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:
   grandmother's idea of Heaven
Friday, April 7 2000
During my lunch hour, I was called down to the escrow office in downtown Santa Monica to sign reams of documents (or "docs", as they're called) related to the purchase of the West LA condo. The third floor escrow office was an unsullied manifestation of a grandmother's idea of Heaven, full of wicker furniture, pastel surfaces and a couple of overweight cats. Kim showed up as I began inking my signatures, but since her name wasn't even on the latest incarnation of the loan application, there was very little she needed to sign. I have to admit that I didn't come anywhere near reading everything to which I penned my good my name. This was evidenced later by the fact that after all was said and done, the escrow office claimed I still owed them nearly $3000.
Meanwhile, there was still some unfinished business needing attention back down in San Diego at our apartment, 4886 1/2 Cape May Avenue. We'd already moved nearly all of our stuff into storage, but the apartment we'd left behind was hardly clean, at least by the standards of John Raspberry, our Nazi building manager. So tonight we drove down to San Diego in anticipation of a day of scrubbing and cleaning. Actually, though, Kim had arranged things so it wouldn't be as bad as that. She'd hired a couple of cleaning ladies and our role would be largely supervisory. (It seems I've come a long way since living at 129 Observatory Avenue in Charlottesville, VA.)
Just for tonight, though, conditions were unusually primitive. There was no furniture or blankets left in our apartment, so we slept on the floor with a sheet for a blanket. In the middle of the night when it became too cold, I piled layers of towels upon us.

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