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:
   large wooden pants
Tuesday, November 23 2010
Gretchen's parents would be arriving late this afternoon, so I was forced at a certain point to put more work into housecleaning than into the maplelysis project, particularly that bathroom in the basement where I like to take my baths. That room is always so nasty that it's my job to clean it up. I never use its toilet for anything but disposing of hair caught in the bath drain, so over time it starts to take on the appearance of a bird's nest.
But it was very hard to resist the attraction of the Silver Maple project, as I was almost done with it. I found myself out in a spitting drizzle with an electrically-powered chain saw, cutting up those pieces longer than the two-foot maximum length our stove imposes on sticks of firewood.
Gretchen's parents arrived a little more than an hour before I'd expected them, though I'd luckily completed by chores by then. Even the Silver Maple project was done (or nearly so); there were only a three pieces left to be sectioned, one of looked like an enormous pair of short pants (it was even hollow in a way that would have accommodated a largely-apportioned person stepping into it).

Gretchen's parents had experienced an especially-congested drive up from the residence of other relatives down in Long Island. Perhaps more people were on the road as way of avoiding much-hyped new invasive airport security protocols.
Because the rest of this week would be about nothing but cooking, Gretchen didn't want to put much effort into dinner preparation tonight. So she cooked up some frozen vegan pizzas, though she also fried up a bunch of toppings for them. I added slices from one of the last two of my garden-fresh hot peppers to my pizza slices, knowing from their smell and firmness that (unlike some peppers that had been frozen and thawed a few times) that they would be hot. Gretchen's father wanted a few slices of pepper, so I gave him some, warning that they would be hot. And indeed they were.


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