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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Thursday, June 24, 2004
Whenever I complained of being in pain as a child, my dad would cheerfully say "Pain is a useful symptom!" At the age of thirteen I discovered that this was a quote from Catch-22, and that he thought he was being very funny and urbane by quoting it. I, of course, found it quite useless and irritating, and further proof that adults were not worth listening to at all. Adults were like machines; if you found the correct input, you could reliably predict the output. ANY time I mentioned pain to him, he would spit out the quote. If I mentioned being hot and sweaty, he would say with the same giddy cheer "evaporation is a cooling process!" Dad, can you turn on the AC already? No, go sit by the fan! Evaporation is a cooling process!
Similarly, if you mention ginger -- in any context -- near my aunt, she will say "ginger has restorative properties." Robots! But fuck, I turned out to be the same way once I became an adult. But I recognized the fact that I was saying the same things over and over again, so I wrote them down and published them and now I can just refer people to the Fear Not Guide to Life instead of talking. Sometimes I slip. People say "Yeah, I already know how you feel about beef, so shut up and drive so I don't have to vomit out the window of a moving car on the fucking freeway goddamnit oh god BLLLARRRRRGGHGHGH!" Or whatever. So now I don't talk. I just slap people with my zine. But about pain being a useful symptom: I like pain when it tells me things I might not otherwise realize, like "you have a splinter" or "you have an ingrown hair" or "a horsefly is eating your love handle and will soon strike a vein." What I don't like or need is a reminder that my back is fucked up. What's that you say, pain? I have a crooked spine? THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE UPDATE. I FORGOT SINCE YOU LAST REMINDED ME TWO MINUTES AGO. In charming counterpoint to the thudding bassline of back pain this week is a feeling just below my ribcage like someone left their shiv inside me by mistake. (If you are missing a shiv, please email me and we can make an appointment for you to collect it from my fucking thorax.) And supplying the chords that hold the song together: stabbing, shooting pain in my hip whenever I sit, stand, lie down or move. Actually, walking is okay, sort of. If only I was in that Stephen King story where you have to keep on walking or they shoot you. Those options seem okay to me now. Again I beg the medical establishment to construct the salvation of my spavined corpus. Say it with me: NEOPRENE MORPHINE HARNESS. Hang me up and shoot me up! Gleep glop! Bionicize me while you're at it, and go ahead, while you're in there, and coat my bones with adamantium and give me razors for fingernails and steel ball bearings for eyeballs! That would be wicked cool. When I watch Deadwood, I think about how dirty and sticky the characters must be, about all the clothes they had to wear and how they never washed them or their bodies. I think about how uncomfortable they all must have been on their crappy bedrolls. (In fact, I think about characters' discomfort whenever I see any movie or television program: "I could never do that," I think. "Her back must be killing her!") And yesterday I noticed that very few of the characters on Deadwood smoke cigarettes, but whatever. Quitting smoking is very easy for me because whenever I think "gee, I'd really like a--" WHAM some kind of pain or other shatters my line of thinking. "Line of thinking?" Is that a real phrase? I don't know anymore. But hey! Nobody likes a whiner. I feel awesome! I'm not a smoker anymore! I love my family! I have a job and health insurance! I can sing like a fucking angel! I'm gonna pick up my laundry tonight! Tigers have not eaten my legs! I own a couch! Music is pretty! Rainbows are pretty! KITTENS ARE FUCKING CUTE! 0 comments |
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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 |