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:
   for want of a cord
Monday, November 1 2004

I returned to to a tiny cottage over beyond Lakehill today to install a brand new printer. This was the same place where my attempt to install a laser printer had been stymied by the lack of a "drum." The printer I installed today was a cheap inkjet machine, all of whose thin plastic parts seemed on the verge snapping. Typical of cheap computer peripherals, its power supply was an enormous black brick with three prongs coming out of it. There was no convenient place to plug in this monstrosity, so I asked the client if he had an extension cord. Not only did he not have one, he didn't really seem to understand what an extension cord was. "Aw come on, everyone has an extension cord somewhere," I insisted. But we throroughly searched the house and came up empty handed. So I ended up plugging the damn thing in behind the stove and running wires from there into the living room where the computer was plugged in, leaving a web of cords that completely blocked access to the kitchen. But at least I got the printer to work. By the way, I've never dealt with such a technologically uneducated client in my life. For example, he asked me to show him how to create new documents in Microsoft Word. He's been using his laptop for two years but all of his work has been with a single document. What made this all the more strange was how geeky and meticulously logical this man was.
On the way home I managed to load a flat rock into my truck that was so big that I couldn't actually lift it off the ground. I don't actually need to gather any more rocks for any existing projects, but I'm sure I'll find a use for this big guy some day.

This evening Gretchen and I had dinner at La Pupuseria with the Meatlocker People, who'd just returned from their honeymoon in Italy. While we were there, a shirtless young black man ran in from off the street. Apparently he was fleeing attackers. (Broadway between Uptown and the Rondout is a notoriously bad neighborhood.) It was the first time I'd ever seen an African American in La Pupuseria.

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