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:
   funny characters
Tuesday, January 2 2001

Green ketchup, an impulse buy made by my housemate John a month ago, is still a somewhat disturbing thing to me. It sits there in the refrigerator with something of the creepy aura a human hand in a plastic ziplock bag might have. I've never tried eating it and I certainly never will. Yet I hear green ketchup has been flying off the shelves since its introduction in October.
Meanwhile, in the first floor kitchen of my workplace office building, the guillotine-like bagel cleaver now sports a slogan on its otherwise featureless white chassis. The black magic marker inscription reads "VIVA LA REVOLUCÍON."

In the evening I was feeling unusually tired and weak, something I diagnosed as a persistent hangover from the New Years ecstasy adventure. Still, I had arranged to go over to Bathtubgirl's place to fiddle with her DSL router again. Lucky for me, when going from Santa Monica to Venice it's all downhill.
Bathtubgirl Central was the usual madhouse, with the addition of Bathtubgirl's "internet boyfriend" Snow, who flew in from South Dakota a few days ago. I didn't talk to him that much; initially he seemed sort of reserved in the potentially unreserved manner of Simon from the UK team. Anyway, Bathtubgirl was looking so perky in her sassy little skirt that I felt compelled to pinch her bottom.
It turned out that all Bathtubgirl's DSL router needed was a firmware upgrade, exactly as Bing, one of my readers, had suggested. When that was done, she started coming up with additional little tasks for me to do, which I proceeded to do without complaint. But for Bathtubgirl, she doesn't feel she's asked for enough unless a fight breaks out. Completely unexpectedly, she started going irrationally ballistic about the fact that I'd put funny characters in her site's FTP password, and she demanded to enter the password herself into a place that cannot be easily edited. I tried to explain that this was foolishness, but she was adamant. At this point the visit turned into the same horrible experience it always inevitably becomes, complete with shouting, cursing, screaming and me telling her that she is a fucking idiot. Oh, and what else is new, Bathtubgirl doesn't know how she's going to pay next month's rent. By this point I felt even weaker and more tired than I had when I arrived, and the last thing I wanted to hear was her bitching.
Because Robert the driver was gone and Bathtubgirl was about to do a webcast, I was forced to bike back home (going that way, the ride is all uphill). It was a warm night and this wouldn't have been much of an ordeal, save for the fact that my health was steadily declining. By the time I made it home I felt like I'd been run over by a Sherman Tank.

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