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:
   the icky feel of alien pornography
Tuesday, February 8 2000
I feel like complaining about the lesbian Jabba the Hut woman in Austin who is project leader for the e-cards project I am on. She's a graphic designer, and her Valentine's E-cards consistently have the icky feel of alien pornography by way of the Family Circus (if you can imagine what I mean). On Thursday, in the midst of an unprecedented file server crash, she dumped 25 e-cards on me in an improperly-archived ZIP file with word that they had to go live by the next day. Well, obviously, that didn't happen. Then today she dumped fifty more e-cards on me. When I explained to her the tool for entering the cards and suggested she use it her self, she went over my head and went crying to the Schoolmarmish VP of IT, lying to her that I'd had the e-cards for ten days and had done nothing with them. The Schoolmarmish VP of IT promised to do something about it and came over to my desk, twisting my arm into doing it. I half-heartedly considered just calling Kim and having her pick me up, quitting this place forever. All my stuff is packed and ready to go. We were supposed to move to the eighth floor of the other tower today, but at the last minute (in yet another typical managerial fuck-up) those plans were scrapped.
I felt better when I did lunch at the Grab & Go with my neighbor Dave. He told me that the best course of action was to finish the job up nice and tidy and then quit. He's a good counter-balance to my bomb-throwing ways. When I'm furious about something, I can usually be found with a dark cloud over my head thinking up the most dramatic way to go out in a blaze of glory. I don't know that I've actually ever gone out in a blaze of glory, mind you.

It was teevee night for me when I got home from work. I parked myself in front of the tube and watched several hours of engrossing programming, starting with the Simpsons and ending with a Frontline, an episode focusing on the wild and reckless youth of the prosperous suburbs. It was great material, but I was tired and fell asleep before it was over.

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