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:
   too prudish to accept
Thursday, September 10 2015
Late last night and this morning, following a tip I'd heard the other day on the Slate Culture Gabfest, I watched episodes of a reality show from the late aughts called Kid Nation, which dumps a bunch of children into a wild west ghost town and then hopes for it to become Lord of the Flies. The hype (particularly on the Gabfest) seemed to suggest that Lord-of-the-Flies-type things did happen, but it was I was disappointed; as reality shows go, it's actually rather dull. The problem might be an inevitable consequence of the child protagonists. Kids just aren't as interesting as adults. For one thing, there's no sex. Well, there might have been sex, but we'll never know, because we're too prudish to accept that children are capable of such things.

There had been heavy rain for much of the night, and by this morning conditions were substantially cooler than they had been. We could keep the windows and doors open, but I was no longer comfortable wearing just shorts. And I felt no reason to have a fan blowing on me as I sat at my computer.
Down in the basement, I finally ripped up the carpet in the main guest room and then began the process of removing all the menacing nail strips along the walls. These had been somehow nailed directly into the poured concrete slab underfoot, and removing them wasn't easy. As the nails came out of the concrete, they tended to take quarter-sized divots with them, and I have feeling that it will be a bad idea to put vinyl tile across such voids. So I will probably be filling them with my portland cement, one of my favorite materials.

This evening, Gretchen and I went down to the Hurley Town Hall near where Wynkoop meets Route 209 and voted in the Democratic primary. Our two votes might have had a fair amount of power, as only about fifty people in the precinct had voted. Adding to our power, Gretchen called Nancy, who subsequently went there and added her dilution to the asshole vote. (Ray is a citizen of the Phillipines and cannot vote.) We were all voting for Douglas Adams, partly because he'd actually knocked on our door, partly because his platform seemed okay, and partly, perhaps, because he shares a name with a famous writer of comic science fiction.

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