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:
   a sacrifice for rock and roll: Sebadoh
Monday, January 20 1997picture of the gus The picture at right is me as photographed by Jenfariello a week or so ago in the Rising Sun Bakery.

In the morning I was at the Bakery chatting with Elizabeth. For the first time it struck me that there is something similar between her sense of humour and that of Heather Bissel, my old college chum. I think it's her cock sure wryness and the way she ends a hilarious proposition with a heavy metal salute. A very Bisselian suggestion that she offered today was that we chain ourselves to objects in the Bakery so as not to let it be turned into a bloated burrito stand. But Elizabeth is full of ideas that just don't make sense to me. For example, all of a sudden she is certain that Techno music is the only real music, that everything else is superficial because of the lack of emphasis given to rythm. Still, she and my housemates all intend to attend Sebadoh tonight at Trax. And so do I. It would be a shame if I were to miss one of my new favourite bands when they're within walking distance.

Jenfariello was working the Bakery counter. She told me of the travails of the Downtown Artspace, where she has ripped up the old carpet only to find a layer of obdurate glue that no solvent or tool seems to be able to obliterate.

From there it was on to Cocke Hall. There I created a definition for Heather Bissel in my spins sections. She is one of the more interesting people I have ever known, so if you want to have a prayer of knowing who I am you really should go there. I always run across cool UVA students I know in Cocke Hall. Today it as Kirstey and Peter, friends of my house, superiour to most of the rifraf there, though I doubt I'm spelling Kirstey's name right. I notice that I have to smell peoples' breakfasts whenever I go there in the morning.

An afternoon nap was interrupted by childhood friend Nathan VanHooser who has given me the impossible task of downloading a 6 Megabyte file in a format a PC can read. It's impossible, knowing what I know, in all but the most dire of circumstances.

I then hung out with a variety of housemates, especially Elizabeth, through the afternoon. I have been appreciating her an awful lot lately in ways I never did back when I was sleeping with her. She is more wonderful than I could ever have imagined. And I used to be awfully fond of her, mind you. But she's full of irrational and irritating ideas too. I like her like she is to me now, I think. I love her in a way I never said I did. It's Platonic in the way Platonic means "perfect." I'm completely happy just with her as my friend even if everyone else in the world should begin to hate me. It's an indication of a special gift on her part. I'll regret saying this later but here it is. I told Jessika something weaker than this about Elizabeth a month ago, and she was surprised at the time.

In the evening some variety of friends of the house came by. They were all unfamiliar to me, but I have a feeling I will be seeing more of them in the future. When later we set off for the Sebadoh show, they came along. We were being rather roudy by this time because we'd drunk the majority of what remained of my Skyy Vodka.

The Sebadoh Show at Trax

I stole a half pitcher of beer from the foozball table unchallenged. Then I was up by the stage during one of the opening bands. The drummer for said band was amazing with his gangly arms and the spaced-out look to his eyes. Too bad I cannot recall the name of his band.

...and co-opted some punk rock guy's blond girlfriend for the duration
Then came Sebadoh. Before they played they were gods to me, you know. And the impression stayed through their performance. I really wanted to thrash my flesh, though. The usual guitarist plays kind of slow and folksy, it turns out. The songs were good and familiar, but incompatible to my state of mind. Then the bassist and guitarist switched. That's when the hardcore kicked in. I jumped up and down like some kind of muppet and co-opted some punk rock guy's blond girlfriend for the duration. It was intense and constituted real excercise. The band wound down with a folksy tune, though, and my blond dance partner vanished with a cheery goodbye, arm in arm with her punk rock man. I think she may have, in an act of timeless ritualism, given me her phone number. Or was it another girl? I don't know whose number I came home with.

I returned to my house with the variety of people with whom I'd come. They were all excited after the show and half-heartedly told me to skip my job. But no. Here I am. It's going to be a long tiring night.

More girlfriends...

today, courteousy of Altavista, I present yet another girlfriend!

Today's featured girlfriend is...
Heather, with her boyfriend, Rob. No, that's not a shot glass lodged in his throat. Maybe soon she'll be firing up Photoshop to edit him out of this GIF, at which time you can step into the picture. It may already be time to start gloating.

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