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:
   that there here now
Tuesday, January 7 1997 It was back to Staunton for a little of that down home family fun sort of thing. I tried to buy an ink cartridge for my StyleWriter II and ended up shoplifting the wrong thing. Later I mailordered three of the suckers for $22/each. I have decided that the concept of refilling ink cartridges is good in principle but messy and unreliable in practice, even in my experienced and careful hands. The first thing I did upon reaching home was to take a nap of course, and I slept until after dark.

I go through all kinds of trouble to have music with me as much as possible.
My mother had made some spicey beef/noodle/potato concoction for dinner and it was excellent. I had some with Becks Dark beer, what my folks always buy when they get expensive beer. They're pre-microbrewery reactionaries, though my Dad says he likes Sam Adams. My Dad also surprised me by saying he's picked up an appreciation for the blues. He says he likes to listen to a blues show on public radio in the evenings. The lyrics and vocal contortionism of Black blues musicians impresses him. This would be the first evidence I've ever had (besides Leonard Cohen) of my Dad ever really liking anything except classical music. For the most part my parents can either take music or leave music. It isn't important to them like it is to me. I go through all kinds of trouble to have music with me as much as possible.

I ended up getting some Ice House beers and hanging out with Jen Fariello all evening. She says she's going to stop reading my musings because they are full of half-truths and partially-told stories. I told her that I have no option here; too many known quantities read these musings for me to tell everything. As it is, I can no longer be as deceptive as I prefer to be with the important people in my life. I can't say "I was back in Staunton" when I admit I was elsewhere in these musings. I'm a sociopath; I admit this constantly. I work best with a certain amount of deception in effect. It keeps people happy. It keeps friends from being awful to each other. I know it's arrogant of me to have such an attitude, but I'm sure on some level we all have this attitude. I'm not Hitler, but I'm not perfect either.

Back on the subject of buying beers and going to hang out with girls, I should point out that, what with my no longer underwriting Jessika's alcoholism and my free coffee at the Rising Sun Bakery, my expenditures have dropped to trickle. So I have been indulging myself more in music purchases.

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