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:
   Suzy celebrates election day, 2014
Tuesday, November 4 2014
The other day, I saw a couple of pieces of a large White Ash cut into liftable chunks near the intersection of Dug Hill and Hurley Mountain Roads, so I loaded them into my car. As I was pulling them back out, I saw they were rather richly-festooned with Poison Ivy vines, so I was sure to wash my hands and arms with soap & water. But evidently, I didn't do a thorough enough job, because a couple days after the exposure, the ventral surfaces of my forearms began to itch. They never itched that badly, but they looked terrible: all rashy, swollen, red, and stippled with tiny bloody dots. Later this evening when I took a bath, I saw that there was also rash on the upper part of my chest, extending across my shoulder. I'd also felt a bit of it on my neck and chin. Perhaps a terrible (an unusual) case of dry lips yesterday had actually been Poison Ivy. By today, that dryness had extended into my nostrils and was starting to feel like a nascent case of the Common Cold, and I also felt patches of itchiness on my genitals. Clearly, the juice from that Poison Ivy had found a way to get on me; my suspicion was that it had gotten onto my shirt, which I'd failed to immediately take off.
I left the house early this morning while Gretchen was walking the dogs in the forest so I could go to the Wall Street house guiltlessy dogless. I went out to Home Depot, mostly in search of products to fix a deep gash I thought I'd inflicted on the Wall Street house's refrigerator when I was remove a length of extra copper pipe from the basement. But at the Wall Street house, it turned out that the gash was purely superficial and comprised entirely of copper. It scrubbed completely away. So I focused on other things: filling cracks with caulk and, later, painting over those cracks with carefully-labeled paint from among the many cans that had come with the house. I also cleaned up the floor in the new bathroom (which received its first bowel movement today), though in the process my Dremel died, a problem that later seemed to be related to one of its brushes.
Back home in Hurley, I mostly steered clear of the news websites because I had a feeling my scary Halloween costume would prove prescient and there would be a Republican takeover of the Senate. I did, however, hang around the Election Night Party group on Facebook with my avatar Suzy, who celebrated every Republican victory that came in with her usual mix of religious smugness and misspellings. Others there who were not her usual friends seemed to identify her as a troll, though they still clearly didn't get it. They accused her of being a "the worst troll ever" and then made a variety of insults, many of which were sexual in nature. Suzy played dumb, asking what it would take for her to be a "good troll." They claimed her obviously-deliberately-bad spelling was an issue, and added that her whole schtick was boring, though evidently not boring enough to ignore. To me, this seemed to give lie to their accusation of "bad troll." A bad troll is one who is ignored, but they were lavishing her with attention. If anything, Suzy was being the ultimate troll, not only being fed in terms of responses, but also in promises of penises crammed into her mouth.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next