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:
   usual celebratory script
Tuesday, February 18 2003

The snowplow guy came out and pushed all the snow out of our driveway today. It was a big job, because it included not only the 18 inches of fresh snow, but the heavy stale snow that had fallen in early January as well as the trace of lingering Christmas snow beneath that. The snowplow guy drove a four wheel drive pickup truck equipped with a plow mechanism on the front. He had his young son with him and periodically he'd deploy the kid to do a little manual shoveling, such as when we needed to get our vehicles out of the way. I guess dads are just this way, but the poor kid couldn't do anything without his father yelling out advice for how to do it better.
While this was going on, Gretchen was returning from the mail box with two acceptance letters for various submissions she'd made to poetry journals. This was big news - the first acceptance in a very long time. Poetry submission is such a continually unrewarding process that we'd actually taken the advice of a poetry submission veteran and begun to celebrate every tenth rejection. But now we actually had something positive to celebrate. So this evening we followed our usual celebratory script, going to the Hurley Mountain Inn for dinner. We ended up at the bar talking to Toni, one of the guys Gretchen had befriended at our brownstone closing celebration (also on a Tuesday). [REDACTED]

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