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:
   on rare occasions I don't mind
Wednesday, February 9 2000
As our company gradually mires itself in yet another code freeze, I find my work day less and less challenging. Almost nothing I'm doing here is interesting enough to excite me, and the management system that manages me is perfectly content to let me rot in this Sargasso Sea of boredom, unwilling to take advantage of my talents. [REDACTED] One must give ones employees responsibilities commensurate with their abilities or they'll go and find someone who will.
When I get home from a hard day of work, there are a few things that I definitely don't enjoy doing. These include immediately going out for sushi (though on rare occasions I don't mind), launching into a detailed planning for Valentine's Day, or arguing over the quality of the wine I buy at the Appletree supermarket.
One thing that Kim has had particular difficulty comprehending is my reticence at getting a massage, especially the romantic "Double Deluxe" offered at Kim's workplace, the V!ctoria Rose. But today I broke it down for her: I don't especially enjoy being touched by people I don't know very well, end of story. For me, it's like going to the doctor. It's something to be anticipated with dread. I feel like I've written this stuff before.

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