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").



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   fiddleheads and pizza
Saturday, April 22 2006
Rain fell today for the first time since early April, and I was delighted because it meant maybe I would be able to see whether or not my extensive new drainage systems would perform as expected.
Rain meant an absence of sun, but I had 53 gallons of piping-hot solar-heated water in the indirect hot water heater, so I thought I'd take a bath anyway. (I tend to crave baths more when it rains; this is an artifact of my childhood, when - due to the fact that household water was actually rainwater - I could only bathe when it rained.) To get the most out of the water, Gretchen and I bathed together in our upstairs jacuzzi tub. Unfortunately, that was the end of our hot water until the sun shone again.
This evening Gretchen and I visited our friends Peggy and David in nearby Stone Ridge for pizza, wine, and a movie. The pizza was very rich in olive oil, something that could be cut with fern fiddleheads that David had fried oil. I didn't think there was anything too special about the ferns, but they were good on the pizza. Gretchen, on the other hand, found them nauseating. She said they had a sliminess that reminded her of okra. (I'm unsure what it is she's describing; nothing about the fiddleheads seemed slimy to me.)
As for the movie, it was Alfred Hitchcock's Rope, a one-set playlike movie whose cuts were done discretely during zoom-ins to actors' backs. Rope was a fairly weak movie, lacking the things that could have made it genuinely entertaining: character development or real suspense. Instead we were left with the game of figuring out when the cuts took place or where Mr. Hitchcock made his trademark crypto-cameos.


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