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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Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Tooth Gunk: It seems that as I get older, my teeth attract more food particles than ever before. Is this illusion? Did I just never notice before? The newly renovated bathroom in the office has better light over the mirror, so maybe that's it, but I think it's more likely that food-magnetism is one of those things about getting old, like enlarged ears/noses, more ear/nose hair, and lower-hangingness of your various hanging parts as they reach symbolically for the earth to which we will all return. Well, at least having spinach in your teeth says "I ate some spinach," which should be attractive to health nuts or Olive Oyl, and it's a damn sight less huke-invoking than "Oreo Molar" or "Blue RazzleBerry Lollipop Tongue." Should I start carrying teatree oil-flavored "dental stimulators" (toothpicks) everywhere I go? No, because that would be unforgivably metro. Plus it would add extra weight to the retarded survival kit of garbage that I carry in my backpack all the fucking time, which threatens to pin me to the ground to death if I ever fall down.
Parka Funk: Man, this parka is stanky. I had the thing dry-cleaned after last year's interminable Ingalls Wilder winter, which means it must have been pretty ripe then, too. Because I don't take my clothes to the cleaners unless they could be cut into swatches and used in place of smelling salts. But the parka has a hood lined with fuzz, and the fuzz spent a good two months slurping up hair grease, which really holds the stench of cigarette smoke like a bulldog holds a baby's face. I haven't tested the armpits, because I have learned that my smoke-damaged nostrils just can't detect my body odor at less than 100,000ppm. Which means it's doubleplusscary that I can smell the hoodfunk. Used to be I could lift the voluminous hood over a girl's head for a private, darkness-shrouded kiss. Now I can save money on chloroform and kidnap Mormons with it. Ayugh. Art Punk: I'm going to the opening reception of the Whitney Biennial, because I am cool like that. (Ha ha! Follow that link to see gay bouncy squares! [clapping] Ha ha! Yay!) The invite specifies "festive attire," which I figure is an out for artsy types who are too cool for a tux or like to pretend they're still poor and shit. I've invited J.Ro as my companion and image consultant, and because that girl knows how to rock a party right. I've seen her start fights (not with her lily-smooth hands -- she gets other people to fight), I've seen her say fucked-up shit to famous people and have them love her for it, and I've seen gay men swear off cock at the sight of her fabulousity. I just hope she doesn't puncture any canvases with her pointy shoes, or amend any sculptures with those caviar-on-a-crepe canapés. Should I go pinstripe suit or artstanky? I would like it best if people looked at me like "which one is he?" Ha. What a fucking pipedream. Maybe I'll drop copies of Fear Not around and wait for the movie offers and book deals to stream in DOUBLE HA. Probably just pig out and sit in a corner grumbling about the lack of comfortable seating, like always. 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 |