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:
   size of Holstein cows
Tuesday, August 3 2010
Gretchen was on a Veronica Mars television kick but today she switched to watching a series featuring vampires and crudely computer-animated werewolves the size of Holstein cows. Meanwhile I was very busy with web development of the sort I'd been procrastinating by doing the things mentioned in yesterday's entry.

At some point while I was working at my computer tonight, I heard the sound of someone madly revving an engine. It was so loud that at first I thought it was a normal engine in our driveway, but no, it turned out that it was a very loud engine some distance down Dug Hill Road, in a curve that coincides with the driveway of our downhill neighbors. Curious, I snuck down past the greenhouse and out to the road, where I could see someone with a bright lamp looking at their engine with the hood up. The engine was running and great clouds of smoke were being produced. I thought perhaps they'd burned up a marginal engine on the steep climb from the Esopus Valley. [The next day, though, I would see that this car hadn't made the turn and had crashed into a tree, probably rupturing its radiator. It takes a special kind of moron to go off Dug Hill Road while driving uphill in good weather. I'm pretty sure alcohol had something to do with it.]

I neglected to mention that the other day Gretchen and I watched a documentary called In a Dream about a self-absorbed artist who likes to encrust his environment with murals comprised of tile, mirror, bottles, and old bicycle wheels. He does his work in Philadelphia, and we'd seen some of it when we'd last been there. The documentary was shot by one of his Biblically-named sons and showcases a period of intense familial strife: one of the artist's kids goes off to rehab while the artist himself starts, well, taking his wife more for granted than perhaps he had been. It's a good little film.

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