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
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Like my brownhouse:
   passages from an excruciating memoir
Tuesday, February 17 2015
Gretchen entertained me this morning by reading aloud passages from an advance copy of an excruciating memoir she'd received at the bookstore in Woodstock where she works. The memoir had been written by a fairly famous local writer, and had been blurbed positively by none other than Stephen King (yes, that Stephen King), leading us to discount every future blurb we see from Stephen King. Gretchen had been fairly good friends with this memoirist not too long ago; they shared an interest in writing and rescue dogs, and Gretchen had even made some progress with vegetarian evangelism (though of course vegan evangelism would have been a step too far). But evidently that phase of the memoirist's life is now decisively behind her; the book talks constantly about food, and nearly all of it is meat: lamb, beef, and lots and lots of chicken. Numerous animals were harmed in the course of its writing. I should mention that Gretchen isn't so single-minded that she would discount a book purely for ideological differences with its author; the problems with the memoir ran much deeper than that. Most appalling of all is its air of faux profundity. It consists of short, simple stories devoid of either the unexpected or further development of the author's personality, though she tells them with a smug curtness, as if they showcase some sort of deep old-soul wisdom. Particularly in the context of a prosaic life full of mainstream desires, interests, and choices, it painted a picture of a bored upper-middle-class WASP. Clearly the memoir is a weak attempt to cash in on earlier success. This happens all the time, of course, but that doesn't make it any less fun to discuss when evidence of it can be found.
Though temperatures never rose out of the mid-20s, at least the sun was out for most of the day. At this time of year, the sun is less of a fleeting presence, and it managed to keep the upstairs of the greenhouse heated for hours. Ramona was down there by herself for much of the day and didn't return until about 4:20pm.

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