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:
   Neville the snuggler
Thursday, December 12 2019
This morning when I woke up, I had the headache that is usually an indication of a mild hangover that will be over by noon. In a sense, this wouldn't prove to be a bad prediction, because the hangover did indeed peak before noon and was largely over by the early afternoon. But it didn't feel mild during the peak. It had a strong dysphoric element. This might be the sort of hangover one gets when one mixes scotch and diphenhydramine.
That hungover feeling contributed to my sense of overwhelm coming from the realization that I am being expected to manage a team of developers in a war-torn former Soviet republic (you know which one I mean). The project is a big one and is expected to take a year, but I get the feeling too many resources are being thrown at it. It's paradoxical but true: with complex jobs done by knowledge workers, the more people working on a project, the longer it takes to do. This is an inevitable consequence of the low bandwidth available between human brains.
Temperatures seemed to fall throughout the afternoon, and by the time I got home, it was bitterly cold. I found Gretchen huddled on the couch in the living room in front of a raging woodstove fire that nevertheless was having trouble heating the space. Conditions improved when Neville the Dog came down from upstairs with intentions of snuggling.


US 209 around sundown near the Hurley State Trooper barracks. Click to enlarge.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?191212

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