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").

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decay & ruin
Biosphere II
Chernobyl
dead malls
Detroit
Irving housing

got that wrong
Paleofuture.com

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

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Like my brownhouse:
   Canal Street Restaurant
Tuesday, April 18 2000
Kim and Sophie picked me up from work at 5:30pm and we headed down to Venice, to a restaurant called Canal Street featuring a sushi happy hour and somewhat less yuppified hecticness than the other Venice sushi place we know about, the place on the circle with the valet-powered double parking.
On the drive to Venice we found ourselves fighting about all sorts of little issues of dignity and pride, no doubt a result of the stress and insecurity we're feeling as a result of the ongoing home loan process. Today we'd learned it was a "done deal," though we're not yet officially funded.
After parking at a beach-side parking lot and walking a poop out of Sophie, we finally got a glimpse of the funky mercantile exuberance of Venice Beach's boardwalk (or whatever it's called). We didn't actually check it out; I had to piss real bad and couldn't fuck around testing the limits of my bladder's elasticity. So we filed the boardwalk away in the list of geographical places in need of further exploration.
[REDACTED] We continued to bicker and squabble until we'd eaten some sushi and drank some of our cocktails. Then everything improved between us and we enjoyed ourselves for the rest of the evening. [REDACTED]


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