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:
   Ramona's behavior was unexpectedly good
Wednesday, July 6 2022
I awoke early in the greenhouse and was on my feet at around 5:30am. If I'm in the mood to get up that early, I love doing so. My best work is always done before morning scrum, which happens at 9:30am. If I've worked hard enough before that, I'm unlikely to do much more for the rest of the day. Today I spent most of my time fucking around waiting for long-running queries to happen in Microsoft SQL.
I had a unusual case of diarrhea today. It mostly lingered in the background, not bothering me at all. But during scrum when I had to urinate badly, I went to piss in my laboratory urinal and the act or relaxing my urethral sphincter also relaxed my anal one enough for me to gently poop my pants. I'm not one to poop my pants often; this has happened maybe two or three times since I mastered the use of the conventional flush toilet back in 1970 or so.
At noon today I drove out to Lowes with a road beer (which I didn't particularly enjoy) to return the closet bifold door track system I'd bought ($18 back on my card). I then bought all the hex and carriage bolts I needed to finish the dock project up at Woodworth Lake. 58 bolts (more than I would need) cost me a little over $100.

I was running out of things to do in the remote workplace and didn't want to bother anyone by revealing this. So I climbed in the bathtub at around 4:30pm for my first bath in awhile. I had something like a week's worth of facial hair, which looked better than I'm used to it looking, though this might've just been in contrast to glaring absence of a tooth when I open my mouth. I've generally been satisfied with my appearance, but the missing tooth is definitely something that grates on my sense of what my image should be.
At 6:30, Gretchen, Powerful, the dogs, and I all went down to Ray & Nancy's house in Old Hurley to attend a party celebrating Ray's 55th birthday. In addition to all the usual people (Mike the Chief & partner, Rich the Potter, Sarah the Vegan, and Sarah's bestie Rebecca and Rebecca's husband) there was of course Jack the Dog as well as two other dogs, a medium-sized collie-hound mix named Banks and a small brindle named something infantile. I saw these two additional dogs, and, knowing neither had been grandfathered from the time when Ramona liked other dogs, I anticipated trouble. But most of the trouble actually came from the little brindle, a neurotic Puerto Rican rescue whose method of greeting other dogs was to attack them and then be submissive afterwards. She did this to Ramona, who was too surprised to react, and after that they mostly got along okay (until a brief Carmen-Coconutsesque skirmish near the end of the party). For some reason Ramona directed most of her hostility (usually in the form of growling) at Banks, who was a complete sweetheart. Overall, though, Ramona's behavior was unexpectedly good, and she only had to be put in the car (isolation) after that incident with the little brindle.
The party was conducted entirely outdoors and the weather was perfect for it. There were very few mosquitoes and the temperature was ideal. I mostly chatted with Rebecca's husband and Sarah the Vegan, mostly on the subjects of the dock I am building and the tooth missing from my mouth. Rebecca said she'd had a dental bone graft many years ago that apparently predated the powdered-bone-with-patient-platelets technique, and she said having the dental surgeon pounding a piece of cow bone into her tooth socket was "brutal."
Nancy had tried to pick up an order of vegetarian "chicken" nuggets from KFC, but evidently that product had been just a temporary promo, so she'd gotten french fries instead. As I ate them, I noticed they had that characteristic secret-recipe KFC flavor. Drink-wise, I kept pouring myself limeade and sneakily adding Tito's vodka to it, and then a splash of bitter red Campari.
The present I gave Ray (wrapped in a holey old sock) was a pair of extension needle-nosed pliers that I'd intended as a gift for him years ago but only just tonight gave him.

A highly-appropriate gift Sarah the Vegan got for Ray.

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