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:
   useless little rainy day
Friday, November 7 1997

    he day was another one of those me-too rainy, dreary autumnal poetry inspirers, the kind Edgar Allan Poe no doubt found so useful back when he lived in this town.

    First I went to Olssen Hall for its free internet connections. At UVA these days you have to lock your bike to a bike rack or risk its being confiscated, I don't know why. I'm sure there's something cynical to be said on this matter, but I'm too lazy just now to think what that is.

    On my way to the water fountain through a group of geeks discussing programming object library calls prior to a test in their C class, the token cute geek girl, surrounded as she was by helpful unctuous geek boys, gave me a look I won't soon forget.

    Nicholas the Cat was being very playful when I returned to my cozy, empty house. I made myself a stiff vodkatea (actually, there's no such thing as a weak vodkatea) and listened to Sebadoh's Harmacy. The rain continued to fall. Nicholas became friendly and did that infantile "neck thing" where he insistantly presses his cold wet nose into my neck whilst treading with his claws.

    I took a nap at 3:00pm so I'd be well rested throughout an unprecedented Friday evening shift at Comet. Yes folks, my Friday night, the vino-soaked first Friday of the month, is ruined because of strange schedule anomalies. My mother, Hoagie, has come to town and it sucks (for her at least) that she can't hang out with me.


    've been considering this issue privately for years, but today at last I feel compelled to give my opinion on "gray" versus "grey." To me, the letter "e" has always been more blah (perhaps even "bleh") than the letter "a." If a word is going to mean washed out, devoid of spunk (the letter "u" surely has its own scene), flavour, and uniqueness, then it's going to have to have an "e" in it, especially if there's any choice in the matter. On occasion, however, it may be appropriate to spell grey "gray." In characterizing this day, however, the word to use is obviously "grey."

    For the same reason, I think yellow should be spelled "yallow," as it would be if English were an entirely pre-literate language only now being imprisoned in a dictionary by a Samuel Johnson living in southern West Virginia. The colours on this page are various intensities and saturations of "yallow." Now, as for words like "saturation" and "fat," I think the short "a" sound adds immeasurably to their helpful onomatopoetic qualities.

    D@n the MAN

    Flocks of mattresses float across the blackened screen of my Powermac 8500/120. On each, a blasé D@n Re!tman is applying the business end of his manhood to a receptive Gwen at the rate of about 2.7 Hz. It all happens to the sound of creaking springs and appreciative moans. I made this screen saver back in 1993. It's a module for the Macintosh version of AfterDark. Want a copy? It's freeware, guys!

    o h c a n a
    d a o h c
    a n d i d
    a g o d
    s h i
    t s

    Non-sequitur 1: Imagine living in a nation named after the culprit in so many vaginal yeast infections?

    Non-sequitur 2: What's a cumberbun and why must Jessika of Malvernia wear such a thing? It's her "horrible word of the day."

    Jessika tells me that the other day Sara Poiron's mother did a search in Altavista for "Sara Poiron" and guess what came up? You guessed it: "a dominatrix calls." It's no big deal. On Sally Jesse Raphæl the other day, a dominatrix admitted her secret occupation to her choir-singing relatives, and they took it pretty well, even laughingly bending over for a loving swat on the behind.

    Javina/"Plain Jain"/"significant other of Mr. JEL"/über-bitch diva writes to point out:

    1. It's Canada, not Candida.
      Resultant chaos: You can take Di out of yeast infections, but you can't take yeast infections out of Di. Something like that.
    2. It's "cummerbund," not cumberbun.
      Resultant chaos: Ah, who gives a shit? I'm down with OPP, yeah you know me. More gratuitous fun with hypertext.

    The thing I liked about this entry up until now was that I sat here the whole time with nothing much that I felt I had to say, but still, as ideas came to me I would put them down. This seems to be the style of my favourite journals, and I think it's worked for me on this entry. Now, back to the mundane task at hand:


    ack at Kappa Mutha Fucka, I found Matthew Hart hanging out all by himself. I nestled into a beer and we discussed some things. After Deya came by briefly and departed, the discussion really picked up. I'd already noted that Deya had spent last night elsewhere. It turns out that she'd spent the night with...

    D@n the MAN

    D@n the MAN

    D@n the MAN

    D@n the MAN

    D@n the MAN

    D@n the MAN

    D@n the MAN

    Tyler of the Haunted House. Deya has been hanging out there a lot. But here's the kicker: This was the first time Tyler, who is 26 years old, has gotten laid in six long lonely years! This revelation astounded Matthew and me, but I don't think Matthew fully comprehended what exactly that meant until I pointed out that for Matthew, it would be like, come February (when Matthew turns 20), he hit a dry spell that lasted six years. Those are the years when a man is at his sexual prime! To spend them in abstinence is a real tragedy. But, from what Tyler told Matthew, he just sort of forgot about sex as an option after awhile. Indeed, all the time I've known Tyler, I've never seen him hit on a girl, even when very drunk. And he gets drunk a lot. Tyler says the "background level" of alcohol in his blood is near the legal limit for driving.

    But Tyler is not an unattractive man. Beyond that, he's a nice guy. He's tolerant, he's generous, he's industrious, all the good things. This just goes to show what can come of a guy who never hits on girls. It's a sobering thought, my dear friends!

    I understand that Edgar Degas had the same basic problem. Here he was, a famous artist with an obvious interest in women's bodies, hanging out with all kinds of ballerinas, horses and prostitutes, but he died virgin.

    There have been relatively asexual times in my life. I didn't get laid at all in 1991, for example. I think I did enter a kind of Tyleresque indifference during that period. But if I'd thought it would last six years, I think I would have been depressed about it.

    Moral of this sad story: being a nice guy doesn't get you laid.

    All this talk of our respective sex lives led Matthew and me into an unusual guy talk session. We discussed our sexual histories and compared notes on the details of recent sexual happenings. It's important for me to have conversations like this every now and then, especially with someone like Matthew. But I'm not one to engage in guy talk very often. I'm not like Josh Smith and his pelvic-thrusts-from-hell.

    Angela showed up, contributing her female perspective. It's good to have girls with whom you can guy talk. I mentioned to Angela that I'd thought Deya was unusually "cute" yesterday evening. Her haircut was working in her favour and she'd selected a good colour scheme in her outfit. Primary red and black look good on Deya, though she rarely wears clothes in that combination.

    It was after 3:00am by the time I hit the sack. I'd originally intended to get more sleep, since as usual I had to be at Comet at 9am on Saturday morning (stalkers take note).



one year ago

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