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
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Irving housing

got that wrong

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(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   Are you a terrorist or do you eat at McDonalds?
Sunday, November 4 2001

It's pretty clear what is terrorism and what is, well, something other than terrorism, right? Deliberately blowing up a building full of civilians would be an act of terrorism, whereas, I don't know, throwing a bunch of tea in Boston Harbor is all in good fun. The big downside of our nation's new principle focus is that it would seem to lock in the legitimacy of all existing world governments, while simultaneously characterizing as suspect any possible opposition movements. In the United States itself, the bastion of democracy, where there is a strong tradition of, well, two parties, the opposition is cowering in near-silence for fear of seeming to side with the terrorists, even about issues that have nothing to do with terrorism. This might be something we can live with in America, so long as it doesn't persist for too long. But in other countries, where opposition groups have greater bones to pick with the government, the suppression implicitly sanctioned by the new "anti-terror" climate could well mean American approval of horrendous reprisals against indiginous opposition groups. Don't expect a lot of American interest in what happens in Tibet, Chechnya, and Chiapas. Indeed, Americans caught espousing things other than the new orthodoxy are already experiencing fascist-style oppression here at home. I've said it before and I'll say it again, if Osama bin Laden was hoping to spur the globalization of fascism, it seems he did the right thing.

Something about the cold weather and this drafty brownstone makes the bed seem like the best place to be, especially given the alternatives. I'd slept a lot yesterday and through the night but still Gretchen and I didn't get out bed until something like noon.
Later on we ate brunch at a place on 7th Avenue in Park Slope where customers are encouraged to make crayon drawings on their paper tablespreads. I drew a rooster of course, what I always draw when the rivers of creativity run dry.
Every time I'm given the choice between salad and french fries, I always pick the latter. French fries are the ultimate hunger food, containing the perfect balance of starch and fat, with no protein or vitamins to stand in the way of a good time. After I finished with my fries, I moved onto my main course, a bagel containing salmon and cream cheese. The coffee tasted like battery acid until Gretchen did the proactive thing and fetched me a replacement.

In the evening there was a big impromptu Boggle party featuring Debra, Ray, Nancy and friends. We even ordered pizza. In the midst of one of our quiet scribbling interludes, one of us silently farted and the resultant greenish-brown cloud hanging over the table was horrendous.
Meanwhile I was providing an eclectic mix of tunes from the MP3s on my computer. Unfortunately, though, the random number generator in WinAmp was acting weird and we were getting an excessively high concentration of songs by Heart and the Carpenters. You may think you like "Magic Man" and "We've Only Just Begun," but try hearing them three times pver the coruse of a half an hour.

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