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:
   reincarnation of Udai Hussein
Sunday, May 30 2004
Mr. Meat Locker was over using one of our computers because he was writing an article about commemorative state quarters for a tiny zine and his research required broadband. (He later told us how much he hates the Ohio quarter for its shrill claims to technologies only vaguely associated with it.) While Mr. Meat Locker did his research, Gretchen and I were planning on attending a party out at the residence of some of our other new friends, the ones who live near the corner of Lapla and Spillway (several miles due west through the forest). That's the funky homemade house we'd gone to for a seder back in early April. Today was the birthday of the lady of that house, and thus the party. She'd told Gretchen she could bring any dogs or human beings she wanted, so we asked Mr. Meat Locker if he wanted to come. Sure, what the hell. That sort of thing.
When we arrived there seemed to be more dogs at the party than there were humans. In the end there were seven or eight dogs, including our own two. They ran around in various arrangements having their own uniquely canine fun while a similar pack of children (most of them about seven years old) amused themselves with typical little-kid diversions, leaving us adults mostly free to do our own thing. The food was a spread of vegetarian Indian food, which might have been a big hit with Gretchen and me, but was less exciting for both the dogs and the kids. Still, we hadn't fed Sally and Eleanor, and they were plenty happy when I offered them each handfuls of some sort of Indian glurp.
Meanwhile the kids had discovered that frogs were living in a tiny artificial pond beside the front deck. They paraded around with a leopard frog, first keeping him imprisoned in a beer cup full of water and then just loose in some girl's naked hands. He was remarkably docile considering his peril. "Don't get the frog near the hot tub!" the girl's mother cautioned from afar, "If he jumps in there he will die!" I was sitting next to Mr. Meat Locker at the time and I told him, "That poor frog is probably the reincarnation of Udai Hussein - what else could explain his sorry fate, to be handled by a half dozen American children?" Mr. Meat Locker and I had been talking about all sorts of things, ranging from soldering to growing up in Redneckistan (he's from Charleston, WV).
Later I happened to look in the cup where the frog had temporarily been held captive. It was full of tea-colored water that was home to ten or twenty larval mosquitoes darting about with the naïve abandon of youth. By then the sun had set and their tiny parents had begun attacking us without mercy. [REDACTED]

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