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:
   as if we were engaged in a taboo act
Thursday, December 17 2015
It rained relentlessly all day, keeping me from collecting any firewood. I had to use an umbrella just to get the mail.
I spent much of the day doing non-procrastinatory web development. It's awfully hard to get started on such work, but once I'm doing it, I actually enjoy myself. And when I'm done (not that I am), I feel unburdened.
This evening I was just beginning a bath when Gretchen came down, having just taken a shower. She wanted me to cut off "the mullet-type thing" in the back of her head. This was the first time she'd ever asked me to make such a drastic alteration to her hair. Dutifully, I snipped off the lower two inches. As I did so, she spoke in almost a hushed tone, as if we were engaged in a taboo act. Her last haircut (which was unusually expensive even for her) had cost $160, and I'm hoping she'll come to me for haircuts more often. In terms of what I produce, I make less than minimum wage when I'm gathering firewood, but if I can replace a $160-per-ten-minute hair stylist, I'll be pulling substantially more of my weight. For me, there was no fussing around about cutting it; I could see what needed doing, and the scissors responded adequately to the actions of my fingers. It took me less than a minute. (By the way, I used to cut my father's hair frequently when I was a teenager; he used to pay me something like a dollar for the job. I've still never received a professional haircut. And I've never bought a bottle of bottled water outside an airport or a third world country.)

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