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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decay & ruin
Biosphere II
Chernobyl
dead malls
Detroit
Irving housing

welcome to the collapse
Clusterfuck Nation
Peak Oil

got that wrong
Paleofuture.com

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff


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Like my brownhouse:
   social calendar not empty
Friday, January 10 2014
We expected our friends Susan the Artist and her partner Dave to come up from the City today and spend the weekend with us, but in the morning they called to say they'd be delaying their arrival by a few days; the realtor who was supposed to show them some houses had called to say it would be a mess this weekend, with lots of rain and flooding. But even with that news, our social calendar didn't exactly empty. Gretchen had also scheduled a dinner tonight with Deborah and Carrie (the wife of Michæl the Artist, who, for the next several months, will be heading an art project for homeless kids in Sherbrooke, Quebec). This meant that I still had to do a small cleaning jihad, mostly vacuuming up firewood detritus from around the woodstove. That area always quickly goes to hell during the winter time.
Eleanor was still acting strangely today, though she was better than she had been yesterday. She seemed genuinely happy to see Deborah, Carrie, Penny the Dog, and Allou the Dog when they all came over this evening.
Gretchen had made an onion soup, a noodle bake with cauliflower, and a salad with very convincing fake blue cheese dressing. Deborah had made a kale salad and Carrie brought a number of non-alcoholic beverages. Carrie told us that Michæl has already used up a month's worth of bandwidth at his digs in Sherbrooke doing things like Facetime and watching streaming television, and so now when he needs connectivity he has to go to an café.
At some point later by the fire, I busted out some special marijuana for those who wanted it (and it proved more popular than I expected). One person in our party had recently decided that she no longer wants to get a job that might require her to submit a urine sample. Another person in our party works as a psychiatric counselor, and I asked her what I would need to do to get Adderall as part of my nifty new Obamacare insurance package. She told me I'd have to see a psychiatrist, who would make a recommendation to a doctor. There's also this handy Wikihow page.
When Deborah was leaving, it seemed Allou was having such a good time that he didn't want to go. So we all ageed that he could spend the night. At some point during the long leisurely rainy morning that followed, there were three dogs, two humans, and Walter the cat on our bed. I've never met a cat so effortlessly good with dogs as Walter.


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