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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   quickie cramped telemovie review
Sunday, February 15 2004
On HBO tonight Gretchen watched Ironed Jawed Angels, a movie dramatization of the final days of the American women's suffrage movement. I hadn't been watching it because I'd been secluded in the laboratory doing my usual hermetic thing, but I'd started suffering from a distracting series of abdominal cramps. These were either an unpleasant symptom of my lingering illness or a side effect of a vegan luncheon consisting of soy sprouts, pasta, tempeh, and peanut butter sauce. The only relief was to go lie down in bed. A side effect of my change of scenery was that I caught the tail end of Ironed Jawed Angels. The queerest, most unsettling thing about this movie was its strange soundtrack. Here were all these actors and actresses in early-19th Century garb acting on Wilsonian sets while the soundtrack kept up a steady patter of electronica. [Gretchen later made the observation that perhaps the electronica was used to convey the radicalness of women's suffrage back in those stuffy times.]

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