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 sick to care about Kennedy
Wednesday, June 27 2018
I spent the entire day in bed. Ray came by this morning to walk Jack with Gretchen and our dogs and then Gretchen tried to get him to help her swap couches between the teevee and living room (which sounded like madness). When it was clear someone was going to get a hernia, I shouted from my sickbed that they should please not do it today. Ray came in to say hello, and I urged him not to touch me, that I was too riddled with disease. "How coquettish," he declared, stroking my sweaty arm. From the conversation I overheard between him and Gretchen, it sounded as though he had entered yet another manic phase. [REDACTED]

Despite my condition, I managed to pull myself together enough to make two job-hunt related phone calls. One was to clear up the fact that I was only willing to work remotely and the other was with a local programming shop that had been alerted to my availability by Alex, the man for whom I built that keywording web app (he works as some sort of manager there these days). The guy seemed eager to hire me even though I don't know C#, though it sounded like I wouldn't be getting the sort of flexibility to which I'd grown accustomed.
At some point I sent Gretchen a private Facebook message telling her that I needed more fruit juice. She replied back saying something about what a shocker the news about "Kennedy" had been. She didn't provide much context, but I surmised that Anthony Kennedy, the swing justice of the Supreme Court, had announced his retirement, and that Donald Trump (the most terrible human being on Planet Earth) would be appointing his replacement. This was objectively devastating news on a truly global scale, but it's a testament to how sick I was that I barely cared.
This evening when Gretchen returned and wanted to talk about Anthony Kennedy, I said I had too little energy to discuss it. But that hardly mattered; eventually Sarah the Vegan and Carrie came over for a little girls-only dinner party. They were having such fun (as indicated by their gales of laughter) that I had to have Gretchen shut the door and balcony hatch of the bedroom so I could have some peace and quiet. I could barely hear anything in the rest of the house once those were closed (evidently all the scrap drywall I'd disposed of between the studs in the wall is an effective soundproofing agent).

I was so sick that I never fell into a proper sleep for the night. I kept waking up to cough or try to swallow (which, given my sore throat, was agonizing). I was also tracking my temperature, which, at its highest, reached 102.4 degrees.

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