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:
   hand hurt cold
Wednesday, November 19 2008
It was consistently sunny today for the first time in awhile, meaning that the solar array on the roof was able to bank some heat. Despite the weather, it's still in summer mode, using any heat it collects to warm household water. Once the boiler is turned on, we're in "winter mode," water is heated by the boiler, and I set the solar array to circulate any heat it collects through the basement slab.
Despite the sun, the day was the coldest so far this season, barely rising above freezing if at all (in other words, colder than an average day in January for this climate). I tried to do some carpentry at the greenhouse but all I could muster was a few measurements before my hands started hurting. There was a cruel wind blowing from the south; I know this because I had to face it every time I rounded the north end of the house and headed south towards the front door and it would catch me in the face and remind me of an occasion when I was a seven year old walking the half mile to Lanham Elementary School and it was so cold that I cried.
My main achievement today on the greenhouse project was the creation of a new outdoor electrical outlet near the northeast corner of the house. This will allow me to run an extension cord to the greenhouse without having to crack a window in the garage. At this time of year I try to keep the garage sealed up as tightly as possible to preserve its latent heat through the winter.
This evening Gretchen headed from her work at Eastern Correctional Facility down to Sarah Lawrence College, where she would be among a group of readers at another one of those poetry things. Afterwards, on her drive back north, she checked into a hotel somewhere along Route 17. We'd talked about an ideal hotel situation, where she'd find a cheap place near Newburgh, order a delivery of Chinese food, take a hot bath, and watch trashy teevee. But by the time she found a hotel it was a little fancier and more expensive than the idealized one she'd envisioned. It was also after 11pm and the Chinese place in that particular town (Goshen) was closed.
Meanwhile I was camped out on the couch watching teevee with two cats on my chest: Sylvia and Marie (aka the Baby).

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