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 can grow pot in peace
Wednesday, March 31 2021
Somehow I've got misogynist/incel-adjacent channels back in my YouTube feed. Last time this happened, it followed a progression that started with an interest in self-promoting web developers making videos about their baller dotcom-fueled lifestyles. I find YouTube misogyny surprisingly entertaining. I take sadistic pleasure in horrible men bitching about how no women want to date them or even sleep with them and how a small number of high-status "Chads" are banging all the ladies, whose standards are unrealistically high. The first such channel was one called Better Bachelor, but all such channels lead inevitably to Jordan Peterson.
Meanwhile, I'd cleared some of the clutter from the north end of the lab (between the north-west desk and the steps to the laboratory deck), allowing me to apply fresh paint to floor going all the way to the north wall. I hadn't put much effort into coming up with interesting floor shapes in this part of the floor, where I'd tended to stick with one color while doing things like painting as far as I could reach beneath a fragment of carpet that something heavy was keeping me from removing. Now, though, those carpets are gone, and I'd removed clutter that I hadn't gotten around to moving during the last big floor-painting binge, back in 2017. (A lot of dead ladybugs and stinkbugs can accumulate in six or seven years.) So I decided to modify the edges of the existing shapes to make them more interesting. I also added a blob of yellow, since too much of the floor in this area was white.
A little after 5:00pm, I started making chili. My brother Don called as I puttered away in the kitchen, and after Donsplaining something he'd just learned from one of his books, he told me the latest on our mother Hoagie. Now the girls she hallucinates in the house, the ones always stealing her money and horse equipment, have begun shooting pornographic videos. This wouldn't be a problem, but her fear is that when the authorities inevitably crack down, she will be considered culpable, since she couldn't stop them from operating in her cluttered house with an unflushable toilet. "Too bad she's not worried about the very real problems she has," I sighed.

Meanwhile, Governor Andrew Cuomo, always my least-favorite Democrat, finally did something good today: he signed a bill the New York State legislature passed legalizing marijuana. One of the provisions is that every person in a household can now legally have three mature pot plants. With Gretchen and Powerful, our household is now entitled to grow nine mature plants, which is more than twice the number of female plants I'd managed to grow on the sly in a good year. Oh, and I can finally come clean on something: whenever I've talked about old cannabis in a jar that I've eaten for recreational purposes, I'm referring to pot I actually grew myself, which I've been doing for the last seven or eight years. All the things I used to do with respect to Jamaican maple are totally legal, so I don't have to be sly about them any more. Sometimes you don't have to grow old and die before the arrival of some aspect of the world you want to be living in.

The first red eft I've seen this year, west of the Farm Road while I was walking the dogs. Click to enlarge.

Some moss on a ledge a little south of where I saw the red eft. Click to enlarge.

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