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:
   banzai avocado tree
Monday, August 14 2000
The "online journal community." After all this time, there does indeed still appear to be one. Nova Notes and can still both be counted on to link to me occasionally, almost as though we're really part of some sort of incestuous online journal cabal. The articles written about this genre, even the well-done ones, have difficulty not contributing to this view. But my participation is anemic. I hardly ever read online journals and my link paybacks are few and far between. Yet, despite what anyone might say, the non-commercial web is still fueled almost entirely by reciprocal promotion. I'm a failure in the broader social context of my online obsession.

In the morning I noticed that one of my credit cards bills hadn't been paid on time, mostly because I hadn't bothered to open the envelope it came in. That sort of absence of responsibility isn't going to work in these newer, more adult times. So I did the responsible (if slightly sociopathic thing), calling the credit card company to tell them that I hadn't received the bill until Saturday. You have to love America, the land where the customer is always right. That's all I had to do to get the bank to waive the 30 dollar late fee.

My work environment continues to be relatively stress-free and relaxing, conducive to all manner of devilishly clever side projects. Meanwhile, my home continues to be empty and nearly devoid of the little things that you don't even realize you use until you actually need them. Lacking friends, pets and a girlfriend, the only recipients of my human empathy have been the few plants Kim left behind. Impressing even myself, I've been suprisingly good about watering them. And it's actually paying off: the two plants growing in wooden boxes out on the front stoop are rallying like kudzu. Meanwhile, there are a bunch of dead and nearly-dead flowers in some window planters off the kitchen that I am convinced I can revive. Encouragingly, with each passing day I notice more and more translucent greenness invading their shriveled brown stalks. (The leaves and flowers all wilted and died weeks ago.) I put an avocado seed in the one pot that has shown no improvement. Perhaps I can grow myself a banzai avocado tree.

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