UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE

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HEAVY ROTATION

Dan Deacon:
Bromst
Animal Collective:
Merriweather Post Pavillion
Bon Iver:
For Emma, Forever Ago
Vampire Weekend:
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Fleet Foxes:
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BLOGS ETC

claude le monde
nuncstans
rock 'em stock 'em
tomato nation
postmodern drunkard
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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!


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© 2002-2010
Jeremy Broomfield



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PRAISE & REVIEWS

"[UD] is a genius."
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and here's something
weird: my place
in Humor 3-space

Wednesday, July 07, 2004
 
Going to movies alone: okay, or lame? Last Wednesday night, after failing to secure tickets to Spidermovie 5000 and therefore having to reschedule the appointment with my chosen companion for that film, I was left with nothing to do, so I went to see Dodgeball all by myself. There was a time, friends, when I would seriously freak out if I had no one to hang out with at night. In summers between semesters of college, I would have minor panic attacks if I had to stay at home in the evening. "Stay at home." Three words that filled me with dread. Something to do with needing distraction, I guess, or feeling that not being able to fill your social calendar was a character flaw, or somehow meant you weren't interesting.
     Those days are gone. I can go weeks without seeing anyone but my roommates and J.Ro. Is it okay that I want to spend this entire week doing nothing but sitting on a couch watching movies? Is it okay that I don't want to see or talk to anybody at all? Is it okay that I left my cell phone at home today because I'm physically incapable of not answering it if it rings (which see the last sentence for the problem with that)? I'm cat/housesitting for my parents this week, and it's all I can do to drag myself off the aforementioned couch to do things like go to the bathroom. I rented The Weather Underground, and after watching it I added Bernardine Dohrn (circa 1970) to my list of imaginary girlfriends. (Incidentally, the website I linked to for that picture has really hilarious blurbs next to their collected mugshots. It's like they were all written by that guy who hosts and does the voice-over for Cops, all snarky law-enforcement self-satisfaction. Heh.)
     I've had trouble getting comfortable with the temperature in my old bedroom, which unlike the bedroom at my house has an air conditioner. You'd think this would be a good thing, but Monday night I was alternately freezing (which woke me up to stiffly shift a blanket over my freezing limbs) and boiling (because the blankets were too much). So last night I decided to just crank the thing full blast and sleep under a winter comforter. Totally decadent, I know, and not the kind of gesture that I usually endorse. Those of you who always yell at me to turn the faucet off while I'm doing the dishes because I'm "wasting water" will be happy to hear that Operation Arctic Bedroom was a failure, a big sweaty mistake. Apparently the AC can't lower the temperature by twenty degrees. At least falling asleep is not a problem this week -- a nice change of pace -- but staying asleep is a real challenge. I keep waking at 3 or 4am with complex mathematical diagrams of why sleep is bad sketched out on the backs of my eyelids. You ever get that? Detailed, arcane runes and logic flowcharts explaining why you must WAKE UP IMMEDIATELY? Not likely.
     As if that weren't bad enough, the cat hates me. She always has, but there's something so fucking ungrateful about it when I'm the one feeding her. She hides from me all night, then when I stumble naked and defenseless to the bathroom at 4am, she's there, swiping at my ankles with her ancient claws. And in the morning she's all up in my footspace because she's used to getting her breakfast at 6am or something, so she swarms me as if maybe I'd forgotten completely the entire reason I'm in the fucking house this week. Cat: you will be fed your revolting food twice a day, and you will leave me alone. I am allergic to your stupid dander and I just want to watch movies. Hey! You can have the run of the place! I just need this section of couch and my old bedroom. LEAVE ME ALONE.
     Shit. I bet she's not even reading this. Fucking cat.

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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