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:
   the pain of eleven punctures
Sunday, October 6 2013
Despite a light rain, the pain of her injuries, and the threat of wild animals, Eleanor came with me and Ramona on our morning walk. We just did a small loop involving the Farm Road, the Chamomile Headwaters Trail, and part of the Stick Trail. Eleanor kept close but didn't seem particularly spooked by nature as it leaned in towards us.
Despite the pain medication (50 mg Tramadol twice daily), I could tell Eleanor was in pain at times today. Occasionally she'd moan the way I do when I have a very bad flu. I tried to make her comfortable by giving her a blanket and kissing her on the head, but eleven punctures through her skin were the reality we were working with.

I spent much of the day working on Lightroom plugin development. As I worked, I gradually came to hate both Lightroom and the SDK, which had a talent for failing without errors, causing mysterious behaviors and side effects that were impossible to track down. In one function I put debug trace lines between every line of code in hopes of figuring out where one mysterious unmentioned error was occurring.
Then, of course, there was the continued headache of having to do nearly everything of any consequence asynchronously, and thus never being able to get data as needed. I'm sure there are people who have no trouble dealing with this paradigm, but it makes my brain hurt and sends me off to Facebook or the Huffingtonpost, where I could savor news of the ongoing Republican crackup. That crackup is coming in many forms; of late I've been enjoying the slow calling of their bluff. They tried to bully Obama into defunding or delaying Obamacare by threatening not to pass a continuing funding resolution now and not to raise the debt limit later. But it seems this time Obama is willing to let their rich benefactors talk sense into them instead of sitting down to "negotiate."


Eleanor enjoying the Stick Trail despite her injuries, the rain, and the threat of apex predators. (Click to enlarge.)


Back home, Eleanor wanted to be under a towel. (Click to enlarge.)


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