Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.

 

Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   smoked oyster craving
Wednesday, January 31 2001
Last night before going outwith John to the Knitting Factory, I'd gone shopping for basic provisions at Smart and Final. As always for such errands, I made an impulse buy: a tin of smoked oysters for $1.79. Today when I came home for lunch, there was nothing else I wanted more in the entire world.
I was still pretty badly hungover from the night before, and for some reason my life seemed like it would vastly improve by eating those oysters (and then drinking every precious drop of oyster oil).
Interestingly, back at my workplace, I found that I was able to work harder and more steadily with a hangover than I normally do without one. I think hard work is better for distracting your mind from discomfort and regret than passing the time in a more slackerly way (reading The Mole episode summaries on Salon.com, for example).

Back at home, I decided to set up an extra television set that I have lying around so I can watch it from the comfort of my bed. I'd thought the cute little nine-inch model I'd trash-picked a few months back was a black and white unit, but it turned out to be color and have an exceptionally good picture. Unfortunately, though, I've almost completely run out of plugs for all the devices clustered around my bed. I desperately need to go power strip shopping.
Bathtubgirl called in the evening from her grandfather's house in downriver Detroit. Her mother is hassling her again about some thousands of dollars I still owe her. I'd been counting on a year-end work bonus to deal with this situation, but suddenly there's this looming recession (which is really a dotcom depression) and I'm beginning to have my doubts about whether there will be any bonuses at all this year. Sometimes I feel lucky just to have a job.

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