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
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Like my brownhouse:
   Handy Mar Vista Firestation
Wednesday, April 5 2000
People are forever complaining about how nasty Los Angeles is. In their imaginations, somehow it's simultaneously overcrowded and so spread out as to require continual freeway driving. But I'm gradually discovering that, with a little planning, living in Los Angeles doesn't have to be a hassle. Yesterday, without really knowing how far away it was, I walked from work to the indoor storage location to pick up my bicycle during my lunch break. It only took me fifteen minutes to get there. Then today I rode my bicycle to the nearest Bank of America ATM machine to pull a Versateller statement, and the machine was actually located neared to the townhouse I'm buying than it was to my workplace (with neither distance exceeding a mile).
Basically, what I've discovered about Los Angeles is that, without half trying, Kim and I have managed to find a workplace, a storage location and a house all within walking distance of each other, and all of them reasonably close (within biking distance) to a temporary residence (Evan and Corynna's place). And so far the air quality has been good.

While I was off at work making a [REDACTED] living, Kim was home doing laundry and other womanly tasks. She was dressed in her thin little zebra-print slip, going back and forth into the hallway with armloads of clothes. But then it happened, click, the door to Corynna and Evan's apartment closed and locked behind her, leaving her stranded and scantilly clad in the hallway with Sophie but without any keys.
Not knowing what else to do, she went to the Firestation #62 next door to ask for help. They didn't really know what to suggest except that she could make a phone call, but Kim didn't know any numbers. Oh, the weight of the world! While Sophie ran around looking for the firestation Dalmatian, tears streamed down Kim's cheeks.
Then Kim remembered that she'd left a teapot boiling on the stove. It really was a firestation issue after all!
So some guys from the firestation accompanied her back to the apartment building, pushed all the buzzer buttons until someone buzzed them in. The balcony was the only way to get into the apartment from there, and luckily the balcony neighbor was home. [REDACTED]

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