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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October 2018
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Like my brownhouse:
   this purpose I have found for it
Thursday, October 18 2018
Before I drove to work this morning, I needed to get a fire going in the woodstove. Since I'm always sort of in a hurry in the morning, I took the shortcut I've been taking: putting several tablespoons of fuel oil in a metal bean can, slopping some over the wood, and then putting the can (and remaining fuel) in the firebox, and lighting it all. If all goes to plan, the fire takes off enthusiastically and I don't get too much sooty fuel oil smoke in the house. The fuel oil comes from the old fuel tank in the Brewster Street rental. Before cutting it into pieces, I'd had to remove many gallons of cruddy fuel from the tank. It's not good for much except this purpose I have found for it.
Today was another rather hum-drum day. It went a little better than yesterday, mostly because I didn't have Ramona with me and I had real just-in-time work to perform. I love being driven by little emergencies where I have to save the day. At around 1:00pm, I walked to the place with the good west-coast-style burritos and ate one in their dining room. The day was sunny and clear, but it was cold and breezy enough to make the 2700 ft walk (one way) somewhat uncomfortable dressed in a teeshirt and long-sleeve shirt (I hadn't worn a jacket today).
[REDACTED] When I the co-workers around me started talking about playing the lottery and what they would do if they won (reportedly the prize is huge right now), I chimed in to tell them about a documentary that shows the terrible things that always seem to befall lottery winners. When I piped up, I could tell the others in the office were surprised to hear me speak (since I'm usually so quiet). It was almost like Jeremy speaking in class toda-ay.
Back at the house, I salvaged some more firewood directly from the nearby forest west of the Farm Road. I carried a long piece home and quickly bucked it into pieces, split those, and brought them directly into the house.
There was no diaspora happy hour today, but I drank anyway. Fortunately, I am much better at controlling my alcohol intake when I'm just drinking alone like any other 50 year old atop a Catskill foothill.


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