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:
   return to the land of humidity
Monday, June 29 2009

setting: rural Hurley Township, Ulster County, New York

I'd missed my greenhouse and it was good to be home if only to be down there looking at it. I wanted to see how much the grass and weeds had grown on the mounds of earth against its west, north, and east walls (suprisingly little) and figure out what things to do next. Sometimes I like to just stand there staring at it, letting the spacial circuits of my brain perform spacial imagineering that it would make little sense to attempt to articulate. Stripey the cat likes to hang out with me when I'm doing this. Sometimes he just lies there on the bluestone walkway, belly to the sky, like a scale model of a dead bloated cow in a field. Unfortunately, there are many more mosquitoes than there were ten days ago and their vicious bites tend to interrupt my imagineering.
While there has been little growth of the plants that I want to grow on the fill around the greenhouse, there has been much growth of the plants I would rather not grow, the grass of the yard and the weeds of the garden. I made a few attempts to push the spool mower around the yard and managed to cut some swaths through it, but it's just too hard to do it all at once, the way it needs to be done. I still need to get a scythe.

Throughout our travels in the Pacific Northwest, I'd have to say that the bathroom situation was always a little bit worse than it is at home. Mary only has one bathroom in her place in Seattle, so sometimes lines had formed. And it was the same story at Juniper Lane Guesthouse on San Juan Island, where we shared a bathroom with a room full of bicyclists, all of whom needed to take showers in the morning. It was better at Wellspring near Mt. Rainier, where the bathroom was all ours. But it didn't have a bathtub. And Gilley in Portland only had one bathroom like Mary, so I didn't feel right taking a bath there. And damn it, I like taking baths. A bath feels like a vacation, particularly when I'm on vacation. But that experience had to wait until my vacation had ended. Tonight I got my increasingly-vexing copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and jumped in the tub and ran that solar-heated water.

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