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:
   QuickCheck beers
Saturday, June 7 2014
After I'd gathered today's 120 pound load of salvage firewood and Gretchen had left for a shift at the bookstore in Woodstock, I gathered up the dogs and some crappy kitchen items Gretchen wanted to get rid of and drove over to Ray and Nancy's house in Old Hurley. With the bridge out, this meant I had to drive to 28 on Hurley Mountain Road and then south on Hurley Avenue. I stopped along the way to get some $9 IPAs at the QuickCheck Express (temporarily one of our closest gas stations) and a book for Gretchen from the Hurley Library. Today was a big day for yardsales throughout Old Hurley, and Ray and Nancy were participating by having a sale in their yard. It included lots of old golf supplies, roller blades, pots and pans, clothes, a 120 volt weedeater, some ugly furniture, and a crock pot I'd gotten as a present for Gretchen that she'd subsequently given to Ray and Nancy. Also joining the yardsale was Sarah the Vegan, who had brought a bag of clothes that would eventually be snapped up by a pretty young redhead in a green dress. Sarah had picked up some vegan pies from Catskill Mountain Pizza, and it was great to eat a slice of that with my paper cup of QuickCheck coffee (it would only slightly overlap my drinking of Sam Adams RebelIPA, which isn't so great but only costs $8.99 for a sixer). The yardsale had mostly wound down by the time I arrived, but it ended up being a great playdate for Ramona and Jack, who wrestled each other almost constantly the whole time. Jack is bigger and stronger than he was last time he played with Ramona, so when they play, it doesn't (as it used to do) quickly devolve into Ramona humping him. Not that she didn't get a few chances to hump him today, though it was mostly on his face (and he took advantage of that to playfolly mouth her legs).
For most of the yardsale, we kept the dogs on the porch in the house, though near the end when almost nobody except the young redhead in the green dress was coming by (she did so twice), we turned the dogs loose. They were good and mostly just played in the nearby grass, not even straying too far into the yard of the rich Republican neighbors to the south (who appeared to be hosting some sort of graduation event involving lots of smartly-dressed fresh-faced young white people).
It was relaxing and life-affirming to hang out and do nothing but drink beer at the yard sale. Other than that, I was mostly just shooting the shit with Ray (who, because of his work schedule, I rarely see these days). I ended up drinking three of those RebelIPAs and then, in an effort to sober up, one of Ray's Mountain Beer Ice Lights (the Stewart's brand beer). I sober enough to drive home (despite the additional six miles), though once there, I continued drinking various beverages until I felt the need to take a nap.
I awoke to Gretchen returning from the bookstore. Now it was time for the second phase of the day, which involved a visit to KMOCA's first-Saturday-of-the-month opening (something we haven't attended since Deborah and Michæl got out of the KMOCA business back in January). Gretchen was had decided to wear a really short dress made out of Tyvek for our night on the town. It was so short that she'd actually felt the need to wear underwear. As I drove, my wandering hands caused Gretchen to suspect that I was drunk, which was, at that time, only a little bit true. But she insisted on me pulling over at Wynkoop (where there was a sign warning about the missing bridge) so she could drive us the rest of the way.
At KMOCA on the Rondout, we met up with Ray and Nancy (but not Sarah) as well as Deborah. I don't remember much about the opening other than that the paintings were mostly of explosions in places America has recently been flexing its military muscle. For some reason, the wine table had been placed in the garden out in back, though by the time we arrived there was no more wine to be had. We didn't stay long, eventually relocating to the One Mile Gallery a mile south down Abeel. That's the more gratuitously-hipster gallery, the place where wine never seems to run out and the ladies always wear fashionably-vintage dresses. Those dresses were not in short supply, but the there was barely enough wine left for Ray, Nancy, and me to get ourselves cups. Our friend Jane the Cellist had some charcoal drawings in One Mile that I never actually managed to see, though I did see her, and (always) she was a reliable beam of human sunshine. Our friend Jeff the Cameraman introduced us all to his lovely new girlfriend (I forget her name) and then they joined us all when we went to the India Garden on Albany Avenue for dinner. For the first time in many visits, they actually had dosas, which was a flamboyant treat. (I say flamboyant, because the two women at the next table asked us what they were.) The wine stores were all closed, so we'd been forced to get beer the Albany Avenue QuickCheck. But they had Lagunitas Little Sumpin' Sumpin Ale, which is always a treat even if (as it was at the QuickCheck) it's only available at room temperature. All our food was vegan except for the one platter of Tandori vegetable that Ray insisted on getting prepared in the usual way (with a sauce that included yoghurt), something Gretchen interpreted as a passive-aggressive fuck you to her.
After we were done, we staggered out into the parking lot, wondering aloud why the Romans don't get more respect for their invention of the vomitorium. (Though it turns out that the modern idea of the Roman vomitorium is a myth.)

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next