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

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Like my brownhouse:
   seven years of the Baby
Monday, September 30 2013
Today marks the 7th anniversary of the day Marie (aka "the Baby") came to live with us. Wilma came to live with us that day also, and she remained with us for a little less than four years before moving in with Sarah the Vegan (and then, a week or so ago, dying of advanced kidney failure). But the Baby keeps on living. For some reason her pissing and pooping behavior haven't been as noxious as late; I rarely smell and never see her poops before the dogs gobble them up. And she's gone back to pissing in a litter box (instead of in the laboratory) which is nice. At this time of year, it's not always easy for the Baby to stay as warm as she likes. In the daytime she can be out in the sun, but when the sun goes down she curls up into a tight ball on the king-sized bed in the upstairs bedroom, sometimes snuggling with Ramona.
Today I needed some additional provisions, so I drove to Uptown Kingston and shopped at Hannaford for things like bread, bagels, beans, beer, fruit juice, and pseudoephedrine (the last of which I somehow lost between Hannaford and home).
As usual, Hannaford was something of a freak show, but today it was mostly one in the conventional sense, that is, in the sense that would also include me as a freak. For example, there was a young multiracial lesbian couple shopping for groceries, the Caucasian half of which was heavily tattooed and pierced. I wanted to get a good look (and anyone who looks that way wants to be looked at), but it was impossible to do so without staring.
Driving around in the Subaru, I was finding the brakes disconcerting. Only three of the four brakes work, but that's not the problem. The problem is that when I apply braking at low speeds, there's a rough grinding sound coming from somewhere and I can feel the brake pedal pulsing irregularly. Clearly at least one or more of the three working discs is warped and there might be crud on the pads. But when I look at the pads and the discs, I can't see anything wrong with them.
This afternoon I walked a little ways down the Stick Trail with the chain saw and cleared some trees that had been blocking the trail for months. Eventually the chain seized up on the bar and refused to move, but I'd neglected to bring the maintenance tool (which combines a screwdriver with a 3/4 inch socket). That thing should be built into the chainsaw because it always ends up being needed. Later back at the house when I was cleaning the chain and bar, I noticed the oil reservoir was empty. I don't think that's anywhere near as bad as a car running out of oil, but it's not good either.
Up until today I'd been subsisting on bagels, cereal, and corn chips, but this evening I cooked a real meal for the first time since Gretchen left on her book tour. It took the form of my usual multi-bean "glurp," suitable for use as filling in a burrito. The glurp I made today also contained kale, hot peppers, and tomatoes from the garden. And, since we have a lot of salad greens from our last trip to Trader Joe's, I was sure to put a lot of that in my burritos as well. But it's proving impossible to eat all those greens fast enough. At this point there is no hope of avoiding spoilage without Gretchen here to help me.
My Breaking Bad watching, booze drinking, and pseudoephedrine pill popping last night left me with mid-level hangover that persisted until I went to bed tonight at around midnight. I don't know if my hangovers are typical, but it never happens to me now that I'll have a hangover in the morning that clears up later in the day. If anything, my hangovers always seem to peak at about 8:00 pm of the day following excessive alcohol consumption.

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