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:
   more sand
Thursday, April 28 2005
Today I went three times to Fording Place in the Esopus Valley to fetch loads of river sand (along with additional large buckets of rounded river pebbles). This might seem like a lot of sand, but it didn't really come to that much; I spread it only a couple inches thick on the sidewalk bed, which measures about twenty five feet long and four to five feet in width.

This evening Gretchen and I went to a little dinner party hosted by B, one of Hurley's more flamboyant personalities, a sometimes journalist, real estate agent, dog enthusiast, and non-tee-totaler. B's daughter and future son-in-law were in town from Australia and were the ones who were actually doing all the cooking. To tonight's dinner party B had invited a fellow real estate colleague, our National Geographic adventurer friend from Stone Ridge, and a furniture maker to whom she'd just sold a house in Shokan. B entertains the hope of one day experiencing meaningless sex with this furniture maker, something she talked about freely in front of him and everyone else (to the not-surprising mortification of her daughter). Interestingly. B's daughter has already picked up a detectable Australian accent after having lived only five years in the land of dingos, kangaroos, and cave paintings featuring depictions of their innards.
Before dinner we were joined by our friend Ray who had come up from the City for a little taste of Catskills tranquility during his week off from his hateful job as a junior highschool teacher at a problem school where most children don't really want to learn anything anyhow.
One thing about B's dinner parties is that no one ever experiences a moment when he's thinking, "I'd really like to maybe have - you know - a drink right about now. This was probably the first dinner party I've attended where tall narrow bottles of dessert booze came out with the dessert without anyone having asked for it. It proved surprisingly popular with all in attendance.

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