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

welcome to the collapse
Clusterfuck Nation
Peak Oil

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff

(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   possible covid hangover
Friday, April 1 2022
I felt reasonably good when I woke up this morning, and had no trouble being an active participant in the morning meeting and then updating a Jira ticket I'd neglected. But by around noon, I was suffering from body aches and lethargy. There was also something amiss in my guts; it felt like trapped bubbles of pain-inducing gas. I did my best to keep alert at my workstation, even if I wasn't actually doing any work-related work. But my mid-afternoon, I gave up and crawled into bed. I kept the Teams tab on my Chromebook open in case anyone needed me for something, and then I just lay there listening to anti-MLM content streamed from YouTube. Eventually I fell asleep. Fortunately, nobody at the office needed me for anything.
I hadn't had such bad effects from any of the three covid vaccines I'd received before this latest one. Perhaps the problem was that I'd also been drinking (mostly beer) yesterday, though not enough to normally result in even a mild hangover. Gretchen always has much worse effects from covid vaccines than I do; yesterday she'd started the day feeling so weak and miserable that she wondered if she could make it to the City. But then she'd taken Tylenol (for some reason we have a bottle of the namebrand stuff in our house) and rallied. For me, the worst it ever gets is usually a feeling of having received a bruise on my upper arm.
Gretchen arrived from the City at about 4:00pm, and I'd told her I was feeling weak, so she left me alone. At 5:00pm I took a nice bath and then returned to bed and managed to sleep some more.
Later tonight, I got up and was feeling restless, as I'd banked such a surplus of shut-eye. So I joined Gretchen on the couch as she was watching Bridgerton, a costume drama from early 19th-Century England that imagines the country as much more racially diverse than it actually was at the time. Eventually we watched the two episodes (6 & 7) of the Dropout that I'd watched under the influence of diphenhyrdramine and covid vaccine last night. They're enormously satisfying episodes, and showcase a real triumph of journalism. The next episodes have not yet been released, but I was hungry for more. So I did a Google search for "Fuck You Caryrou" [sic] and found an article in Vanity Fair that I'd probably already read about the collapse of the Theranos bubble. It further reminded me of a New Yorker article from 2014 that paints an embarrassingly non-skeptical portrait of Elizabeth Holmes, the grifter behind it all. It was about 1:00am by the time I closed my Chromebook and tried to fall asleep.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next