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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(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   actually a cistern
Monday, August 17 2009
It was yet another hot day, one during which I'd make occasional ventures down to the greenhouse to continue with the slow, seemingly ineffectual advance of the well project. At this point the goal is to make a self-filling subterranean cistern, not a well. All I have to do is line it with something impervious to water and put on some kind of cover to keep me from falling in.
I don't actually do much work down in the greenhouse, where temperatures hover around 80 degrees Fahrenheit (though in the "well" it's still in the 60s). But even the little I do quickly drenches me in sweat, which I have to rinse off before going into the house.

This evening Gretchen and I watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall on our 28 inch CRT-based television. She loves the movie and I thought it was pretty good. At first I was a little put-off by all the locational coincidences, but quickly came to realize that, among other things, the movie is a parody of locational coincidences.

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