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:
   working cancer
Wednesday, January 6 1999
During lunch break, there was a little grumbling about the way things get done where we work. Our bosses encourage us to sacrifice sleep and free time to build huge complex applications in a matter of days. Company-wide, there is pervasive denial of the fact that such applications can't help but be shoddy with bugs. What we build is a working cancer. To really think about such things is utterly demoralizing. Why do I continue? I've decided that I'm challenging myself to survive in a new kind of extreme condition. It's a little like the challenge of suriving a week on the road with $3 in my pocket, but in a way more psychological than financial.
One of the girls in marketing has purple hair these days. Dave the Web Developer dude, who seems rather conservative (if in a decadent kind of way), was reminded of someone else he knows with hair almost as weird as Dennis Rodman's. "If you're good enough at what you do, you can have any kind of hair you want," was my response, and Dave agreed.
Tonight as I came home westward toward the ocean, the fog became unusually thick. The planes are coming in from the west, as they always do when the fog is like this.

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