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:
   idea for a pangolin banner
Saturday, March 7 2020
Today marked the transition from climatological winter to climatological spring, since the three statisically-coldest months of the year (here I mean a number of days equivalent to three months) were now behind us, at least in this area. It's been about as mild of a winter as I've ever experienced in Upstate New York.
This morning I walked the dogs down the Gullies Trail, decending its "mountain goat path" to the bottom of the Chanterelle Valley. I hadn't been on the mountain goat path in many months, and I was struck by what bad shape it was in. Most of the sticks that used to define its edges have rotted away, and there isn't much left of the narrow shallowly-descending terrace that had been the difference between this and a dauntingly-steep escarpment. Once I'd made it into the shade of the east side of the Chanterelle Valley, a punishingly-cold breeze started blowing in my face, and, because the sun was mostly lost behind evergreens, it could do little to counteract this discomfort. I had no interest in soldiering on in such conditions, so I turned northward and headed back towards home, passing a couple hundred feet above where people like to monotonously shoot behind the bus-turnaround. There was more sun and less breeze for nearly all of the walk back home.
It ended up being a cool but sunny day, so I spent some of my day down in the upstairs of the greenhouse, and I managed to get the dogs to join me down there for a time. Neville became surprisingly excited when he encountered me coming up from the greenhouse (on a mission to find him) just as he was setting out towards the greenhouse trying to find me.
I've been finding it hard to do anything but absorb any and all coronavirus content that I can. I've been thinking that if Donald Trump is ever defeated (and the coronavirus seems almost engineered to highlight his political liabilities), in the inevitable celebration in the streets, I would like to fly a banner featuring a pangolin. Pangolins, as you may know, are scaly wild animals that some Chinese like to eat for reasons rooted in obdurate superstition, and its thought that the coronavirus may have jumped from bats to pangolins on their way to becoming a novel human viral disease.

Neville in the greenhouse upstairs today.

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