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").

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Like my brownhouse:
   wooing a housesitter
Tuesday, July 24 2007
We cleaned the house up all nice in anticipation of the arrival of a recent graduate from Bard, who would be coming over to learn about a house-sitting opportunity that we would be providing while we'd be in Scotland. Gretchen cooked up a dinner of pasta slathered with pesto made from fresh garden basil and, when the potential housesitter arrived, we showed her how to work the Tivo and even where our liquor cabinet is. The idea was that we'd let her stay here and we wouldn't pay her anything, although I had doubts that a total stranger was really going to want such an arrangement. Normally we have friends from the City come up to housesit while we're gone but things hadn't worked out this time. There's a network we can tap, but nothing is as good as someone who wants to spend two weeks doing whatever the fuck they want in the Catskill foothills without having to answer to anyone. The interview with the potential housesitter went well, and we thought we were all set after she left.


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