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:
   without really noticing the nastola
Saturday, March 29 2008

setting: rural Hurley Township, Ulster County, New York, United States of America

Early tomorrow morning, Gretchen and I would be leaving on a relatively-short (five day) vacation to Costa Rica. Before we left, I busied myself cleaning the kitchen appliances so our neighbor Andrea wouldn't feel the need to get a tetanus shot after fetching a can of cat wet food from our disgusting refrigerator. It's amazing how dirty it's possible for things to get when the dirt is your dirt and it accumulates slowly. No sane person would put an open bowl of soup in the blood-colored cave that is our microwave oven, what with its many overlapping pasta sauce spatters and nut cream stalagtites. But we use it without really noticing the nastola.
Speaking of nastola, a couple months ago Gretchen left a blob of chocolate sauce on one of the kitchen cabinet doors. It was so big I was able to plant a flag in it. The flag had featured a dry spaghetti mast and a paper banner reading simply, "Nastola!" (It turns out there is actually a town in Finnland named Nastola.)

Gretchen and I stayed up until 1:00AM, then dropped the dogs off at Andrea's and hit the road. It's amazing how easy driving to JFK is at that hour.
I'd packed extremely lightly, not taking a laptop or any warm clothes except for the sweater necessary to survive a wintertime run across JFK's long term parking lot to the nearest "Air Train" station. For her part, Gretchen had decided to bring a rain coat, as weather reports from San Jose were indicating a good chance of thunderstorms.


Someone sleeps uncomfortably in front of a video game in the JFK "Funzone."


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?080329

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