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:
   an uncomfortable temperature that woke me
Wednesday, December 11 2019
When I walked Ramona past the solar panels today, I kept encountering the tracks of some small dog, though one moving purposely on his or her own (unlike any domesticated dog capable of leaving such tracks). It was almost certainly a fox, perhaps the same one I'd seen some weeks ago. There were also several deer and rabbit tracks, all of which had been left since the snow had fallen overnight.
At the end of the workday, as I was putting Ramona's dog bed into the Subaru, I managed to wang the injured (and still swollen) knuckle of my left hand against the top of the car door opening, which set it back to hurting again, at least for fifteen or twenty minutes. At some point I realized that the whole back of that hand is somewhat discolored from the first finger joints (an inch or so into the fingers) all the way to within a half inch of my wrist. The hand's functionality is mostly restore, though I have to be careful not to hit that knuckle against anything else.

This evening, I painted another small (three inch by three inch) painting, this time of a hydra attached to a muddy substrate against a background of black. It only took me about ten minutes to do, though it bought me a whole evening of drinking. That Islay Mist blended scotch is good. There's also something strangely nostalgic about the way it smells that I can't quite identify. It's a smell from my early childhood, but it's not from either of my parents (since neither of them ever drank scotch).
I mixed the drinking with 100 milligrams of diphenhydramine, which I probably shouldn't have taken right before getting in the bathtub. I fell asleep in the water, and it was only the water cooling to an uncomfortable temperature that woke me up, forcing me to stagger through the chilly house towards the bedroom. Despite being wet and cold and foggy of mind, I nevertheless was able to fix a paper jam in the laser printer that had Gretchen flummoxed.


Ramona with the solar panels. Click for a wider view.


A frosty tree at the edge of the solar panel farm. Click to enlarge.


Ramona in the fresh snow under the powerlines behind the solar panel farm.


Driving into the sunset just west of the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge. Click to enlarge.


Driving home on US 209 tonight.


The hydra painting.


And the double-flip version.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?191211

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