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 car runs good, but...
Tuesday, July 10 2001
Somebody made an offer on my condo today, for $5000 less than I paid for it. There's always someone who makes that insulting low offer.
The Gretchen met the realtor Jesika today and they sort of hit it off. At first Gretchen was strictly business, but when Jesika wanted to talk about religion and anti-anxiety medication, she was perfectly willing to go there. Though Jesika might look like a miss ordinary blond Los Angeles woman about town, it turns out that she's a Puerto Rican from Queens and is so fed up with Roman Catholicism that she's converting to Judaism. That part of the conversation had been sparked by the little Star of David that Gretchen wears around her neck. "Is Gus Jewish?" Jesika wanted to know. "No." "Is he converting?" "No, but it doesn't matter since we're both atheists." At some point in the conversation Gretchen told Jesika the whole story about how we met 12 years ago, had a falling out, and were reunited.

It was another evening of packing up stuff. We took a break at around sunset to get burritos at the Taco Plus, which is right next to the dry cleaning place where Gretchen had dropped off a $20 pair of slacks. The key to a good burrito, we discovered, was to request black beans instead of pinto beans. The secret ingredient to all good food is MSG, of course, an ingredient Taco Plus claims not to use.

The big buff effeminate black guy who lives with Steve the gay neighbor dropped his cell phone down the gaping maw of my basement (which is just below my neighbor's porch) and that meant he had to knock on my door and have me open the garage for him. We got to talking about how socially remote the people in West LA are in relation to one another, and I guess he must have told Steve what I'd said, because suddenly Steve was knocking on my door wanting to get my contact information. He claimed he wanted to talk to his attorney about the earthquake damage in his unit, damage about which he feels he was not adequately informed. I'd said something about the torqued floors in my unit and he figured I might be able to contribute evidence should this ever go to court. In reality, though, I think this was just a ruse to chat with me. Until he knew I was leaving Steve was never especially friendly, but now that there's no possibility of my becoming an unpleasant neighbor, he practically oozes conviviality. Yesterday Gretchen pointed out that this is similar to the woman who sits silently next to you for an entire airplane flight and then strikes up an intense conversation as the plane taxis to a landing.
During most of the planning phase for the big transcontinental drive to New York my principle concern has been about my car. Is it going to make it? [REDACTED]

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