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:
   discover its burrito
Saturday, November 29 2008

setting: Silver Spring, Montgomery County, Maryland

While a real-world terrorist hostage crisis came to an end in the real Bombay, here in Silver Spring, Maryland this afternoon I found myself dining at an Indian restaurant called Bombay Gaylord. I'd been craving an Indian food fix since yesterday's lunch fiasco, and we'd come, found the buffet, and tucked in to the several vegetarian options available. I can imagine some sort of a mathematical model for predicting the adequacy of an Indian meal based on the absence or presence of a buffet, and the number of items on the buffet. The problem with Bombay Gaylord's buffet is the few number of items, a number further decreased if one happens to be vegetarian. Still, I'm not as fussy about Indian food as Gretchen is, and I rather enjoyed my meal. For me, the saving grace of any Indian meal is nan, which I use to make microburritos of everything I eat. Every cuisine has its burrito, and to the extent I find myself wanting when partaking of a cuisine, it is always because I have yet to discover its burrito.
After some fussing around back at Gretchen's parents' house, we eventually loaded up the car and drove back northward towards our house in Hurley. Somewhere in eastern Maryland we got stuck in traffic and Gretchen floated the idea of maybe staying in a motel. I feeling beat and that sounded like an excellent idea. But the moment we crossed into New Jersey, we got onto 295 and experience good driving conditions from there nearly all the way up to Princeton. We got off at the Grounds for Sculpture exit, but it was warehouse district devoid of motels. We didn't actually find a suitable place to stay until we'd headed up US 206 all the way to Somerville, 24 miles to the north. When you have no use for a motel, they're everywhere. When you need one, they all turn out to be hotels, the kind of places where you can't take a dog. We had two dogs and a cat!
The Super 8 Motel in Raritan was where we ended up. Though it wasn't particularly late, the guy working the desk was asleep when Gretchen came through the door to check in. The motel was sort of a dump, the kind of place that no amount of scrubbing would ever get clean. We walked our dogs in an adjacent parking lot studded with two abandoned fast-food-restaurant-style buildings, both of which featured Mansard roofs.
Back in our room, Gretchen ordered Chinese food and we watched Ellen's Even Bigger Really Big Show on cable teevee, which was the perfect level of trashy for motel teevee viewing. The best part was when some dude twirled a woman above him at the top of a very long pole, and the woman came to be attached to that pole only by her hair.

Critters in our motel room tonight. From left: Eleanor, the Baby, and Sally.

Me with the Baby (also known as "Marie").

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next