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

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(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   first snow of October
Wednesday, October 22 2003
Frank and Lisa, after eating their customary two or three course breakfast and drinking about three cups of coffee each (they're such marvelous and unabashed hedonists!), drove off in their rental car to hike one of the trails in Minnewaska State Park.
By the time they returned, it was actually snowing outside. It wasn't sticking, though, so we could drive without difficulty into Old Hurley and have one of our typical dinners at the Hurley Mountain Inn. Lisa (who has a history of vegetarianism and animal rights) stuck to the vegetarianism that our household rules had been enforcing. Frank, on the other hand, had a bit of "blood lust" that needed satisfying. So he ordered a plate of Buffalo wings, which I helped him devour. This was in addition to the usual large pizza and side of fries (as well as a supplementary second basket of fries).
The Hurley Mountain Inn wasn't doing much business, so it was running on something of a skeleton staff, and most of our service was happening through the bartender. The moment he found out that our friends were British, he couldn't stop talking about various forms of imported British entertainment he'd seen.
Our dinner conversation dwelled for a long time on accents - it's an easy one for Americans to have with Brits. Frank and Lisa were impressed with Gretchen's British accent, Gretchen and I were impressed with Lisa's American accents, and nobody was impressed with accents attempted by either Frank or me. Frank's American accent is some sort of folksy southern thing - to my ear it sounds like Matt Rogers attempting a southern accent.

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