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:
   hummingbird arrival, 2012
Friday, May 4 2012
This evening Gretchen went across the river to Rhinebeck with Paul, Ingrid, Deborah, and Tricia to see a movie called Pariah, about what it's like to grow up in Brooklyn as an African American lesbian. Gretchen would end up loving the movie, and all of them would go out for drinks at Gaby's Café, the fun Mexican restaurant that serves complimentary pineapple liqueurs (and the only reason I'll ever have for going to Rhinebeck again).
Meanwhile back at the house I was experiencing a bit of a liquor crisis, so I drove to Uptown Kingston on a beer and liquor run. While I was at Hannaford, I stocked up on a number of other dubious items I am running low on: Ambesol to treat occasional flare ups of mouth sores, isopropyl alcohol (a good semi-universal solvent and disinfectant; in the kitchen I use it up at a rate of about one quart every eight years; in the laboratory maybe twice as fast), and pseudoephedrine, a recreational stimulant I'd actually taken earlier this very day.
As always, I mined 40 gallons of topsoil from the east bank of the Esopus across Wynkoop from the Hurley Mountain Inn while the dogs amused themselves eating dead bullfrogs and what not. Usually I never see people down there, but today the dogs started barking at a pedestrian fisherman returning from the corn field to the north. I told the dogs that it was okay and there was no need to bother the guy, though in truth they might have noticed something I hadn't picked up; looking at the guy, I wouldn't be too surprised to learn that he'd just been burying human bodies back there under the Cottonwoods.
Today I took note of the arrival of the hummingbirds, one of the last-arriving migratory birds of any warm season. I didn't actually see one, but I heard one buzz by my head. If they weren't such little assholes, I'd be in more of a hurry to restock the hummingbird feeder with sugar water.

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