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:
   cryptic speech
Friday, April 14 2006
Our houseguest Ray was showing me his arsenal of diabetes paraphernalia this morning. It included an electric-razor-sized device for testing blood sugar levels, a dildo-sized device for pricking your finger, and a pen-sized hypodermic needle made to look as little as possible like something a heroin user might deploy. Using the finger pricker and the tester, we determined that my blood was running 89 mg of sugar per dL, one of the most normal levels possible. Gretchen, who hadn't eaten anything at all yet this morning, had a blood sugar level of 83 mg/dL, which (in the very precise world of blood sugar) is considered a tiny bit low. By contrast, someone like Ray with Type II diabetes frequently tests 200 mg/dL, enough to cause ants to queue whenever he sits down.

Ray and Nancy took a sub-excursion up to Albany and Troy for the night, and just before they left I went over to Woodstock for my usual set of meetings, a housecall, and (as always) a couple slices of pizza from Catskill Mountain Pizza, which is on 212 on the east end of the middle of the village. In the back of the restaurant (where I temporarily parked today) is some land belonging to a guy who delights in riling his neighbors. He stirred up a ruckus a year or so ago when he painted and repainted a swastika on a junky old camper. The swastika always end up being defiled, and the owner is so unclear about the point he's trying to make that he occasionally takes credit for these defacings. (Back in January of 2005 there was an article about the controversy in the Woodstock Times).
Swastika Man isn't the only person in Woodstock whose public speech is difficult to decode; there is a Mobil gas station nearby that flies the stringy remains of a long-faded American flag. Beside the flag is a sign vowing that it will continue to fly until the day Pam "gets justice." According to the sign, Pam was killed at "the World Trade Center" on "nine eleven" and the "flag" has been flying at the Gulf station ever since. I don't know what the gas station owners "think" would constitute "justice" in this "case," but I can "brainstorm" some "possibilities":

  1. Osama bin Laden is arrested, tried, and executed.
  2. The Taliban are finally defeated in Afghanistan.
  3. Whoever is responsible for the anthrax attack of Fall, 2001 (anyone still remember that?) is arrested, tried, and executed.
  4. George W. Bush/Donald Rumsfeld/Dick Cheney/Karl Rove/name-your-favorite-9-11-beneficiary is/are arrested, tried, and executed.
  5. George W. Bush proclaims 9/11, the Iraq War, and Hurricane Katrina didn't actually happen after all, pardons Osama bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, and Michæl Brown for the mixup, and issues an edict saying that now we can all really go shopping.
  6. Pam is brought back from the dead and allowed to go on with her life.
  7. Terri Schiavo is found alive and well in a cave outside Kabul, nursing late-term Afghan abortions (some of them legless and scarred) back to health after rescuing them from dumpsters.

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