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:
   hangover lovefest
Wednesday, August 12 1998

he hangover was a primary crushing force of physics this morning. (I'm running out of ways to describe these things.) But at least I wasn't Kim; she had to go to her final day of the Facelift Massage workshop and ultimately be tested on her proficiency. While she was off suffering I got to lie in bed and be miserable in privacy. She asked as she was leaving whether she'd been too crazy last night. "No, you were fine!" I assured her.

Like most hangover mornings, I was eventually visited by a burst of energy, so I went to take Sophie for a walk in the park down on the north bank of the Huron River. I saw a figure sleeping on a park bench and thought it rather odd. A small class of fly fishers were out in the field practicing their casting techniques, having left most of their stuff on the beach of the river. Sophie ran up to one of their suitcases and immediately pissed all over it, even though I was pleading for her not to. One of the fly fisher people shouted, "She didn't pee on it did she?" I just shrugged my shoulders in embarrassment and hurried on, not knowing what else to do. Hangover had stripped me of the necessary mental resources to deal with this matter in a responsible fashion.


ack at Kim's place, I checked my email and found a disturbing message from Matt Rogers. In the wee hours of this morning on the drive back to Ypsilanti he'd been pulled over for speeding. Since he was obviously drunk, he was thrown in the drunk tank for the balance of the night (a couple hours). Upon being released, Matt had neither a car nor any money. He'd come to Kim's place and knocked on the door, but I'd been too weak to answer it, so he'd ended up sleeping in the park down along the Huron River. He must have been the guy I saw sleeping on a park bench when I walked Sophie this morning, but I hadn't recognized him. He'd just straggled down to "the Fishbowl" (the Angell Hall computing center) and typed me the message.

I immediately set off by bicycle for the University of Michigan, but couldn't find Matt anywhere. I eventually went down to a rustic little bike shop in the fratty business district along South University and bought a locking cable and shifting cable for my blue Schwinn. I tried to get the shifting cable to work with my bike but it was designed for a much shorter piece of cable housing and I'll need to improvise in the presence of more tools than my crescent wrench.


  returned to Kim's apartment and took a deliciously long nap. Eventually Kim came home and we decided to put the evening to work curing us of our persistent hangovers. Kim claims to be giving up pot, but this was an emergency situation, so she broke out the bowl. We also ate some kind of little pink coloured heart-shaped tablets. Then we had some really great sex. It was the kind that lingered a long time in overwhelmingly wonderful foreplay. It helped that I was experiencing an especially powerful feeling of genuine love for Kim. I knew it was sincere and remarkable because for the first time ever, she actually made me feel vulnerable, even though she was being nothing but wonderful to me.

When we finally got out of bed, I made some garlic bread, which we ate while Kim rooted around in the closet finding relics from her career as a teacher of fourth graders in San Francisco. She has an impressive collection of children's art.

one year ago

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