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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   Ludmilla and Pete visit
Tuesday, April 25 2000
What with the new house and everything, Kim is in full-bore shopping spree mode. Such a mode is imprecise and about as pleasant as the manufacture of sausage. In the evening, Kim and I walked east down Wilshire to take some sheets back to Ross. On the way home we discovered a new award-winning Chinese restaurant, so we ordered Chinese take-away for dinner. When Kim decreed that Liz Phair was improper background music for eating award-winning Chinese food, I went upstairs and watched a Nova show about the International Space Station instead.
Later on, our friends Ludmilla the Brazilian Girl and her boyfriend Pete stopped by for a visit. These two have followed an oddly parallel trajectory to ours for the past year, starting out in Ocean Beach and ending up in Los Angeles. Tonight they brought non-alcoholic Guiness (I'm serious) and a big bottle of wine, which Ludmilla poured compulsively into any glass that ran low. We talked mostly about the circumstances that had brought us to Los Angeles, as well as Pete and Ludmilla's continuous struggle for survival. Their situation is far more marginal than is ours, living as they do in a low-rent part Mar Vista, sharing an apartment with a housemate. Pete is a struggling actor, living mostly on brief roles in commercials. He's also had minor roles in music videos and even one porn flick where he played a fully-clothed hitman. Ludmilla wanders from one restaurant job to another, never finding anything she really enjoys doing. Meanwhile, back in Brazil, she owns a bar. Periodically they consider moving somewhere else, but compared to Los Angeles, the rest of the world appears to be in rigor mortis.


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