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NOT BLOGS ETC

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Jeremy Broomfield



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and here's something
weird: my place
in Humor 3-space

Wednesday, September 08, 2004
 
For once in my fucking life I actually get my shit together enough to get tickets to the US Open, so of course today the sky opens up, bible-style floods shut down the subway system, and then all day with the rain so hard that Flushing is living up to its name, like the tennis courts are coated with backed-up sewage. [I know you don't like tennis, and I never did either until I read Infinite Jest, which turned me into a fan because I'm suggestible as a drunken sorority girl. If you hate tennis, you can stop reading this post now.] But so all day, which I spent most of at home because of the prenominate subway troubles, I'm watching the USA Network for a sign of any kind of tennisy activity, but it's wetness all around, so they keep replaying last nights Capriati/S. Williams match, where Capriati won but there were FOUR terrible calls that went against Serena, so Al Trautwig's got his poo-stained panties up his crack about the travesty of the century.The calls were bad, but I was roooting for my hometown underdog Jenny, so I didn't particularly care.
     But so I'm clutching these not inexpensive tickets to tonight's primetime match, which turns out to be Andre Agassi v. Roger Federer, who's #1 in the world, AND THE RAIN IS STILL BARFING DOWN ONTO THE CITY. Lindsay Davenport didn't play her match today, and neither could the two Russian girls from the top quarter of the draw. (Is it mean of me to point out that a lot of these Top 20, super-talented tennis women all look about one short genetic hop away from Rocky Dennis? Take a gander: Davenport, Petrova, Kuznetsova, Mauresmo. You can see why people flipped for Kournikova, even if she could barely hold her racket.) This is not fair to me. I might not get to see the match at all, and I am guaranteed to get soaked while not seeing the expensive tennis.
     Fucking hurricanes. I know, some people lost their homes or lives in the storms, but I'm losing my innocence. I should know better. Last Yankee game I went to, Sars and I spent two hours under my big umbrella watching tarp guys dash around like brightly lit ants, and maybe two innings of baseball occurred before 11pm. Screw it. Sports on TV or not at all from now on.

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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?"
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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"
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"drownded"
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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.
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tattoos in the Courier font
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any use of Comic Sans