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 four track studio
Friday, February 14 1997

Cool thing to say today: If you aren't making a few things that suck then you're stuck in a rut.

I awoke earlier than I wanted to and drove the Dodge Dart up 29 North to a K-Mart and bought a number of little items I'm going to need for my little four track music studio, things like blank tapes, a power strip, adapters for jacks, and a RCA-to-RCA stereo patch cord set. Gold plated connectors, baby. I also picked up vodka and Jim Beam at the ABC store.

Then, on the Downtown Mall, I went to the public library to check my e-mail. Now I will procede to rant about the Neanderthals in the "Monticello Avenue" computer lab in the library. Well, I was in there a few weeks back and the gruemensch who runs the place looked over my shoulder and saw I was checking my e-mail. He proceded to say that that was inappropriate use of the facilities, that all we are allowed to do is "use the Web." APPARENTLY THIS ANALLY RETENTIVE REITMANESQUE FUCK IS UNFAMILIAR WITH THE CONCEPT OF INTERACTIVITY. Yes, when you use the Internet, you find yourself using e-mail A LOT. Well, so today I had to check my e-mail all sneaky-like. I'M INFURIATED AT DOLTS WHO CONTINUALLY TRY TO HOBBLE MY COMPUTER EXPERIENCE. At UVA, I can't use a good text editor. At Monticello Avenue I can't Telnet and I can't read my e-mail. The only place I am free to do what I damn well please is at work.

I went to Snookys and bought a used dubbing tape deck for use in mastering my 4 track recording sessions. It cost $69. Yes, it was a day of expenditures that sent my Taurus Rising reeling.

Back at my house I put considerable effort into reorganizing my room so I would have a mini-studio in the corner. I'm getting everything in place so it is one big effortless environment to immerse myself into when I have musical ideas. This studio creation effort reflects a new maturity on my part in that I view all the elements as tools with no inherent value except in what they can do for me in the cause of bringing my music to life. In the past, my interest in the tools themselves as possessions more or less outweighed the feelings of utility.

I made a little nine volt power supply to fuel three effects pedals simultaneously. This was an outgrowth of a discovery I made that I didn't have any effects pedal power supplies anywhere in Charlottesville. So I soldered a nice little power supply together using a full wave bridge rectifier, a huge capacitor, and a modest little AC to AC wall plug adapter.

I hung out with Elizabeth and friend-of-the-house Will the Electrical Engineer. We drank my whiskey and more than one desperlupped the wonzakka.

Ches and I played around with some of my equipment. He ran the delay pedal, turning nobs and such, while I played the guitar. Trippy auditory environments were foisted upon all within earshot.

I went with a contingent of housemates and Will to a Valentine's Day party over in the aparment sprawl just west of 15th street. It was UVA kids, friends of the house mostly. There was plenty of booze, but I wasn't making any effort to socialize, and no one was interested in talking to me, so I became extremely bored and eventually fell asleep on a couch. The music was a non-stop barrage of sort of quietly played techno that did not let up until (thank God) housemate Steve put on some Pavement.

I slipped away and went to Theresa's apartment. Leticia the Brazilian Girl, Theresa and Persad were there, along with this one another non-goth dude who hangs out with Theresa sometimes (he looks and talks a bit like a hesher). Soon also we were joined by Cecelia the Brazilian Girl and a wholesome and attractive female semi-goth saddled with the horrible name "Tiffany." She'd just flown in from the West Coast.

We sat around and waited for Monster Boy, who'd just got off work from the C&O. When he joined us, most of us in our very gothic contingent (not Theresa, Persad or Tiffany, however) went to my house to drink Jim Beam. (For some reason Cecelia was the only one who drank any consequential amount of it.)

We ended up sitting in my room, chatting about interesting stuff, porgling the ramchux, and drinking a little Bourbon. I relished inflicting my music upon my chums. Housemate John joined us after 2am and had an animated discussion with Cecelia. They have developed a little ritual between each other after only a few times spent together; she makes him a pot of tea. The tea didn't actually happen tonight, but she offered to make it.

At about 5am I kicked everyone out of my room so I could get some sleep before my shift at Comet, which was to begin at 9am.

No, I didn't get a single Valentine today. And I don't care. The hell with commercial holidays and meaningless rituals. Love isn't bought, sold, or often experienced. It may not really exist.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next