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:
   relationship-related socializing expectations
Wednesday, December 2 1998
In the evening, while I struggled with the much-procrastinated job of putting some of my Dad's writings on the internet, Kim's friend Steph (the nude dancer/massage student) and her boyfriend EJ (world-class skaterdude extraordinaire) showed up with a 3 litre bottle of Carlo Rossi Paisano, the Light Chianti. I used to drink that stuff every weekend back in the days of Big Fun, and it was delightful to see it again, especially since it came completely unsolicited. But my commitment to the task at hand was such that I couldn't interact much with our guests. Kim came to feel that my anti-social industriousness was introducing bad vibes into the room, and when I wrapped it up and went off to the bedroom to psychically recuperate, she followed me in and insisted that I come out and socialize. She said my behaviour was embarrassing her. It seemed like a ridiculous request to me; I was tired and didn't want to socialize and I've never in my life been made to socialize when I didn't want to; I could always escape to somewhere. But for me, the days of hiding and wallowing in my loneliness and inner-existential bliss are over. There's nowhere I can run to get away. So despite myself and my refusals, I eventually did emerge and hang out for a bit.
The conversation in which I then found myself was actually fairly interesting; for example, Steph told all about what she does as a nude dancer at Deja Vu. But then Kim started complaining (quite openly, mind you) because I wasn't sitting next to her and cuddling with her (as EJ and Steph were doing). But, unlike the others, Kim was sitting on a chair, not the couch, and it would have been uncomfortable (let alone tacky) to make a public display of affection. So I refused. A verbal battle ensued, but we (especially Kim) were so drunk by this point that we couldn't fight seriously. It's rare that Kim is more drunk than me, and though this made her even more demanding, I was pleased to find that her sense of humour was also improved. For my part, I avoided drinking excessively since I'd have to get up early tomorrow and the last thing I wanted was a hangover permeating my thoughts throughout a brain-intensive ten hour working day.

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