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, April 21, 2004
I spent the weekend hosting a sixteen-year-old friend of the family from Maine on her first solo visit to New York City. I took her on an unconventional tour of the city, eschewing such standard sights as the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building in favor of Chinatown (where we ate unidentifiable meats that hung from dizzying arrays of hooks), the East Village (where we spent the night playing mumbly-peg in an anarchopunk squat) and Hell's Kitchen (where we employed the services of five different tranny hookers). It was all very edifying; she learned the meaning of a Dirty Sanchez and I learned that I do not have the energy of a sixteen-year-old. Together we learned that it is almost impossible to get a taxi in Bed-Stuy at 2am after a frenzied search for the world's best crack rock. They wouldn't stop for us, no matter how much we waved our arms, or how loud we screamed at them, or how far into the lanes of traffic we ran, or how many clothes we took off! Fucking chickenshit cabbies! Glaargle!
Seriously, though, we did a lot of walking, and though I used to walk all over the damn place when I lived in Manhattan, I've gotten lazy. My legs feel like string cheese and my shoes have started to squeak like I've got duckling insoles. Quack! People look at me like I'm smuggling poultry. Shit, I know that's a stupid line but it's no joke, beeyotch! I sound like a clown! Cordaroy [sic] brought me three 2-liters of Moxie as thanks for playing host and guide. Or maybe it was a bribe to look the other way as she worked her way through a checklist of highly illegal activities, but in either case, it was greatly appreciated. I fucking love Moxie. I also love Kill Bill Vol. 2, which we sat through gape-mouthed immediately after she stepped off the bus. How much did I love this movie? Check it: I didn't even think about having to pee once during the entire 137 minute run. You know how usually, if a movie is less than stellar, you spend a good portion of it testing your bladder more and more insistently until you can't think of anything but gushing rivers of yellow fluid? And then you wait until the end of act two and run like the balls to the stupid bathroom? Well not during KBV2, bwah. That shit is hot. So after a weekend of teaching razor-fight techniques to a teenager, I'm back at work, which there's an interesting sonic development here: a construction project has begun in the courtyard/ canyon/ echo chamber behind our building, and it seems to require the workers to hit sections of ventilation ductwork with tackhammers. OVER AND OVER AGAIN. It sounds like a fucking John Lee Hooker song out there. 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 |