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

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(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   hunters of the corn fields
Wednesday, December 8 2010
The first day of December had been warm, with highs in the 60s. But since then weather has been unseasonably cold, more typical of January than December. Still, this hasn't kept the deer hunters out of the forest. Gretchen has been having a difficult time finding a place to walk the dogs. If she goes down the farm road, she occasionally encounters a landowner's son who gave her shit in the past (though the last time she came upon him he ignored her). In this season I just go down the Stick Trail, where it's very rare to come upon a hunter. But lately Gretchen has been driving down to the cornfields in the Esopus Valley (a mile and a half away), where she has insisted (in defiance of logic if not evidence) that there are no hunters. Her luck changed today when a truck drove up to her and its blaze-orange-wearing driver asked if she had permission from the landowner (a major local corn grower and vegetable farmer). So she played nice and managed to charm her way out of whatever trouble she was in. She was told, though, that she should get permission from the landowner. The landowner, by the way, is a major force in the local Hurley Republican party and is known for the barracks-like accommodations he provides his migrant employees (who, though Hispanic, mostly drink Budweiser, not Corona). [The guy who accosted Gretchen later turned out to be the landowner's son-in-law. He'd also seen her car and this led us to wonder what he'd thought of all Gretchen's lefty and animal-rights-related bumper stickers.] [REDACTED]

Wednesdays are my teevee day, the day when I am uncharacteristically assertive about my rights to the teevee couch. The programs I want to watch are not the kind Gretchen watches, so it's just usually me and Marie the cat (aka "the Baby") or perhaps Julius (aka "Stripey"). The latter cat only watches teevee when I'm watching it; Gretchen and he are arch-nemeses.

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