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:
   Hurley is over eleven miles away
Friday, November 30 2012
It was an unpleasantly cold day, with temperatures only reaching up out of the 20s by the late afternoon. Gretchen had a bunch of errands to run in various places, one of which took her to KMOCA on the Rondout (Deborah was shooting pictures of her for one of her soon-to-be-published poetry books), and while there she picked up my paintings (and other art) that had been hanging at the gallery. Usually I buy all my own beer, but I'd run out of IPA and didn't think I'd be leaving the house any time soon, so I had Gretchen get me a sixer of Little Sumpin' Sumpin' Ale at the gas station beer cave on Broadway in Kingston.
But then I barely missed the mail delivery truck and ended up with one of those little notices telling me I had something to pick up at the post office. I hate having to go down there to get my shit, but that feeling is always coupled with a gnawing curiosity about what it is that has arrived. Today I couldn't bear it any more; I thought perhaps it was some weather sensors belonging to a base station that had mysteriously been delivered without any of the sensors it supposedly comes with. So I found myself getting into the car and driving to the Hurley post office.
But the drive into Hurley is no longer the casual drive it used to be. A bridge is very slowly being repaired on Wynkoop, and until that job is finished, one has to drive all the way up to Route 28 to find the nearest route to Old Hurley. What had been a 2.6 mile drive is now 11.3 miles.
It turned out that my package waiting for me was one of the sluggish ones from China. It was a seven inch LCD display capable of displaying signals via a composite input, and not the weather sensors I'd been hoping for. Still, the arrival of this particular package had taken longer than Ebay had suggested it would, and the seller (using his best broken English) had said he would be shipping me another. So I had to hurry home and tell the shipper (through unbroken English) that all was well.


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