In the absence of a plot, unifying the vignettes are moods—antic anxiety, the overstimulated stasis of too many choices and no chooser’s manual, irreverent brashness toward televisual reality. And, after the manner of films, music videos, dreams, and television programs, there are recurring “Key Images,” here exotic drugs, exotic technologies, exotic foods, exotic bowel dysfunctions. And it is no accident that My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist’s central preoccupation is with digestion and elimination. Its mocking challenge to the reader is the same one presented by television’s flood of
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