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:
   wads of toilet paper
Wednesday, February 10 1999
Of late I've been making up alternative rock songs as I ride my bicycle to work. One I made up yesterday went like this:

Are you girl enough for me?
Lately I have been besieged
I'm as queer as a 100 watt light
[some line that ends with "night" or "fight" or "height"]

Today I thought it would be a good idea for a Joy Division type band to do a cover of "YMCA" by the Village People. That song is deserving of a remake, not because it was good, but because no one seems to want to do it.

Kim is a fairly tidy person, which is good because I'm a terrible slob. But lately I've been finding things that disturb me. I am particular about certain kinds of cleanliness, especially regarding food and bathrooms (both ends of the alimentary canal, if you will). Yesterday I found an anomalous wad of toilet paper in the refrigerator. And today there was a similar wad stuck beneath the toilet seat.
On the local Alice in Chains/new Metallica rock station tonight I heard the evening DJ personality take a call from a guy who'd seen a very strange thing while on a snow boarding expedition in the mountains back East. The snow boarder came upon a truck parked on the side of the road a few dozen feet from a pool of blood. Going to investigate, he saw a trail of blood leading from the road into woods. He was curious by now, and began to follow the trail. A short distance into the woods, the snow boarder came upon a truly horrifying sight. A man was slumped over the still-warm carcass of a roadkilled deer, his pants around his ankles, his bare ass thrusting up and down in the cold winter air. He was sodomizing a deer he'd just hit and was so occupied he didn't notice he was being observed.
The fight tonight between myself and Kim involved money. I mentioned that when I went to the bank today to deposit my paycheck I only had $200 in my checking account. Money isn't accumulating; somehow, despite my incredibly frugal lifestyle, I cannot save money living with Kim. Even back when I made half what I'm making now, I could save money. I expressed real concern with how the possibility that we won't be able to afford the extra $200/month we'll be paying in this larger apartment. I concluded by saying it was time for Kim to start paying more of the bills. She responded angrily and defensively, saying that the groceries and utilities (which she pays) add up to more than her share of the rent (which I pay). She suggested I ask for a raise from my boss. She could see my point though, and she promised to work another day each week at the Victoria Rose and she also agreed to be more frugal in the future. Still, she's planning a big trip to Jazzfest in New Orleans come May. To appease me, she gave me the $150 in tips she earned doing massage today. Then she dropped a bomb; she admitted that two weeks ago she'd written herself a check for $150 from my checkbook. I was stunned and horrified, speachless in fact. When I finally did say something, it was to the effect that I didn't feel like I could trust her anymore and that I'd be hiding my checkbook in the future. The way I was raised, such a breach of my personal affairs would be considered an intolerably serious personal attack. Kim justified her illicit check writing by saying I'd promised her something for Christmas that I'd failed to deliver and that she needed to pay some bills and had been dead broke. Whether or not these are acceptable excuses (and I don't think they are), it's doubtful I'll be getting over this any time soon. Still, we're together. Life goes on.
In other news, Kim is on the outs with Ludimilla the Brazilian girl. It seems that Ludimilla has grown weary of doing lowly odd jobs here in the United States. On Monday Kim went to Ludimilla's to get her nails done and ended up getting in an argument instead. "I come from a very wealthy Brazilian family," Ludmilla proclaimed, and things went downhill from there. Kim admits she should have known better than to ever hire Ludimilla to do anything. Mixing business and friendships is never a good idea.

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