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:
   old paint jihad
Tuesday, September 13 2022
At noon today I drove out to Hannaford for what should be a weekly provisions run in the Subaru Forester (which I had to gas up at the Old Hurley Stewarts, which cost $50.02). I drove to the Uptown Hannaford ("Ghettoford") because I needed beer, Grey Poupon mustard (there is no substitute), and AA batteries. But of course I got other things, such as beans, soup, a pint of Ben & Jerry's Netflix & Chill'd vegan ice cream, and a half gallon of Mr. & Mrs. T's blold & spicy bloody mary mix. I couldn't find the batteries in the store and eventually gave up and bought them (along with nine volt batteries and some thin 1.5 inch stainless steel bolts) at Herzog's. The bolts and all the batteries are for the cabin, where I now have many tools and essential supplies but utterly lack AA batteries.
We had another drenching downpour this afternoon. The weather seems to be overcompensating for the summer drought.
Gretchen would be going to some sort of old paint swap in New Paltz, so she wanted me to figure out what paint in our garage we could part with. So at some point this afternoon I looked through all the paint cans, deciding to get rid of all the paint that came with the house when we moved in (nearly all of which would be 20 to 30 years old) as well as colors that are no longer in use. As you know, I have then tendencies of a hoarder, but on this occasion I tried to be ruthless and save as little as I could. But I took photos of the cans we'd be parting with just in case they contained information that I might need some day.
The evening while Gretchen was off teaching her prison English class, I watched a couple more episodes of Severance without her, knowing I would soon be watching them again with her. But I was eager to know what happens next, and its atmospherics and psychological drama (which hover somewhere between Being John Malkovich and Black Mirror) are about as close to my personal tastes as golden age television can produce. But at some point in episode three I made myself stop watching so I wouldn't spoil too much of the surprise I'd be experiencing when watching this with Gretchen.

I ended up spending the night in the greenhouse yet again. When I went down there, I was feeling mildly euphoric from all the kratom tea I'd drunk this afternoon and evening.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next