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:
   kitten drenched in saliva
Monday, November 3 2014
I'd just finished walking the dogs and eating a burrito comprised mostly of chili Gretchen had made last night when Deborah called. She'd arranged with Gretchen to take pictures of the Wall Street house this afternoon, and I'd assumed I'd have time to do some work on it, but now she wanted to do the photo shoot in the morning. So I rounded up the dogs and drove out to the house, stopping to get gas, potato chips, peanuts, and a replacement toilet seat on the way. There was nowhere near enough time to clean the house before Deborah came, so I concentrated on the bathroom. When Deborah arrived, she said there was no way we could get the house clean enough for photographs in the time she had, so all she did was take pictures outside. I also showed her the bathroom and, down in the basement, the beautiful abstract PVC sculpture that carries the turds away.
I spent the rest of my time at the house giving a third coat of light green paint to the bathroom's walls, a coat of shiny white paint to its trim, and then caulking cracks around the house. I'd had a conversation with Shelia, the woman in the small house next door. Shelia attributed recent crack formation to Wall Street having become a detour for Washington Street, where a massive sink hole opened up during the summer. The vibration from all the big trucks had been murder on her plaster. She also told me about her cat Felix, who is apparently only four generations removed from wild cats in Southeast Asia. He's not very friendly, and mostly just wants to sneak outside so he can kill things. (It's a cautionary tale about why one should never buy cats when so many are rotting in animal shelters.) She said that her house used to be a saddle shop for "the big estate house" on the other side of Fair Street and that it only has six-and-a-half foot ceilings.
After a bunch of cleaning up and removing of things to my car, I drove me and the dogs back home. But traffic in Kingston was crazy at the time. The George Washington Montessori School had just let out, dumping a bunch of cars into neighboring streets, but Wall Street had been closed for the block north of the house (and it's one-way northbound in front of the house), so I was forced to drive over to Clinton and head north that way (Fair Street is one-way southbound and Pine Street has lots of stop signs). But Clinton became congested near Albany Avenue, so I headed westward on Maiden only to find additional congestion caused by a fire fighters responding to a call north of Pearl on Wall Street (that block was blocked off too). The traffic snaking down Pearl was incredibly slow by the standards of the City of Kingston.

Deborah came over this evening and she and Gretchen prepared an elaborate multi-course dinner centered around risotto cakes, tempeh & mushrooms in a cream sauce, and an arugula salad. Deborah also brough Allou, and he was totally smitten by Celeste the Kitten. The feelings were more-or-less mutual, and when Celeste rubbed against Allou's face, he began to drool copiously and gently chew on her ears. Before long, her head was completely drenched in his saliva. I was a little worried that his enthusiasm would get the best of him and he'd turn into Lenny from Of Mice And Men, so I told Allou he needed to settle down and give Celeste more personal space.

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