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:
Wednesday, December 17 1997

  had the idea last night that it might be cool to push the soles of my feet against the business surface of a bed of nails as I experience an orgasm. The soles of my feet seem to play an important role in orgasm, more so than other parts of my body certainly, but I'm in the habit of neglecting them.


  was a mix of industrious and lazy today. I kept thinking I should go out and get a 12 pack of beer, but I kept putting it off. But then Matthew Hart came home, and since his latest fake ID had been lost, he was eager to go on a beer run. We did so on foot, over the fence in the back to the Seven Day Junior. We picked up 36 Milwauki's Best Ices between us, and then sat drinking a few of them while watching the Simpsons and waiting for a lukewarm Gumby's pizza to arrive. Matthew complained that he's been working so hard (as a dishwasher and lunch cook at the C&O) that he hardly has time left to get drunk any more. I felt like telling him he should be happy to be weaned in this way, but he would have thought such a comment very uncool, incomprehensible, or both.

Matthew tells me that Jatasya now has a job as a lunch dishwasher at the C&O. Dave Simpson, the owner of the C&O, asked Matthew if he'd ever had any of that, and Matthew assured him he had, and Dave was impressed in his characteristically wry southern-cooked eccentric kind of way. Mentioning this to me led Matthew to humourously ponder other ways he could possibly impress Dave. Perhaps he should say he's gotten it on with some (or all) of the C&O waitresses. Nah, maybe not. Dave would never believe such a preposterous notion. The waitresses are famous for their picky tastes in men; they'd never admit to getting it on with a smelly old lunch cook/dishwasher. Their sights are set on wealthy patrons and, on a bad day, maybe a bartender. Women are funny that way. They always set their romantic goals somewhat above their stations in life. Who can blame them? Romances have traditionally resulted in children, and children are expensive. We shouldn't be surprised that a high school girl goes for college boys, that cashiers are inclined towards store management, and that secretaries entertain romantic fantasies about their ugly old bosses.


SCSI card I'd ordered a week or so ago arrived by UPS today. I'd almost given up on it, since stuff from Tiger Direct usually comes the next day. So, somewhat drunk, I installed the card on my system, and experienced nothing but headaches. There were, you see, a rash of unpredictable problems when I tried to hook up some old Macintosh 80 and 40 Megabyte drives. I became so flustered that I collapsed inert in my bed and slept the night away.

Meanwhile, the servers (including the home of this site) have yet to be moved from the old Comet offices to colocation at Red Light. If you recall, I'd said they'd been moved the other day. I'd been wrong. Nothing is ever that straightforward in the real world. Some, uh, bureaucratic hurtles are standing in the way and causing all kinds of headaches.

one year ago

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