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:
   unpromising teevee night
Friday, April 4 2014
It was a cool cloudy day, with highs in the 40s (like late February) and eventually rain. I've been trying to collect a backpack of firewood for the woodshed every day, but on days like today, when firewood also needed to be burned, I felt the need to also get wood for the living room. So today I went out on two separate missions to get firewood. They were both close to the house, and the dogs only came on the first one. Evidently they were so jaded by that experience that they didn't bother coming on the second. That second mission was down the Stick Trail but not even as far as the Chamomile. I cut some branches off a fallen tree that has been fallen since before we moved into our house eleven and a half years ago, and it was enough wood to make for a load too heavy to have been carried much more than the 150 or so feet back to the woodshed.
It was teevee night for me, though it was interrupted when Gretchen returned from a shift at the bookstore, and at that point we watched Jeopardy and the Colbert Report. Gretchen is still somewhere in her binge-watch of Scandal and she might have watched a few episodes after that. The seasons for all my gold shows are over, so I had to settle for something called Ice Cold Gold which, so far, is mostly about rubies in Greenland and focuses too much on middle-school-level social jockeying. I'll give it a few more episodes, but so far it seems nearly unwatchable.


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