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:
   residential post grass
Wednesday, October 11 2000
The MSN promotion (which gave me a $30 credit for a purchase at Radio Shack) was harder to shake than I could have ever imagined. Of course, you can't simply cancel it online, at least "not at this time" (like they're every going to let people do that - it's a lesson they've learned from AOL). According to the MSN website, I had one of two options. I could send a letter requesting my account be terminated. You know, one of those things made of paper that you lick to close, look around for a stamp to paste on it and carry to a metal box on a corner. Or, I could send a FAX. You know, you put a piece of paper in a machine and it dials a phone number to a another machine somewhere on the phone network and the two warble low-bandwidth tones at one another until a grainy version of your copy appears on the other side. Since there's a FAX machine in my office, I chose the latter solution to my potential MSN woes.
Canceling my AOL account (no longer necessary in the face of DSL) was comparatively much easier. I thought the bitch on the phone was going to argue with me a bit more than she did.

These endless interviews are driving me insane. I hate having people dress nice and suck up to me in hopes that I'll hire them. I hate being the Man. I hate the contractor agency calling me and asking me to make up my mind, and expressing thinly-veiled disappointment when I don't rave about everyone they send to me.

Discuss my rise into lower middle-management.

John and I hit the Café again tonight, talking mostly about possible computer ventures. I'm tempted to take John up on his offer to be one of my contractors for this UK site thing. I feel like I could teach him everything he'd need to know to be helpful in the course of a single weekend. The only trouble would be trying to explain where he'd come from.

Those of you who live in Southern California, have you ever noticed the grass that grows in the perforated square metal sign posts in residential areas? This grass forms a stout, articulated stalk running up the center of posts, ending in a photosynthetic tassle protruding inconspicuously from the top. The moment you notice it's there, you can't help but be awed. It's yet more evidence of the exploitative, rapidly-adapting drive of life. But it is also sort of creepy. When I pointed this grass out to my housemate John the day before yesterday, it gave him the willies. This sort of plant behavior is just a little too clever for the human mind to accept without fear.

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