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").


decay & ruin
Biosphere II
dead malls
Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff

(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   extremely mediocre bloody marys
Sunday, January 9 2000
In the morning when we were feeling somewhat perky, we actually made it down to the Zen Bakery on Voltaire. Nearby, Lucy's bar was a madhouse of loud revelry. You never can tell how bad a hangover is going to be when you first wake up; had we known how bad this one would be we would have been in Lucy's with the other alcoholics of Ocean Beach.
At around noon, we were out in the courtyard on a blanket under the bright January sun. Not quite having the strength or inclination to go anywhere or do anything, we would have liked to conjure up the only effective cure for our malady, bloody marys.
Somehow Kim mustered enough strength to rise to her feet and give me a sort of Shiatsu-style backrub as I lay there on the ground. Given the condition of the musculature of my back she needed to do more than is right and proper to do in so public a place, so we relocated to the spare bedroom. When Kim was done with me I was cold and glistening with oil. She threw a blanket over me and I lapsed into a prolonged nap. I wonder how many ways I can describe this interesting subject.
Kevin the DBA was riding his bicycle today, starting from his home in Pacific Beach and going all the way downtown to work and then over to my place to hang out with us for awhile. The neighbor girl Lisa was also hanging out, as was another neighbor, Jason. Jason is about to leave for a six month Navy gig, and Lisa will be living in his apartment during this time. Before he sets sail, Jason has been trying to get his car in storably working order (this is mostly for his psychological well being, methinks). According to Jason his car has a bluebook value of only $2500, yet he's sunk $10,000 into it and keeps sinking more. It's got a completely customized meatball engine with big V8 pistons (in a V6 block), nitrous oxide and other hot rod modifications. By way of introduction, he took Kevin out to the garage to demonstrate how loud it can get when you rev the engine. Kevin observed of Jason, "He kind of reminds me of some friends I had back in Atlanta."
On a beer run, I also picked up a can of V8 Juice, and occasionally throughout the rest of the night I fixed extremely mediocre bloody marys.
Joel, a guy Lisa has been seeing, came over and joined us for awhile. He seemed like a really nice guy and, better yet, he had absolutely no schteveish qualities. But he must have thought I was a complete freak; by the time he arrived I was a wide-awake drunk, bouncing off the walls, speaking in assumed accents, dancing, singing, smoking lots of pot and passing around slides of my paintings.

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