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:
   rose petal icecream
Sunday, March 7 2010
This morning we had brunch at our house for five people: Gretchen and me, Ray, Sarah the vegan, and a new friend named Michæl from High Falls (though he originally came from South Africa). Sarah prepared most of the food, which was built around a light salad of crunchy shredded broccoli stems with sauteed mushrooms and tempeh-containing puff pastries. The weather was so nice, we could actually have our brunch out on the east deck, our first outdoor meal of the year. As an indication of the abruptness of the transition, Ray and I had to first get the snow off the outdoor seats and parts of the deck (a late battle of a cleaning jihad he and I had both been waging since about 9:30am. (Ray might be a good waiter, but he's also handy with a broom.)
Later, Gretchen, Sarah, Michæl all went for a walk in the woods while Ray stayed back at the house making cosmetic fixes to the torn upholstery of a 1998 Subaru Impreza he'd just bought (having first given up the Saab he'd been driving for years).

It wasn't long after our brunch guests left that Gretchen and I had to make another social engagement, this one a small dinner gathering in honor of our friend Deborah at the Garden Café in Woodstock. Today was her birthday, and of course Gretchen spent part of the afternoon making the dessert. Deborah had scheduled her birthday meal for 5:00pm so those of her friends who wanted to see the Oscars live could.
There were seven of us at the meal, though I didn't really feel like I knew anyone very well there except Gretchen and Deborah. Still, it was a comfortable crowd, and I was in rare form with my usual jokiness. One of the guys at the table kept regaling us with stories of his job as a farmer/gardener. And at one point he mentioned eating rose petal icecream. I'd been good at censoring myself and not telling the lamer of the jokes that had been popping into my head, but the image conjured up by the rose petal icecream was too good to contain. "It must have been like eating a little old lady!" I exclaimed.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next