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:
   privacy for its own sake
Saturday, January 16 1999
Eric the Engineer and Cindy the talkative blond girl both spent the night on our couch. They were together there and I don't think they've ever been together before. In the morning as we four sat around the kitchen table getting pumped up on extremely strong coffee, we had a good laugh about the fates of the big-haired rock and roll gods of the 1980s. Eric had seen one of those "Where are they now?" VH1 specials, and had learned that, in this day and age, Quiet Riot still exists as a band. Sadly, they no longer play sellout stadiums; they've been reduced to pool hall entertainers, belting out enthusiastic adolescent anthems while being ignored by hairy greasers trying to make their shots. What a sorry fate for a band that left behind a lasting legacy, a part of America to which almost all of us can sing the chorus, "Come on feel the noise! Girls rock your boys! We'll get wild-wild-wild..."
Crunch time at work continued right on into this Saturday. I rode my bike to my place of employment just before noon and set myself to the task of cranking out code. I was very serious in my work, but my colleagues would pause at times to take rambunctious breaks, many involving the tossing of soft foam-filled rubber balls. I so hated the sound of those balls slamming into walls (along with the giggles and grunts of the ball tossers) that I resolved that I'd immediately head home, perhaps never to return, if I was struck. Balls whistled by me a few times but, as perilously balanced as the fates might have been, somehow the future refused to be derailed from its present arduous course. It was about 9:00 pm before I finally headed home.
Kim and I had a big fight in the evening. By big, I mean it was one of those fights in which she told me she didn't think she could deal with the stress of being my girlfriend. It all started when I realized I'd left my email open on her computer and went to close it before she could read it. Suddenly her suspicions were raised and she wanted to know what I was concealing from her. I said I didn't want to discuss it, that I considered my email private and that I'm entitled to my privacy. She couldn't understand why I wouldn't let her look if I didn't have anything to hide. The concept of privacy for its own sake, regardless of what is or is not being concealed, seemed to lie outside her mental paradigms. But I did my best to explain. I told her that in the limited privacy that I demand, I don't care so much if she actually reads my email so as long as I don't have to know about it. I even told her how to launch my email software and find my email on her own. I just didn't want to talk about it. That was all the privacy I wanted. I have very little to hide, and she'd have to wade through a hell of a lot to find it, and I've forgotten what it is by now anyway. As much as Kim and I fight, it doesn't seem as if there's any conflict that can't be resolved.

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