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:
   avoiding sneeze clouds
Tuesday, August 11 2015
Late this morning, I loaded up the Prius with Gretchen and the dogs, and I drove us all down to the park & ride at the New Paltz Thruway exit. From there, Gretchen caught a bus into the City, where, for the next couple days, she will be hanging out with her friend Marissa, who recently popped out vegan baby numero dos. (Normally Gretchen doesn't like babies, especially nth white babies, but she's made an exception in this particular case.)
I drove with the dogs back north to Kingston, where I got some groceries from the Uptown Hannaford (aka "Ghettoford"). That place is famous for its human oddities, and today's came while I was walking across the parking lot from the Prius to the store. An ordinary-looking white man about 50 feet ahead of me had two explosive sneezes that sounded as through they had ærosolized a whole cumulus cloud's worth of infectious disease. I made the snap decision to not follow the path he'd taken and instead use a path somewhat upwind.
I started my "bachelor drinking" kind of early this afternoon with a Sierra Nevada Torpedo DIPA followed by a tall, refreshing gin & tonic. Later when I went off to gather today's backpack of firewood, I was still somewhat intoxicated. I made things easy on myself by venturing not too far to the southwest beyond the Farm Road. I felled a medium-sized skeletonized oak and bucked five pieces out of it, only four of which fit my backpack. Back at the woodshed, the weight came to 110.3 pounds. It was good to carry such a relatively light load on a mostly-downhill schlep; my left knee isn't feeling 100% healthy, and I don't want to do myself an injury that will be with me for the rest of my life.
(In the early 1990s, I was with my father hiking in the forest somewhere in West Virginia, and at some point he slipped and fell and felt something give in his back. That injury gradually worsened over the next 20 years, at first pinching off nerves necessary for him to feel his toes and then affecting his ability to coordinate his movements. By the end of his life, it had made getting out of bed and walking difficult, and probably led to a somewhat premature death and a significantly less-pleasant final couple years.)

As always on the first night of Gretchen's absence, I consumed a lot of alcohol, television, and marijuana. In terms of food, mostly all I ate was corn chips with some leftover bean glurp. I went to bed relatively early, as I'd run out of ways to get fucked up and I didn't want to have a terrible hangover from continuing to drink alone.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next