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:
   best with a hangover
Monday, April 16 2001
My hangover was so terrible this morning that suicide almost seemed like a plausible remedy. I struggled into work, read a few articles at, corresponded with Gretchen via AOL Instant Messenger, and then just leaned back in my seat and felt like I was going to projectile vomit. Earlier I'd choked down a peanut sandwich before leaving for work, if only because I hadn't eaten anything yesterday at all.
Finally I realized there was no way I was going to survive the morning. I emailed some of my project-manager-type colleagues to tell them I had a case of "the stomach flu" and rode my bike back home. As sick as I was I couldn't help but notice this one cute young temporary-couple hugging each other goodbye after what had evidently been an epic one night stand. As they went their separate ways they had little smirks on their faces that unmistakably read "I got laid last night and I'm anything but embarrassed about the person I did it with!"
Sleeping until about 12:30pm did much to solve my problem, and upon returning to work I was able to accomplish in one afternoon as much as I normally do in a day and a half. I think I actually work best with a hangover. It keeps me focused.

Now I'd like to say a little something about Joey Ramone. Hailing from the isolation of Redneckistan, I'd never heard anything about the Ramones until my sophomore year in Oberlin, when Encina Riffini decided to play them loud one day on the second floor of Harkness. Whoah! I'd never heard anything quite like it before. It had sort of a 50s-by-way-of-the-Beach-Boys quality, but improved in the way anything is when shot from a Howitzer. Every song sounded the same, which could have been bad, but no, I was thinking it was probably just brilliant. Whatever the case, that one song was a damn good one. Doodle doo, doo doo doodle, Doodle doo, doo doo doodle, doodle doo, doo doo doodle, doo doo doo. I've been a Ramone fan ever since, but it's not like I ever had copies of any of their music. It was always enough just to hear a song occasionally on college radio or at a friend's house. I've never heard the Ramones played by anyone who wasn't cool.
This morning during the worst phase of my hangover I learned that Joey Ramone had died of lymphatic cancer. Now I never sniffed glue as a kid, mostly because my parents told me that the fumes would give me cancer, and I was all too aware of the fact that cancer had killed my grandfather and twice attacked my grandmother. Joey, he didn't have my sort of upbringing. He was all about sniffing glue, and though now he's dead, the world is certainly a better place for his glue sniffing ways.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next