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").



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Like my brownhouse:
   celebrate with Indian food
Wednesday, March 28 2012
This evening Gretchen and I met up with Jenny and Doug at the Kingston Indian Restaurant, the most reliably-delicious restaurant within 20 miles (and, being from Willow, Jenny and Doug actually had to drive somewhat more than that). The occasion was to celebrate the production of a preliminary bound draft (complete with cover art) of the book Gretchen and Jenny have been writing together, that is Jenny's memoir. Gretchen had brought a bottle of fancy champagne from our refrigerator and the food we ordered all our usual favorite curries, which are, with any luck, vegan.
The first chunk of dinner discussion concerned what celebrities might be convinced to write blurbs for the book's back cover and the animal-rights-tolerant television shows where the book might be promoted. But eventually the topic turned to other things, including Jenny and Doug's recent trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico (where, when drinking fruity booze on the beach got to be too much, they volunteered at a local dog shelter.). At some point Jenny asked what I've been up to, so I told of my successes with fava bean tempeh and my great new job. Later I even told the story of that time the FBI came to my door when I was living in Los Angeles (somehow Jenny and Doug had never heard that story; it's actually an even better story than the one I put online, because there was a whole dimension of it that I was forced to leave out).
After our meal, we all went out to our car, where our three dogs had been waiting, and this gave Jenny and Doug an opportunity to meet Ramona for the first time. [REDACTED]


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