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:
Sunday, March 4 2012
Today Gretchen and I hosted something of a dogwarming for Ramona. People came over and brought their dogs and we all went on a hike down the Farm Road. Gretchen likes to take people on a somewhat boring loop around 41.925043N, 74.113555W, so I decided it might be fun to see the waterfall. But at about that time Deborah's dog Al-Lou cut that little nail-less non-toe (the "carpal pad") at the back of his paw and was now putting big spots of blood on the snow with every step. At first Deborah thought it wasn't a big deal, but the bleeding didn't seem to be stopping, so all turned around and only some of the dogs actually made it to the waterfall. I told everyone that they'd missed out on one of North America's most remarkable attractions: its highest waterfall situated between two smoking volcanoes.
Back at the house, we tried several times to bandage Al-Lou's bloody paw, but he kept ripping the bandage off. We tried using a cone of shame for a time, but that made him sad. And as soon as it was off, he ripped his bandage off yet again. What finally solved the problem was me supergluing his cut back together. Knowing to do that is almost like knowing germ theory in terms of the practical applications. I don't know why supergluing nasty cuts isn't taught in 6th grade health class.
Meanwhile Gretchen had put together a quickie brunch based on crackers and dips, one of which had been made from my funky fava bean tempeh. It smelled and tasted like some sort of aged cheddar cheese and was a big hit. I said at one point that I'm thinking of moving my tempeh-making operation to the brownhouse "so it will be even funkier," which Deborah didn't immediately parse as a joke.
There was a second wave of Ramona visitors in the evening, when Paul and Ingrid came bearing a delightfully leggy giraffe chew toy whose legs and arms were interconnected in a way that made it so that when a leg was pulled, it would gain length while one of the arms lost length (and vice versa). Paul claims not to like dogs, but he's already a fan of Sally (because she's so old and dignified), and while being put off by puppy energy is understandable when it comes to a dog like Ramona, it's hard not to fine Eleanor an absolute delight. While they were here, Ingrid told us about having to flee Columbia (the one that is neither British nor a District) in the 1990s to escape the cocaine wars happening there, an experience that has left her vehemently anti-drug (with some unusual exceptions). Then Paul told us about his life as an art student in Washington DC and also of his plans to sell off 70 rental units in Brooklyn in five years so he and Ingrid can retire somewhere warm enough to grow mangos.

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