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


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   Hager and Schiavo
Friday, May 13 2005

I read an article in the Nation today about Dr. David Hager, the person whose greatest achievement is the continuing absence of emergency contraception from American drug stores. He's a gynecologist with that familiar creepy Christian kink, the one also possessed by Rick Santorum, the folks who freaked out about Janet Jackson's titty, and most of the people who loved Terri Schiavo best when she behaved in a manner not unlike that of a carrot. For David Hager, his kink is spelled out in his books Stress and the Woman's Body and As Jesus Cared for Women, "self-help tomes that interweave syrupy Christian spirituality with paternalistic advice on women's health and relationships." Looking at the dazzling complexity of the modern world from a pre-medieval perspective, Hager regards women as lesser entities whose calling in life is to obey, which (it seems) places them exactly where he wants them sexually. For Hager it would probably be even better if women were permanently unconscious vessels to nourish and sustain a man's seed, but so long as they listen perhaps they can also be made to obey.
The article in the Nation reveals that Dr. Hager was fond of sodomizing his wife Linda while she was asleep, either from medication or narcolepsy. For her part Linda would have been content to keep this a secret, but one evening she found herself enduring a public speech in which Hager waxed sanctimonious about their recent divorce, and she'd had enough.
On the rebound, Dr. David Hager should have married Terri Schiavo while she was still in a persistent vegetative state.
But it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that a man who has made a profession of being a self-proclaimed expert and moralizer regarding the sexual lives of women is an abusive sexual deviant. Every time I read one of these stories it makes me that much more convinced that the people who don't get overly exercised about the sex lives of their neighbors and other consenting adults who are the ones with the healthiest views about sex.

After all the work that has gone into my early spring project, it's fun to just stand out on my laboratory deck and look at this thing I have created, which looks (because of my careful conservation of the site and its vegetation) as if it has been that way for centuries. But as I've looked at it, something has been nagging at me: the stub of a stone walkway I made going across the yard towards the farm road, which we use daily when going to the mailbox and walking the dogs. It looked wrong for that stub to just go fifteen feet and stop, as it was presently doing. It needed to be extended all the way to the strip of trees that runs along the farm road.
So I spent much of the day putting in a proper trail. First I removed all the sod from the length of the pathway as it crossed the lawn. This sod was useful for repairing all the remaining patches of bare soil left over from both this spring's landscaping project as well as a hump in the lawn where I buried an old tree stump last fall. Once the sod was removed, I dug a trench all the way down to the subsurface rocks (most of them loose in the fill laid down when creating the yard eleven years ago). Then I poured in some Esopus Creek pebbles as a base for at least some of the walkway stones I then laid. These stones were of an inferior grade to the ones I'd used in the more heavily-used pathway to the driveway. They tended to be rougher, lack flat sides, or be comprised of an extremely brittle fine-grained stone. (There are strata of this stuff exposed in a few places along Dug Hill Road.)
These stones proved so awkward to seat stably that I had to mix up some concrete to secure some of them in place. I was applying the last bit of concrete as light dwindled from the evening sky.

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