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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   tame pickled peppers on my matzah pizza
Thursday, March 28 2013

location: rural Hurley township, Ulster County, New York

I don't usually remember my dreams, but I had some crazy ones last night that I can recall in detail. In one, I decided to confide in my brother Don that I am an alcoholic. I wanted someone non-judgemental to talk with about it, and for some reason I chose him. But Don being Don (even in my dreams), he immediately said that he would be telling Hoagie (our mother). "Come on, Don!" I pleaded, and then that dream ended, soon to be replaced with another one that had me and Gretchen in a backwoods part of Zambia. We were there on a multi-hour layover and had been put in the care of several scary-looking guys with machetes who liked to spend their time watching Youtube clips of American hostages being beheaded by Middle Eastern terrorists. Meanwhile, the villagers around us were all dressed the same, wearing white togas, grey little old lady wigs, and cracking cream-colored mud dried to their faces.
It would have been nice to return to Upstate New York and find that spring had sprung, but the weather remained dreary and colder than it should have been. For part of the day a spitting rain fell, and the absence of sun meant I had to maintain a fire in the woodstove.
Foodwise, today Gretchen and I derived most of our calories from matzah, enjoying matzah pizzas or (in my case) just plain matzah, which has its own simple elegance. I discovered today that so-called "tame jalapeños" taste more like pickles than they do like peppers. I'd made the mistake of getting a jar of them from Hurley Ridge Market and not noticing the qualifier "tame" (because who knows to look for that when buying fucking jalapeños?). Now I know; they might work in a sandwich, but that pickle flavor is not something one wants on a matzah pizza.


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