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:
   immunity next door
Monday, September 28 2020
One of the kids in the household of our new downhill neighbors appeared at our door this morning to drop off a thank-you note for the cupcakes we'd dropped off on Saturday. The kid was, of course, accompanied by an adult (her mom), who waited in a vehicle in our driveway while her daughter made contact. But Gretchen and the little girl ended up talking for so long (about things like books and cats) that the mom got out of her vehicle and joined the conversation. The most interesting fact of this conversation was that everyone in their family contracted coronavirus during the height of the pandemic in New York City, and now they consider themselves immune. This accounts for why they don't appear to be taking any coronavirus precautions. It was presence of Sylvia the Cat who had triggered the conversation about cats, which the little girl said she liked more than dogs. But after taking one look at our new little neighbor, Sylvia darted up stairs all fluffy-tailed, growling like a dog (which is something she does more than any other cat I've known). She continued pacing back and forth upstairs, growling and looking around suspiciously until the strangers had left.

Since the New York Times dropped the bombshell report on Donald Trump's taxes (and how little he's paid in the last fifteen years), I've been back to reading the news again, though not quite as much as before. For video, I'm still mostly watching clips from Live PD. There seems to be an inexhaustible supply of these.

This evening I decided to make chili, in keeping with a new commitment I've made to prepare one meal a week. It ended up about as good as it always does, though it might've been a bit too salty.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?200928

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