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
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Irving housing

got that wrong

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Arduino μcontrollers
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Like my brownhouse:
   acclimation in the snow
Tuesday, February 22 2005
For the past couple of days I've been listening to Snow Patrol, a lavishly-produced British guitar band. If you pay attention to the lyrics you'll find they mostly take the form of first person "us against the world" romance talk. It's a bit syrupy (or emo, if you prefer) but as guilty pleasures go this is probably the best stuff since the Foo Fighters (the best guilty pleasure since Boston). The vocals are flawlessly beautiful and perfectly integrated with the instruments in a way that suggests no expense was spared in production. Evidently there's not much wiggle room with this formula, so Snow Patrol ends up sounding an awful lot like (though not quite as heavy as) the Foo Fighters. I fully support the little guy banging out power chords in his garage, but sometimes you just want some big-budget rock. That's Snow Patrol.

As for me, I went on something of a snow patrol myself today. Ms. Tillson came over with her dog Sadie, who is beset with a number of social "challenges." Sadie tends to be overly protective of her human companions and antisocial with other dogs, a recipe that has made it impossible for our households to all be together in one room. Whenever we socialize with the Tillsons, we're either with our dogs or with Sadie, but not both sets of dogs at the same time. Ms. Tillson brought Sadie over today in hopes that she could begin a process of acclimation to our dogs by doing things together on neutral terrain. Just to keep things from possibly escalating, Sadie had to wear a muzzle the whole time.
We walked the entire length of the Stick Trail and then back on the farm road, a circuit of some two and a half miles. There was some four to six inches of new snow atop the crusty older stuff, but it didn't impede us much. As for Sadie, occasionally she would growl at the other dogs and elicit a reprimand from Ms. Tilson. But her main concern was the muzzle, which she kept poking beneath the snow and rubbing against trees. At one point Sadie managed to lose it somewhere in the woods, but I was able to find it by following her tracks backwards across the snow.

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