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:
   company bike
Sunday, January 28 2001
My hearing seemed to be damaged today. That music last night was fucking loud, especially the Pink Faries' bass drum. I remember thinking last night that it was affecting my heart.

Frank, the UK producer guy who sort of reminds me of Matt Rogers, left for the UK yesterday and it's possible he won't ever be returning. He left his $400 Trek mountain bike in my care on the small chance that he might need it again in the future. Interestingly, since the bike actually belongs to the company, Frank cannot sell it to me. I'm hoping its existance will simply get lost in the bureaucratic paperwork shuffle and become mine through the same informal process that allowed white people to take possession of the Americas.
Today was Superbowl Sunday, and as part of my socializing regime, I watched a bit of the game with John and Maria. "This is boring!" Maria said after a few minutes of play. "Why can't they just have an N'Sync concert instead?" For me, watching the superbowl was mostly about watching the ads. There were a few dotcoms with the strength to run ads, but all of these had a cannibalistically post-modern feel. For example, featured the burned remains of the old sock puppet being examined with sadness by a dapperly-dressed chimpanzee, Mutual of Omaha, er, Keep America Beautiful Indian stylee. Then of course there was, which is thriving on the waves of layoffs sweeping the dotcom world. Any advertisement run by is inherently cannibalistic in these tricky economic times.

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