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

got that wrong

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Like my brownhouse:
   real estate porn in Woodstock
Saturday, January 6 2007
Temperatures peaked at 68.2 degrees Fahrenheit this afternoon at a little before 2:00pm. After that blustery winds gradually dragged temperatures down into the fifties by dinnertime. This winter I've noticed a recurring pattern of warm weather stretching up along the East Coast from Georgia to Maine. Here in Hurley we've always been the beneficiary of this trend, but not as much as those down in New York City or out on Cape Cod. Meanwhile, those further inland (in Ohio or Tennessee) have been experiencing a more normal winter. So far this winter here in the Catskills has been somewhat milder than an average winter in Charlottesville, Virginia. Perhaps this coastal warming trend reflects some unusual behavior of the Gulf Stream or the winds blowing above it.
Gretchen is a huge fan of that new vegan café in Woodstock. Last night she had dinner there with the photogenic vegan Buddhists. Tonight she'd arranged to go there again with Penny, David, and me. David did the driving in their brand new Toyota Matrix. But instead of having a steady downpour of glowing green characters, their dashboard instrumentation, particularly around the radio console, glowed monochrome red.
After dinner we all went for a walk through downtown Woodstock, which was uncomfortable for me because I'd decided to celebrate global warming by wearing a short-sleeved shirt. When walking through a village after dark there is really only one thing that can be done, and we did it. We looked into various darkened shops, stopping for awhile to enjoy what David called "real estate porn" in the windows of a Woodstock Realtor. Gretchen and I were pleased to see that prices were down everywhere. You can get a big house for under $300,000 in some places again.
On the drive home Penny insisted on playing Tom Waits, which none of the rest of us like. (I immediately delighted in calling it "chick music" because it seems only educated women are fans.) But we humored her for about one and a quarter songs. That last "song" was "What's He Building?" which I actally enjoyed.

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