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:
   party for me right there on the street
Friday, April 6 2001
What can one say about a gentleman who goes into a restroom, hovers a few inches above the toilet, and proceeds to explode like a balloon full of liquefied manure, a substance that inexplicably dries to the hardness and consistency of caramel?

Something bad happened at work today. Someone in operations put my pub tool code back into Visual Source Safe after I'd been working on it outside Visual Source Safe, directly on the server. In the process I lost all the work I'd done this week. Though I don't think it will take me long to reconstruct what I did, it's still a bummer. Good thing I have a great memory.

After work, Julian and I went over to the Colorado building for yet another "happy hour," this one a sendoff for this guy Tony who was sort of a wheel over in the media assets department. We all drank beers and margaritas, talked about trivial little things, and assayed the sexiness of our fellow workers.
I rode back to Silverlake with Julian so I could hang out with him, Linda, Bathtubgirl, Snow, and various people who have been laid off from my workplace. Julian has moved in with Linda into her Silverlake studio apartment and the sudden lack of expenses is what has made it possible for him to quit his job at our workplace.
On the way to Silverlake in Julian rusty red punch buggy, we found ourselves stuck in traffic. Julian was playing me some Swedish "Black Metal" because I still like that sort of thing and it's a new interest of his.
Linda and Julian were in the middle of some sort of fight when I arrived, so I let them hash things out in the bathroom while I thumbed through Aleister Crowley's Magick Without Tears. When I had to piss, I pissed off the fire escape.
Eventually Linda emerged and everything was okay. We listened mostly to trance music, which I managed to compare and contrast to Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit. "Guitar patterns have been getting shorter and shorter," I reasoned, "and they're pretty short in that song." Then of course there are those two characteristic trancelike plateaus in the Smells Like Teen Spirit dynamics.
Bathtubgirl, Snow and Sophie couldn't find Linda's apartment in Silverlake so they waited for us at a nearby restaurant instead. Bathtubgirl had no idea I'd be there tonight, but she seemed plenty happy to see me. But not nearly as happy as Sophie, who threw a little party for me right there on the street.
I was pretty drunk and stoned but in full command of my social skills and comedic facilities. It seemed effortless to command the attention of my friends and get them to laugh with slight nuances of vocal delivery. I didn't care what anyone was thinking so I just busted out with the most shocking sorts of things. When the girlfriend of one of my laid off colleagues turned out to still be in high school, I stated matter-of-factly that I still have sex with high school chicks.
Bathtubgirl was the one who drove me home. I rode in the backseat with Sophie while Snow sat shotgun.
Right now Bathtubgirl is in the process of being evicted from her place in Venice Beach. She'll be moving into a big unfurnished space in a garment factory downtown.

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