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:
   I'd actually done the work
Thursday, January 21 2021
I took 150 mg of pseudoephedrine to begin my day, which put me in a slightly-manic mindset for a meeting with the senior Ukranian tech team this morning. I think they came into the meeting thinking I hadn't done any of the work of setting up the production environment for the app their outsourcing team has been building, but I already had it up and running and even had the Jenkins pipelines in place.
I'm coming around to liking the Jenkins automated deployment system these days, though debugging a Jenkins pipeline is a time-consuming process. You initiate a build that does something like compile an Angular website and then do something else for the next fifteen minutes while it cranks away, doing all the stuff that an npm build entails. And then you wait for it all to be FTPed to the web server. And if something bad happens, you have to correct the problems and try again. And again.

Gretchen had made plans to have Alex and Celia over for a fire pit fire on Friday. The plans were canceled later because it's just too fucking cold to be outside at this time of year (firepit notwithstanding), but before that I took a little break from my workday to gather some smallish standing dead white pine suitable for firepit use from just west of the Farm Road. There were some other scraps of wood nearby that were more suitable for indoor use, and I salvaged some of those as well, including a two-foot-long hollow red oak stump I'd cut off nearly flush with the ground.
At around sunset, I brought back a backpack load of white ash from a staging area at the bottom of the slope a couple hundred feet south of the woodshed.

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