UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
We can ill afford another Klendathu  feed it up!
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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 TV on the Radio: Dear Science Walkmen: You & Me Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes Ratatat: LP3 Beach House: Devotion 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 © 2002-2008 Jeremy Broomfield 
Hosted by: HostRocket.Com Comments by: YACCS PRAISE & REVIEWS "[UD] is a genius." --Christian Oates "[Claudia] is fucking awesome, and [UD] is a genius. And vice versa. You should all buy Fear Not." --Tricia Howey MOTTO egeo huic vigorum MY WRESTLING NAME Titan Gently MY PUNK NAME Razor Ection 
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Monday, November 28, 2005
I am going fucking insane. I can feel my brain coming apart like a Droste chocolate orange. If you're curious just how BORING a process this really is, continue reading. All day I've been attempting to pay the bills I've been ignoring for more than a month, but I seem to be unable to do it. Not just apathetic or uninterested, but like Superman and Kryptonite repelled, weakened, sickened by the prospect of performing this essential, if unexciting grown-up task. Granted, there are a host of unusual complexities to this billing cycle, mostly because I moved and have yet to get some of the old bills out of my name. But fuck. Fuck. OH MY GOD THIS IS BORING. I can hear you clicking links to different sites -- you sound like a forest full of clicky little bugs. Or is it frogs who make that noise? I'm not talking about cicadas. Cicadas whirr. I like cicadas because some of them have a 17-year life cycle, and I just finished listening to my favorite song by Ratatat, which is called "17 Years."
My brain is coming apart but my back is coming together, its muscles contracting like a man whose fed-up wife put arsenic in his stew. My woolly beard has stopped itching, but my face is still playing host to the acne equivalent of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The Kilo-Blemish Competition or something, where zits of many nations converge to see which group can completely conquer my face first; like its model, it is taking way too long and is a big letdown. I can't stop touching my face in horror, which in turn horrifies my dermatologist and anybody else who knows how dirty a New Yorker's hands get on a typical day just from brushing up against NY air. Oy fucking vey. Despite the ingestion of prodigious dosages of approved chemicals for the treatment of ADD, I can't concentrate for more than five minutes on anything that isn't shiny and moving around a lot. (Which brings me back to the bill-paying predicament, but only for a lousy one-liner. Look for it later in these parentheses. I need to sort out the bill situation so I can get money from my roommates to help pay the bills, because I can't cover them myself. See, I'm quite low on cash. Indeed, I'm... wait for it... I'm so broke I can't even pay attention!) Ugh. This is everyone's least favorite type of post, the self-pity post, the whining post, the nothing funny what the fuck post. (The whining post. Can you picture it? A battered four-by-four hammered into the dusty Texas ground, with iron rings hammered into it. The Whining Post. Feels like I'm tiiiieeeeddddd... to the whining post.) Great, now the word "whining" is starting to look all weird and misspelled. Well, at least I gave in to fate and mentally released myself from having to do that stuff with the bills, freeing me to write this garbage. Hooray. But don't fret. I'll be back soon with observations about the world, or, for a change of tone, maybe just a list of things that I like (here's a preview of the latter: cheap glow-in-the-dark makeup; gummi worms; X-acto knives; rubbing alcohol). This is the stupidest post EVER but fuck it, because it's done now and you can suck on it. Wednesday, November 23, 2005
A brief note for those of you who haven't gone on vacation yet or those of you who hate your families so much that you have snuck off to read blogs during your Thanksgiving special time when you should be tossing your niece up in the air or listening to your aunt's career advice.
I'm back, and beardier than ever! Which is to say that if you are chilling in the Poconos for two weeks, alternately reading, staring at the walls, and snacking, nobody gives a shit if you don't shave. So my two and a half weeks of growth looks a lot less skeevy than my unshaven days 3 through 9, during which I look like a chain-snatcher or a guy who might break into your car just to take a shit in the backseat. Now, however, I look like a mangy woodsman, i.e. where the beard actually grows I look okay, but there are some mysterious patches of sparsity. But the consensus among those who have seen it has been like "huh. It looks okay," as if they were expecting a UD beard to progress from the aforementioned petty criminal stage straight to, like, the beard equivalent of John Wayne Gacy. Or sumpthin. I will provide more details of my trip away and how it has changed my perspective on my life (hint: expect a lot more Jesus on this page... praise be!) next week. I'm going out of town AGAIN for T'givuh (which is my name for a Thanksgiving full of Jews (or as I call them now, the heathen damned)) and Monday I'll be back with even more facefur and maybe a luxurious coat made of squirrel tails, because as I discovered while reading the Pennsylvania Hunter's Handbook (or whatever), there is NO LIMIT to the number of squirrels you can kill in good ol' PA, and you can kill 'em whenever. Yee-hah! Bear Season lasts, like, three hours -- fuck that shit. Come here, you chittering, nut-gobbling, upside-down-on-a-tree-trunk motherfuckers. Grizzly Donor's got two barrels of Thankgiving wishes just for you! Oh, and I was kidding about the Jesus for fuck's sake. Saturday, November 05, 2005
Dear friends, readers, nemeses, creditors: I'm going to the Poconos for two whole weeks, during which time I might not post at all, and I might not even be able to check my email. My cell phone won't have service unless I go into town, which I might not do very often.
I know this fills you with jealousy, because you are probably picturing me hanging out at Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge [Regional 80s television reference.* Apologies to those who don't live in the tri-state area, whatever that means. -- Ed.]. But simmer down, I'm just going to my aunt's house. In my opinion, my aunt's house is the cooler place to be, even though it lacks the obvious advantages of a tennis "professional" and heart-shaped Jacuzzis. So for two weeks I'm going to be almost incommunicado in the mountains of Eastern Pennsylvania, during which time I will read a lot, cook a bit, rest a lot, perhaps write a bit, and breathe a lot of bracingly clean air. Maybe I'll write a song. But so I'm sorry about the lacuna, and forgive me if I don't reply to even the wittiest emails. I'll get back to my responsibilities when I return on the Monday before Thanksgiving. * Another fun regional 80s television ad was the one for the Westchester County Fair, which had a great hoedown jingle that at one point had a memorable breakdown that went: "{clap clap clap) Rides and attractions! {clap clap clap) Non-stop action!" That was a fun ad, partly I think because it was never really made clear what form the "action" would take, so we had to use our kiddie imaginations (as most of us city kids had never been to a county or state fair before). Pie-baking contests? Sheep-, or other shearable mammal-shearing contests? "Indian" wresting? Bare-knuckle carny boxing? Skeet shooting? Varmint wrangling? A 3-Legged Race with teams consisting solely of morbidly obese trailer-dwellers? Giant Voltron robot wars? It could have been anything. Tuesday, November 01, 2005
DREAMS
I usually don't post about my dreams, because nobody cares about other people's dreams (with the clear exception bluntly stated by Built to Spill in the song Made Up Dreams: "No one wants to hear what you dreamt about/ Unless you dreamt about/ Them.") I seriously believe this. People who habitually blog about their dreams have serious problems with empathy -- they can't put themselves in their readers' shoes to figure out that such posts are generally insufferable, uninteresting, solipsistic. If you only blog dreams once a year, people will read them, because they'll figure it's gonna be worthwhile. So, prefaced by those apologies, here's an interchange from my dream last night: LINDSEY LOHAN: Here comes that Hilary Duff bitch. UNIVERSAL DONOR: Hi Hilary! HILARY DUFF: Hi Jer! LL: (rolls eyes) Tsk! Hhhhuuuhhhhh! UD: What? LL: Why would you say hi to her? Just to get my goat? UD: What? No. I wouldn't do something "just to piss you off." And if you interpret my saying "hi" to someone as an aggressive act against you, you're getting a little twisted, a little too world-revolves-around-you-y. Though, come to think of it, not all that atypical for a chick. Not the solipsism, but the polar misinterpretation of an innocuous male statement. LL: (sighs) Listen. How long have have you thought that we were going out? UD: (taken aback) Huh? What do you mean? LL: How long have you thought of me as your girlfriend? UD: (defensively)WHAT?!? I haven't ever! That's crazy! What are you talking about? I'm not delusional-- LL: Because you should know this: every time we've had sex... UD: (jaw drops in utter shock) LL: ...which was seven times, EVERY time, you've taken a little "catnap" in the middle... UD: (still stunned, having had no idea they'd slept together) LL: ...you might have thought I didn't notice, but I did. UD: Oh. Um. You shouldn't take that personally! That's just medical. It doesn't mean I wasn't enjoying it! I'm sure you're great in bed! LL: I know I am. UD: I'm just tired, is all! ---------------------------------- PRAGUE ...Is a game that's been described in the comments section (thanks to Annie-poo!) as a party game, but here's my Internet version. I'll make four statements. One of the statements is a lie, all the other others are true. You guess which is the lie, and if you get it right, you win. (That's the most basic version; the original gave points to various players all guessing at the same time and all providing statement tetrads.) My house rules have a guideline that the lies are actual lies in spirit, not in technicality, for example, if my statement "I just drank a Snapple Iced Tea" were the false one, it would be because I didn't drink a Snapple, not because I really had a Diet Snapple Iced tea, or because I was still drinking it. That would be lame. So here are four very basic, unexciting statements. Guess which is the lie, and I'll make up much spicier statements the next time. 1. I just ate a Halloween size minipack of grape-flavored Now and Laters. 2. Last night I washed my hair with a product called Cinnamon Buns. 3. I religiously read the bridge column in the New York Times. 4. I have memorized a mnemonic song that lists all the elements on the periodic table. You know, now that I think about it, maybe the game is supposed to include three lies and one truth. Whoops. Somebody confirm or deny that? |
OTHER REVIEWS: John from Cincinnati Menomena 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" |