same. I was overdressed in my navy blue and pinstriped polyester suit, which put me at a distinct advantage over most of the people with aggressively casual attire ("look at me I'm mellow I'm young I'M CALM GODDAMN IT AND CHILLED OUT OH GOD AAAARRRGGHH!). The suit was slightly offset by my name tag, which identified me as JEREMY FUCKING BROOMFIELD. Something I've noticed recently is that women, in general, seem to think it's okay to wear jeans anywhere. This epidemic seems most prevalent among cute and/or hip women, but it's seriously everywhere. Now obviously men don't get away with it as easily because we look "sloppy" in jeans instead of "cashz," like we didn't read the invitation properly or whatever. Meanwhile but so I lost my train of thought. The food was barely mediocre, and the dancing was just as spastic as our actual HS dances would've been if our school had been the kind to have dances instead of Math Olympiads. Which maybe there were some dances, but I was never invited SHUT UP WHATEVER. But there were a lot of people I was glad to see, and who were glad to see me. I liked watching the people who looked as if they were gonna hook up later, and I liked the giant moose heads that hung over the proceedings like bighorned chaperones. In the end, I don't know why I was so worried about the whole thing, but at the same time I don't know that it was worth the $80. Happily, I didn't have to pay it, because the Government asked me to pour a vial of colorless liquid into the punch bowl for a "social experiment" they were conducting, and they paid my way. They told me to leave if the teeth-grinding sounds became deafening or if people's spasms became limb-threateningly violent -- whichever came first. Oh but I'm tired, doctor, and I'm getting too crotchety for large social occasions. Viz: an old friend told me at the reunion that his mother had "passed on." I knew his mother, and it was sad news. And though I was sincerely sympathetic and expressed my condolences, in my head I was like "Passed on? PASSED ON? What the fuck does that even mean? If you're trying to say 'my mom died' then just say it! Don't phrase it like she opted out of living. Gahd." All while making totally genuine sad-eyes. See, Doctor? Regulate me. There's something wrong with the part of my brain that releases antisociopathic neurotransmitters, and one day when somebody tells me that their relative "passed on" -- which I seriously think is just this side of saying they were "taken to Jesus" -- I'm gonna speed-dial J.Ro and have her hustle a whole bunch of people to Jesus's house with her bare hands. 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 |