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:
   in that part of the 80s
Thursday, January 4 2007
Standard Poodles don't really seem like dogs to me; instead they seem like the unfortunate victims of animal engineering performed in that part of the 80s when everyone, including Joni Mitchell, felt the need to sport a perm. Gretchen calls them "laboratory dogs," and is quick to point out the examples of their poor health (particularly Oliver's nectarine-sized tumor) that she attributes to the standard breeder practice of inbreeding. Permed hair just doesn't feel comfortable, cuddly, or clean to my fingers. And it certainly doesn't help that Standard Poodles are among the boniest breeds of dog. Petting them is like petting a rock covered with greasy steel wool. By comparison, Eleanor is like a fluffy pillow brought in fresh from the clothesline.

At some point today I put the finishing touches on a small painting that is supposed to be included in a quilt being made for the recently-born son of my childhood friend Nathan and his wife Janine. The painting depicts a school bus driving through a magical landscape of low rolling hills, an allusion to how Nathan and I became such good friends back in fourth grade. We used to ride the same bus (number 95) every morning and evening, although I was on it for a good twenty minutes before it picked him up in the morning and I was on it for a good twenty minutes after it would let him off in the afternoon.

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