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:
   staycation bathroom thought
Thursday, February 12 2015
After work today, Gretchen drove into the city, so I had myself a nice little staycation. First, though, my Lightroom/Webapp client came over for our weekly meetings. When he was gone, I took a recreational dose of pseudoephedrine and proceeded and channeled it into several hours of highly-productive web development. John, a local water quality expert was supposed to come over between the hours of three and four, so I kept an eye out for him. It's difficult for someone to drive into our driveway unnoticed, particularly if they slam their car door. Even if the dogs don't hear it, I often do. But John never showed up. Later when I was bringing a load of firewood into the house, I happened to notice something sticking out of the pet door. It was John's business card. Evidently he'd snuck in, left a card, and vanished. Perhaps he'd tried the door bell, but Gretchen always unplugs it so it never actually works when people try to ring it. Still, if he'd knocked at all, the dogs would have heard him and come running out. So it seems our strange-tasting water will remain undiagnosed for the time being. (It's been tasting earthy lately, something it often does when there is a lot of snow on the ground.)
After the water guy failed to show up, I could start my drinking for the evening. Later I smoked some pot, and under its influence I wandered into the upstairs bathroom, and looked around at the way we'd had it tiled back when Gretchen was in her early 30s and I was approaching 35. It didn't look bad, but we were different people back when we'd had it done that way. What, I wondered, would it be like to have been a rich rockstar at 19, bought a mansion, decorated it in the style that was popular among teens in the 1980s, and then lost all the wealth except for the mansion? It would be strange to grow old in such a place. Then again, a lot of people my age are stuck in important ways at the age they were when they first lost their virginity. This accounts for all the 47 year old women in the Shenandoah Valley walking around with feathered-back hair.

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