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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Like my brownhouse:
   mistake the heating light for the cooking light
Sunday, March 19 2017
It was a little warmer today than it has been of late, though with all the snow piled up across the landscape, it certainly didn't feel especially springlike. Later, though, Gretchen reported a good sales day at the Woodstock bookstore, which is what one expects for warm days in late winter in the Obama economy, ugly snow piles or not.
When she returned home, Gretchen was a little disappointed I hadn't spontaneously cooked a delicious meal. But I'm never sure she actually is coming home after working at the bookstore or is instead dining at The Garden Caf&eactute; with friends. I'd mostly been painting the laboratory floor all day, though I had briefly considered boiling up a pot of bow-tie noodles. Gretchen is great at extemporaneous cooking from whatever she finds in the refrigerator. Tonight this included pieces of rubbery (past its prime) broccoli, collard greens, tofu, and cabbage. My contribution was to initiate the cooking of rice in the rice cooker, and actually remembering to push the button. Ours is a very poorly-designed rice cooker that is always "heating" the rice whenever it is plugged in, and it's easy to mistake the heating light for the cooking light. It's also easy to forget to unplug it and leave the rice "heating" all night long. Imusa (the company that made this cooker) must be in collusion with a conspiracy of electrical power utilities.


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