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:
   MLK Day drug crisis
Monday, January 15 2001

Now that I'm a working adult, it's great that there's finally a holiday smack in the middle of January. In my opinion, Martin Luther King Jr. was the single most outstanding American of the 20th Century, and today I stayed home with pride.
Taking advantage of my freedom (free at last!), I continued work on my musical projects, whipping off a damaged little tune called "That's a Very Large Grin, Dear." The lyrics are just as half-baked as the rest of it, but that's just fine because you can't really pick them out in the overwhelming mud of lofi sound. I've decided to just keep making tunes and putting them on my site while not worrying if they're complete or perfect. Even if they're just musical sketches, I can always revisit them later and give them a better treatment, especially once I start developing, you know, studio skills. By the way, criticism is welcome. As you can probably tell, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

Today was another cool sunny day, this time featuring powerful winds. I don't know what it was about the weather, but for some reason the house was overrun by ants, especially a colony of light-brown characters, each about as long as the minus sign on this keyboard. They were everywhere, even forming a highway across the downstairs bathroom floor. I usually give a certain amount of deference to ants, considering them a relatively clean, civilized form of insect, but today I instigated a crackdown, a pogrom, conducted in the German manner traditionally reserved for curbing the occasional Christian-baby-eating tendencies of minority Jewish populations. This involved a thorough cleaning of the bathroom and all the kitchen counters. Ant lives meant nothing to me: I drowned them, I squished them, I washed them down sinks and smothered them in soap bubbles. Once you've killed one there's no sense in showing any mercy to any of them.
In the course of this all-out assault, I also made an interesting discovery: even with the lid completely screwed on, a wide-mouthed quart-sized peanut butter container, when left out on the counter overnight, can eventually be penetrated by ants. It seems they must have figured out how to walk around the winding ramp that forms the screw thread just inside the cap. I opened it up and was horrified to find a few ants had found their way inside and died in various places on the oily surface of the peanut butter motherload. So I picked them out as best I could, resealed the container tightly, and returned it to the safety (I hope) of the refrigerator.

John, Chun and Maria returned from their skiing vacation this evening. John and Chun were all in a pickle because they couldn't find that whole bag of ecstasy tablets they'd bought back on Friday. They searched high and low, through every drawer, behind every book and beneath every dust bunny, but the bag had vanished. Then of course Chun joked that maybe I'd thrown a particularly wild party, but of course I hadn't done anything of the sort. No one except me had been in the house the whole time they'd been gone. It was an uncomfortable situation for me; the unspoken fact of the matter was that, as crazy as this might be, I was the only possible suspect in the ecstasy's disappearance unless they'd really been lost (which they must have been). And though, when I mentioned this, John assured me I was not a suspect, I didn't much like the vibe going on in the livingroom as they continued their fruitless searching.
This all reminded me of the time a year and a third ago when Bathtubgirl bought four hits of ecstasy, put them in a film container, and then, in a pot-induced cleaning frenzy a few days later, accidentally threw the film container away, never to be seen again. There's a lesson to be learned here: never buy any more ecstasy than you can use in a single night.

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