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
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Irving housing

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Like my brownhouse:
   appearance at the bachelorette party
Saturday, October 2 2004
Clouds gathered throughout the day as I worked on the latest battle of my house drainage jihad, the west retaining wall trench project. First I completed the setting of the last half dozen or so concrete blocks. Then I lined the trench with plastic on the wall side and fabric on the soil side. Next I connected up the PVC drainage pipes that will carry away any water that finds itself in that trench. Finally I dumped gravel in on the pipe. This gravel consisted of a mix of rounded stones (some as big as my fist) that I'd harvested from Fording Place on Esopus Creek several days ago. There were some details of drainage that required the mixing of concrete, but it was from an old bag of concrete and I began to have doubts about whether or not it would actually set.
The darkening clouds finally unleashed a shower at about 3pm, and the rain continued from there. I continued with some last-minute work even in the rain, mostly so the ditch could handle its first assignment. Everything seemed to be working nicely except that the pipe carrying water from the trench was leaking badly where it penetrated the retaining wall.

This evening was the night of Ms. Meatlocker's bachelorette party (she and Mr. Meatlocker are going to wed soon). It was to be an unconventional bachelorette party, so unconventional in fact that it mocked the very thing a bachelorette party is supposed to celebrate: the wild freedom of being single. I say this because the classic bachelorette party role of stripper would be played by none other than Mr. Meatlocker, the bachelorette's future husband! The ridiculousness-to-funniness ratio of the decision for him to serve as the stripper had been too high for Gretchen, but Mr. Meatlocker and Ms. Meatlocker's girlfriends were all insistent. One of the girlfriends even made a pair of break away trousers for Mr. Meatlocker to wear as part of his outfit, which was that of a police man (complete with an inexplicable studded leather dog collar).
But I'm getting ahead of myself. For the first couple hours the party was more conventional, with just women (including Gretchen) present. Well, actually, there was a guy there too, but he was one of those guys having "honorary girl" status. You know the kind. Not gay, but possibly a closet metrosexual. While that was going on, Mr. Meatlocker and I went out to Hoe Bowl, a bowling alley out on 9W in Kingston. It was like every other bowling alley you can think of, except that its bar and its grill were on two different sides of the building. As for my bowling, Mr. Meatlocker got a score twice as high as mine in the first game, but then I beat him by over sixty points in the second. That second game was the best I've ever played in my life. Complicating matters was a fresh new infection on the side of my left foot at the base of the big toe. It had cropped up so quickly that I was a little concerned that I was infected with a vicious flesh eating bacterium.
I came along with Mr. Meatlocker when he finally made his appearance at the bachelorette party. He pounded on the door of his meatlocker apartment and, once inside, snarled "There's been a noise complaint. Not enough noise!" On that cue, Gretchen cranked up the stereo with "Another One Bites the Dust." Ms. Meatlocker was laughing hysterically as Mr. Meatlocker gyrated, sort of. But his heart wasn't really in it and he only lasted about 20 seconds. The pants came off in a gesture, revealing boxer shorts covered with Jewish icons that Mr. Meartlocker had drawn in black magic marker.

Mr. Meatlocker about to strip for his future bride in their apartment (a former meatlocker). That mustache is real, by the way.

Sadie, the Meatlockers' dog. She recently got in a fight with Katie (their landlord's dog) and had to get stiches in her face.

Mr. Meatlocker photographs the ladies. Gretchen is third from the left and Ms. Meatlocker is on the far right.

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