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:
   nature, nurture, and a dog named Gus
Monday, February 6 2012
Tonight the Bachelor would be broadcast at 8:00pm, and lately Nancy and I have been going over to Sarah's house sitting gig in Bearsville to watch it. After loading up Sally and Eleanor and picking up a six pack of Mountain Brew Ice (and filling the front two tires with air) at Stewart's, I picked up Nancy and drove us out to Sarah's place. Sarah is dogsitting three dogs, and the largest of these (a black Labrador named Ty) was so happy to see us that he began chasing his tail. I'd never seen so much biomass executing such rapid rotation.
Sarah had put together the constituent parts for burritos, which we assembled ourselves. I'm so used to wrapping my burritos in whole wheat tortillas that the white flour kind Sarah had seemed like mere simulations. They, along with the refried nature of the beans, made the assembled burritos look a bit more like dirty diapers than anything I've put in my mouth since swearing off Taco Bell. But they were delicious nevertheless.
The smallest of the dogs being dogsat by Sarah is a rescued Boston Terrier named Gus (of all things). Gus is a real mess of both nature and nurture. Being an imbred purebred, he has heart problems, difficulty breathing, and he frequently passes horrific clouds of gas. In terms of nurture, Gus evidently spent some time in an abusive environment, because he's a bit skittish, particularly around strangers. Today, though, he decided I was okay after I'd spent a few minutes scratching his head and so he climbed up on my belly as I lay there watching the television. Mercifully, he refrained from farting. Eleanor, meanwhile, was stretched out like an odalisque on a large fake fur that Sarah had recently purchased. Note to self: get Eleanor her own fake fur; this isn't the first time I'd seen her luxuriating on one.
As for the Bachelor, the highlight of this episode came in the form of a cringe-inducing pseudo-lapdance. One the shyer of the prospective women decided it was time to make out with the Bachelor or risk going home, though her follow-through had the awkwardness of a Japanese stop-action sea monster. The Bachelor, not wanting to ever run across that woman again, sent her packing.

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