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:
   suburban reflexes
Tuesday, June 13 2000
I was extremely hungry at work this morning, so for lunch, I went to Popeye's and ordered a box containing five pieces of fried chicken. Lacking a more suitable dining location, I devoured the chicken beneath a Eucalyptus tree in a scruffy little Santa Monica Park near the VW dealership. It was hunger overkill in a way, since it ruined my appetite for the rest of the day. But it also left me strangely unfulfilled. I think the almost complete lack of carbohydrates in my luncheon contributed to a blood sugar deficit throughout the afternoon, much like the blahs associated with being on the Atkins Diet. I didn't recover until after I got home and bonded with a bag of corn chips and (lacking any salsa) a small container of spicy Indian soup.
"Bon Jovi, Behind the Music," was on VH1 tonight. I held out the hope that it would be as interesting as any of the others in the Behind the Music series, but when Jon Bon Jovi bottomed out in the early 90s, he found himself sitting on the beach in Malibu drinking malt liquor. I'm sorry, but, like yawn. The decline and fall of Mötley Crüe was far better television.
Today was Sophie the Miniature Schnauzer's 7th birthday. Her birthday gift consisted of a flea-fighting treatment of insecticidal grease between her shoulder blades.
Tonight was the last night of Paul's visit, so at around 11pm Kim and I dropped him off in downtown Santa Monica so he could catch a shuttle to the airport. His suitcase was rupturing and I had to duct tape it together. "You'll probably have fewer bums asking you for spare change this way," I observed.

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