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:
   despite the brutal exercise
Monday, December 1 2003

setting: Hurley Township, Ulster County, New York

A couple weeks ago I was listening to a long loop of songs by the Super Furry Animals over and over. Today, though, I was in more of a state of flux, one that had me stuck low in the MP3 alphabet. I appreciated Alice in Chains for a time, followed by And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead (Gretchen brought me a plate of pasta while I was playing them and her reaction was, "Here you go, hardcore fan."). Then I listened to the Beatles, particularly my favorite album, Revolver, which I have as a big undivided MP3 (it's okay RIAA, I also have it on vinyl back in the Shaque). For the past few hours I've been listening to Calexico, a band I first heard about on KCRW. There's one Calexico song, "Minas de Cobre," that I absolutely adore only for its first twelve seconds. During this time there is the sound of a lazy Mexican guitar with an occasional lonely train whistle sample layered on top. That's all very nice and multicultural, but it's hardly diverse. I know my music isn't eclectic because where the fuck are all the black people? I don't even like Lenny Kravitz, and that brother's music is white.
I watched an old Chris Rock Show with Gretchen tonight. It was from 1998 and its jokes were about Monica Lewinsky. The guest artist was none other than Lenny Kravitz (where is he now?). Lenny played his then-hit "Fly Away," featuring some of the most annoyingly repetitive lyrics ever broadcast. This was the first time I ever heard the song all the way through - normally I change whatever the media is the moment that dreadful song starts playing. I think it might be one of the worst songs ever created by either man or machine. The only way it could be worse would be if William Shatner sang it. No, I might actually want to hear that.


It was a day of phone calls and errands. I had to go back to the kitchen designer place out on route 28 because the tile I'd picked up a couple weeks ago had been the wrong color. There's a pretty young woman working there who isn't very big, but boy can she sling those heavy packages of tile! Every time she bends over and grabs another armload, she briefly exposes the small of her back, soft and doughy despite the brutal exercise it gets. It's a sight instinct forbids me to ignore.

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