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:
   thunder siege
Monday, June 19 2006
This afternoon a brewing thunderstorm sent me on a mad scramble to bring down the ladders from the roof, mostly because I didn't want the steel joints of the articulated ladder to rust. It was a hot, sweaty job, made all the more difficult by the residual heat in the shingles. I found myself acting rashly as I hurled disassembled structures down to the ground, inflicting dents and deep scratches in the ladder equipment that had the misfortune of being on the ground below. If I'd tried to hit them I would have surely missed, but when I tried to miss them I hit them every time.
When the thunderstorm finally came, it was only the first of several. Sally cowered under my feet, panting and shivering as she always does during storms. "It's okay, it's okay!" I assure her, but she's unconvinced. She follows me around wherever I go, evidently assuming that I'm the only one capable of defending her from the danger. She follows me even out into the rain when I dash to the car to roll up its windows. The car, she seems to think, is the most reliable means of escape. Today she was so desperate to get in that she actually jumped up to the driver side window as I rolled it shut and would have made it inside had it not already been two-thirds closed. That's athletic for a ten year old dog.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next