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:
   better than Home Cooking
Friday, April 22 2011
The weather was cold today, mostly in the 40s with a promise of the 50s that only arrived in the late evening. I kept putting off starting a fire but at some point the house was just too miserable so I got one going.
Still, reminders of Spring were everywhere, including in my foot. I found myself hobbling about, not so much from a recent case of athlete's foot (which seems to be on the way out), but from something embedded deep in the sole of my foot, the legacy of a recent day spent mostly barefoot. I started poking at it with the dull blade of the kitchen Swiss Army knife, and it didn't take much persistence or accuracy to prod out a thin, quarter inch long thorn. Right behind it was a blob of greyish pus. It's always good to get the pus out.

This evening there had been a plan to go to New World Home Cooking for their annual (or some other word giving an indication of infrequent temporal regularity) prix fixe vegan meal. Actually, I think there are several prix fixes, only one of which is vegan, but the point was that Gretchen wanted to both support Mid-Hudson vegan alternatives while celebrating a several months-old publishing success with our friend Jenny and her husband Doug. (There's a work of nonfiction in the pipeline, money has been delivered up front, and both Gretchen and Jenny have roles in writing it.) But then word came from our mole inside New World about who else had made a registration tonight for the prix fixe. Apparently Gretchen's local archnemesis was planning to be there as well. Suddenly the $59/per seat was seemingly like a lot of money for not a lot of fun.
So in the end we rescheduled and had dinner over across the Hudson at Luna 61, which is also expensive, but considerably cheaper than the prix fixe would have been. Once earlier when Gretchen and I had been to Luna 61, the woman who owns the place had said that Gretchen reminded her of (and, not having her name available in her conversational memory, she proceeded to describe Jenny). So today, as Gretchen reminded the owner, she had the both of them, doing things like advocating vegan orthodoxy for the restaurant. "I'd couldn't make it," claimed the owner, who is herself vegan. "As it is, some people sit down, take a look at the menu, and leave," she added. Evidently there just aren't enough hungry people out there to survive as a business without at least having a little cheese on hand.
Meanwhile, Doug wasn't saying a whole lot. He was distracted by a migraine headache, which he says afflict him on a monthly basis, give or take.

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