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:
   Lulu the cat
Wednesday, June 30 2004
Gretchen's ankle was still in the process of recovery throughout the day, so she got around mostly by hopping. I'd fashioned her a crutch from a sapling, but it was too short and ponderous to use effectively. So she mostly sat around watching teevee, totally forgetting that we had some guests coming in from out of town. It was a full twenty minutes after they should have arrived that she remembered and finally got around to putting her pants on. Luckily they were running late and we had a chance to tidy up the house, which still had residual cleanliness from our thorough pre-Red House Party cleaning.

Before our guests arrived, Nikki from the SPCA showed up to drop off another cat for us to foster. You may recall that we had a cat named Mavis whom we fostered for a year until she became sickly with age. This new cat's name is Lulu, and she looks like a shorter, fatter, younger version of Mavis. She also is crotchety like Mavis, but in a different way. Instead of following people around and complaining, Lulu's thing is to permit only two or three pets before viciously attacking whoever is doing the petting. While drinking leftover Keegan Ale we learned another of Lulu's peculiarities. We heard a loud clunk from the laundry room (her temporary office) and when we ran to see what had happened, it seemed she'd completely vanished. Only after ten minutes of frantic searching did we find her. She'd somehow managed to leap from the dryer up onto a set of cabinets only six inches beneath the ceiling.
Then they arrived, our guests from out of town. They were a couple consisting of Gretchen's first cousin once removed and her husband, both in their sixties and from San Jose (you know, Silicon Valley). Since they both retired they've been touring America in a smallish minivan. They've been avoiding freeways and even hotels as much as possible. Staying at our place, with its hot running water and queen-sized guestroom bed, would be something of a luxury.

For dinner the four of us ate out at the Egg's Nest Restaurant in High Falls. I've started noticing a pattern to the meals I eat there. The food is always good, but something about the pacing of the service really annoys me and makes me wish I'd stayed home. The waiter or waitress always takes forever to bring the check to the table, and there always ends up being a huge discussion among the others at my table about whether or not dessert should be ordered. The restaurant's protocol seems tailored to maximize such dessert-related banter. I realize I'm being selfish, but I absolutely detest dessert conversation, particularly when it begins even before the meal itself (as it does at the Egg's Nest, because the dessert menu is always on the table). I'm glad I got that off my chest. [REDACTED]

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