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
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Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
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Backwoods Home
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(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   Sunday afternoon in Beverly Hills
Sunday, April 8 2001
Today was Farley's 26th birthday, and at around noon I rode with Farley and housemate John into Beverly Hills to meet up with Farley's billionaire father for a celebratory brunch at a newish upscale eatery called "The Farm." John just bought a nearly-new Audi and that was the vehicle we took. Being an upscale late model German car, it's a very LA means of transportation. John is in the process of selling his 1999 VW Golf.
Anyway, while the others ate eggy breakfast dishes, I dined on a stuffed baguette. The french fries on the side came in such obscene quantities I couldn't even make a dent in them. Two tables away Willem Dafoe was dining with friends, or at least that's what John said. For all the fancy LA stuff I do, I don't see many celebrities.
After ditching the billionaire father, we walked around the commercial Beverly Avenue part of Beverly Hills, killing time waiting to rendezvous with Chun. Chun, it turned out, was all set to launch into a therapeutic spending spree, starting with Pottery Barn and working outward from there.
It was a warm sunny day but the air was a slightly uncomfortable kind of cool, the way that Southern California always seems to be. Unusually for Los Angeles, there were lots of pedestrians walking up and down the street, most apparently in mid-shopping-spree. There were also a few bums, but they were all super low-key.
For whatever reason, John was jokingly perfecting his "gay boy punch" on me. He'd shout something like "Quit it, fucker!" in a highly-affected lisping voice while simultaneously punching me with the side of a fist on a half-extended arm while his other arm rested on his butt, which would buck out at the moment of contact. It was so hilarious I couldn't stop laughing, though he did it so often I'll probably have bruises tomorrow. Later John ducked into a porta-potty in the dollar-Sunday parking lot and found it full nearly to the top. That sobered him up a little it seemed.
When we Chun arrived we had to follow her around through various overpriced furniture store looking at stuff I'm used to finding in alleys. But it was no use preaching my philosophy to her; she knew it already and wasn't going to feel good until she spent some money.
Farley had to keep going outside "for fresh air," and this always meant he'd be smoking a cigarette. He's just resumed smoking after a one year hiatus and "Yesterday," he said, "I smoked four packs." I was going to recommend he take up another habit such as drinking, but at that rate he'd be dead after his first bender.
Back in West LA at our place, John washed and waxed his Audi while Farley paced around in abject boredom, hoping Chun would arrive and take him CD shopping. He kept coming up to my room and distracting me, even using my bedroom's computer's AOL Instant Messenger. So all I could do was rock out loudly on my guitar. It didn't disturb him in the least.
When Chun showed up she was suffering from post-shopping-spree blues, regretful about various sixty dollar designer tee shirts she'd just purchased in Beverly Hills. For his part, John was feeling second thoughts about his impulsive purchase of the Audi. "I wish I was crazy like you and not crazy like me," he told me.
Later John's sister Maria arrived with the quiet mysterious shadow girl who's been following her around lately. Farley was asking people if they wanted to go with him to various movies and Maria said sure she would go, but then immediately qualified it with "But I'm not going to drink and take a lot of drugs, get fucked up and make out with you." It was such a hilarious thing to say, especially so spontaneously, that I immediately made a mental note to add it to my list of funny things to say when people invite me to do things with them.

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