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:
   Blond House New Years
Wednesday, December 31 1997

heck out some email I got today. I've noticed that skinheads often speak in ALL-CAPS. I wonder how they fuck; I suppose I should have sympathy for their girlfriends (and top-secret boyfriends). This leads me to wonder what exactly is wrong with the hormone balance of these marginal skinny white boys. Anyway, it's too bad my angry correspondent used his oddly unique email address ( for his threats; I've forwarded his mail to the slow but unsympathetic adminstrators of AOL to be dispatched like a flu-bearing Hong Kong rooster.


've decided I don't want my scanner any more. It sucks. It starts scanning in shades of cyan unpredictably, and won't go back to normal unless I reboot. Sometimes it won't go back to normal even then. I hate being frustrated in this way. My time, my life is too important for me to have to reboot every 25 scans or so. So I'll get my complete refund from Circuit City and then buy myself a better scanner via mail order. I'm thinking the Acerscan 610 plus.

The dog nagged me for walks, and I gave her two, but she had no bodily functions either time. Between the nagging of the dog and the failings of my scanner, I was in interruption-Hell. I felt like a microprocessor overtaxed by peripherals. Oh shit, I'm becoming a machine, I just realized. Such is the fate of someone born with Sun in Aquarius, Moon in Virgo, Venus in Capricorn and Mars in Pisces.

I've decided that turning 30 won't upset me even slightly. I've made good use of those 30 years. If I'd been coughing them up to the Man (as I've been coughing up the past week) I would be upset. But those thirty years represent 30 years of interesting character development and respectable knowledge accumulation.

I've also decided that metal-reggæ is cool. I like this 311 song, "Beautiful Disaster."

Furthermore, I realized that though I hate Bush's music now, I like their early stuff, if only for reasons of nostalgia. Today I heard that song about Elvis not being dead, and it kicked ass, and I say that without irony or embarrassment. But that song came out an age ago, back in 1995.

Jessika called in the evening. I could hear something on the rocks being drunk next to the phone. We talked for a long time. You gotta love phone fraud.


ory the Former Coffee Cart Girl came by this evening with news of a party tonight at Blond House. She'd been sent by Elizabeth. I was pleased that Cory was still on speaking terms with me following what happened last time I was at Blond House.

The only trouble was that, the Blond House people, as usual, wanted guests such as myself to dress up, or as Elizabeth put it in the language known only to me and my friends, "you have to dress doo-dee-doo." Jessika says that I need a nice little old man suit for occasions such as this. But as fate would have it, I have what I need: a white shirt, a pleasant grey jacket, and something akin to dress slacks, even if there is a permanent stain on a bad part of the crotch. And ever since a massive dumpster dive, I've had an enormous collection of ugly ties. Anyway, once I slicked myself up, Angela thought I looked like a "frat boy." Yeah, whatever.

I manipulated Deya into driving me to Blond House. She wasn't going there immediately. She was little Miss Social Butterfly, see, with a prior engagement to celebrate New Years with some of her Tandem School friends.

At Blond House, a fancy dinner feast was just drawing to a close. My old housemate Steve sat at the head of the table wearing a plastic crown. He was king for the day since today was his birthday. Capricorns, gotta love 'em. Every fucking year is a Capricorn, did you ever think of that? And the United States is a Cancer. But we knew that anyway.

I wasn't extremely drunk when I arrived, but I might have been the drunkest person there. Monster Boy was there, wearing a flowery dress. This whole cross-dressing on formal occasions thing is a big yawn to me. I like my girls to look like girls and I like my boys to look like boys.

Others there included Kirstin the eco-radical, who is now Monster Boy's girlfriend, as well as Cory, Elizabeth, Franz, Ches, Jen (the wacky basement bartender at the Tokyo Rose, not Jenfariello), and an assortment of others who I do not really know.

I don't really much remember the flow of events. Neil Diamond was the featured music when I first showed up, but later on funkier stuff was played, and I was dancing with my old housemates. Then, as inevitably happens at Blond House, I found myself focused on a girl. Jessika had asked me who I'd be going home with tonight, and the question had seemed so anachronistic. But theory is completely different from reality.

So I was sitting on the couch talking to Jen the basement bartender at the Tokyo Rose. She's 26 years old, so give me some credit for the fact that I was expressing a certain amount of interest in her. Anyway, I can't recall our conversation too well. I just assumed she'd kissed girls before, and asked what it was like when she kissed hairy girls. It wasn't any big deal, she said, but then again, kissing guys wasn't a big deal either, and they're all hairy. Quickly, though, she felt it important that I not think her a lesbian. Silly, of course not, but all girls kiss each other, at least in my little world, "not to desexualize you or anything." Hmmm. We exchanged some wonderful little covert kisses (not that anything covert was really possible mind you). I hate these musings becoming a kiss and tell, but this sort of thing is part of what makes life worth living, right?

I have no idea why Jen thought I was worthy of kisses anyway, I was being boastful and arrogant and just your overall obnoxious drunk guy. Whatever. Maybe we'd hate each other sober. We had an intense conversation over coffee over two years ago, but it all fell apart when she asked me to buy her dinner. Then later, on the streets, I often saw her in the company of somewhat older eccentric men, so I just assumed she wasn't my type.


en went home on her own and I sort of fuzzed into oblivion. Cory had a chance to take me to task for my anti-social womanizing ways, and then Deya drove me home. Deya digs the girl Jen, and warned me to stay away from her and not do what I usually do to my female victims. I should have felt remorseful, but I didn't. Yeah, whatever.

one year ago

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