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").



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   antacids & jalapeños
Friday, March 27 2015
Susan and David would be coming over this evening for dinner, and since David always goes and buys me some unfamiliar IPA whenever I'm coming over, I thought I'd reciprocate by getting a beer I know he can drink. Normally his taste in beer runs towards the cloyingly sweet, though recently we discovered we are both generally fond of the category of macrobrews known as "Mexican beer." So that was one of several items on my list when I drove to the Hannaford near Uptown this afternoon. Other items to buy included antacids (which I've been eating like candy lately), pickled jalapeños, bread, corn chips, beans, and garlic. I had almost nothing I needed to buy at Herzogs, though I spent a little over eight dollars there anyway on two metal bars for joining wooden planks together and a lightbulb socket extender.
Back at the house, I executed a brief cleaning jihad that was enough to cause Susan to ask later whether our house is always so clean.
As always, Susan and David arrived without Olive & Darla, since there is some sort of blood feud between their dogs and our dogs (though some day we might try muzzling them all and seeing what they do together). Nevertheless, all of us except for Eleanor went on an evening stroll down up the slushy Farm Road and back. I don't know what Susan and Gretchen were talking about, but David and I talked about such things as where my digging in the greenhouse basement might go, the possibility of removing bluestone from the basement of Susan's studio to provide enough headroom for a woodworking shop, and simple shop cranes (including the one I installed for lifting bluestone out of the greenhouse basement and one David had had in a studio in Alameda, California). At some point David was futzing with his Warby Parker glasses and they unexpectedly shattered in his hand. He was able to recover all the parts except for a tiny piece of plastic, but since it was patterned in black and brown, there was no way we were ever going to find it in the leaf debris scattered across the Farm Road. Still, back at the house I was able to fix the glasses enough for David to wear them using SuperGlue. Though a part of the frame was missing, the lens itself was strong enough to hold the glasses together when glued to what remained. This was important, because the plan was for us all to watch Strangers With Candy after dinner, and without glasses, David's vision wouldn't be sufficient to enjoy television.
Gretchen had made a sort of stew for dinner, and though she apologized for it not being her best work, it was plenty good, especially with a lot of Belizian hot sauce dumped in it.
We ended up watching the first three episodes of Strangers With Candy, having forgotten how unrelentingly weird and oddly well-written it is. I'd also thought it dated to 2001, though it turns out it was from 1999. I loved how effortlessly satirical it could be, such as when the school production of A Raisin in the Sun was cast exclusively with white students. (Meanwhile, the many black kids in the drama department cheerfully accepted roles as trees for a play set entirely indoors.)


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