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:
   avoiding Sylvia the cat
Monday, April 28 2014
I took the dogs on a fairly long walk starting from near from near the end of the Farm Road and up through the woods past Funky Pond. It's not a large pond, but for some reason, random walks through the woods on no particular trail always seem to lead to it. A little beyond it (though still far from home), I found a nice piece of fallen dry oak, so I cut it up and loaded some of it on my pack. It was just light enough (perhaps 60 pounds) for me to have walked with it indefinitely. Later, closer to home, I tried to cut up some more wood to add to my load, but my battery had died. Because I felt this load was incomplete, I wound up going on another salvaging mission later in the day, this time close to home.
Also, because I'd stayed up late last night, I took a nice long nap down in the greenhouse, mostly to avoid being pestered by Sylvia the cat. She likes to tread on my chest and plow the top of her head into my face even when I am sound asleep, and it always seems to take her a long time to settle down from this behavior and relax. (Clarence, on the other hand, is pretty much an instant-snuggler.)
I finally began taking measurements on the solar and laboratory decks this evening so that I can give that information to the structural engineer to help him complete his analysis of the structure. As I climbed around in various precarious places to get specific metrics, I thought about how pissed off I'd be if I slipped and fell and ended up paralyzed from the neck down just to satisfy paperwork requirements down in Hurley. There was almost no wind blowing, but still there was enough of one to occasionally pick up the sheet of scrap paper I was taking notes on, and on one occasion it drifted all the way down to the ground and I had to go grumbling down there to retrieve it.
This evening in the bathtub, I started reading an uncorrected proof of Levitt & Dubner's Think Like a Freak: The Authors of Freakonomics Offer to Retrain Your Brain, which Gretchen had obtained through her work at the bookstore in Woodstock.

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