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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   battery acid IPA
Thursday, August 8 2013
Today I finally waded into the world of plugin development for Adobe Lightroom, a world that depends on a Pascal-like language named Lua that was developed in Brazil. Lua wouldn't exist were it not for severe import restrictions against foreign software and hardware that forced Brazilians to create their own software (and, presumably, hardware) paradigms. Now, for some reason, Lua is an important language not just in the one product from Adobe called Lightroom, but also in video game development. It will probably be a good thing to have on the old resume. To help with my absorption of this new information, I took a recreational dose of pseudoephedrine. [REDACTED]
In the evening I drove out to Joshua's in Woodstock to meet up with Gretchen, Susan the artist, and her partner in life David (they aren't married). I had a beer with them there and then we decided to do pizza at Catskill Mountain Pizza. I'd brought the dogs with me and we decided to bring the dogs with us on leashes and have them sit with us outside the pizza place. But the dogs were in my Subaru and the leashes were in Gretchen's Honda Civic Hybrid. So we just turned the dogs loose and had them walk off-leash with us from one car to the other through the alleys and parking lots of Woodstock. This is the sort of casual dog-parenting that vaguely horrifies a helicoptery dog-parent like Susan the artist, but it's typical of Gretchen and me.
At Catskill Mountain Pizza, we ordered a large pizza, an order of fries, and a plate of spaghetti (it wasn't as good as the spaghetti at the Plaza Diner in New Paltz). I also started out with 400 Pound Monkey, but it tasted like battery acid, so I switched to a different IPA. Our conversation touched on such issues as the fact that my father spoke German as his first language despite being a third-generation American growing up in Wisconsin. At some point I said some things that clearly embarrassed Gretchen (one being that the perky blonde protagonist of Orange is the New Black would have been totally outside my league girlfriend-wise), and she attributed this to my being drunk.
On the drive home, I bought 12 Mountain Brew Beer Ices from the Stewarts at the corner of Route 28 and Zena Road and cracked one open to enjoy for the balance of my drive.


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