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:
   hummus through security
Wednesday, August 15 2007

setting: Room 610, Eurohostel, Glasgow, Scotland, UK

It was a sunny day and warm, at least by the standards of this trip. We walked to the bus station and caught a ride to the Glasgow airport. The only glitch going through security involved that large container of hummus we'd gotten at the 13th Note last night. The security people were wondering, did it constitute a liquid? They weren't sure and called in a supervisor as Gretchen joked with one of the security guys about the irony of a Scottsman thinking hummus weird, what with their haggis. When they asked what hummus was, she said it was made from smashed chick peas and that it was Middle Eastern. I don't know if I would have added that second part if I was her. In the end though, all we had to do to get it through was eat a little bit of it.
(I wished it had been that easy when I'd been trying to get a flask of brandy onto the plane flying from Newark to Glasgow; I would have gladly taken a swig in front of that security guy. And had he been Scottish, he probably would have understood.)

The flight back to Newark was on time and uneventful. On the airplane we found ourselves trapped in our seats behind a fat frekling older man, but I only needed to piss once on the entire seven hour flight. As always, Gretchen had ordered us special strict vegetarian meals for the flight. This was a good thing for the lunch course, which was an Indian curry. Later in the flight, though, when every one else was getting turkey and cheese sandwiches, we were handed bread rolls containing green peppers, lettuce, and tomatoes without any sort of sauce. That's the sort of thing that results when non-vegetarians are tasked with preparing vegetarian cuisine.

For some reason the muscle relaxers that we'd taken to such good effect on the flight to Scotland didn't work anywhere near as well on the flight back. This is a classic phenomenon observed with drugs, and as we all know a common path to addiction is the fruitless pursuit of a second drug experience matching the quality of the first.

After the two hour drive back home (somehow avoiding the leading surface of the rush hour bubble leaving New York City) we were greeted as liberators by our cats. The gardens had become jungles, with tall sunflower stalks for trees and many dozens of ripe tomatoes instead of tropical fruits. As of the lawn, most of the grass had been replaced with plantain. It was great to be home again.

See some photographs from the Scotland trip.

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