Category: Observations

Posted on

Sewer Inspection

Earlier this year I installed a Ring video doorbell.  And thankfully, the majority of its motion captures involve routine comings and goings, with a smattering of false triggers.

But then it captured validation to paranoia.  One morning, as I left work, I noticed a plain white van parked in front of the house, with a simple label: “Sewer Inspection”.  Now, the sewer line was indeed replaced prior to our purchasing the house, but according to the neighbors it had been done by a certain prominent company, and I know from casual observation that their vans are decorated.

Adding to the suspicion was that the man inside the van never approached the house while I was home, nor did he look up to meet my gaze as I was leaving.  And a half hour after I left for work, the doorbell did its job and sent me an alert:

Click image to view movie, or watch on Ring:
https://ring.com/share/6535749457719096295

He also wandered around nowhere near the sewer line.  Liz thought he might be looking to steal the edging.  It does appear that he’s examining it.

Maybe it was a legit inspection, but nothing about it seemed right, and that usually means it isn’t.  I think it’s time for more cameras.

Validation from Ring’s social network!

–Simon

Posted on

Marked Trucks

We got a dashcam for Christmas.  A part of me hoped to capture some dramatic footage, and to submit it as final evidence, so that Matlock might turn the tide and win a conviction against a remorseless liar and bring justice for a sobbing victim.

Of course, that part of me had also once fantasized about being a firefighter, or a paramedic.  But I never had the physique for the former, and lacked the altruistic conviction to be the latter.  As for the dashcam, the aging man in me really hopes to never be witness to such a catastrophic event.  But whatever fate awaits me, in the interim, the camera has proven to be a source of much greater value: humor.

Behold, a truck Liz passed on her way home:

A niche market for everything.

–Simon

Posted on

Hanger Steak

Once something becomes popular, it becomes expensive.  I suppose we could attribute that to supply and demand, but it’s so damned annoying when it’s something that I like.  That, and the innate desire to remain mysteriously cool by shunting popular culture becomes suddenly threatened.  I hate when things deflate my ego.

So it was that obscure beef cuts are experiencing a revival.  I was once privy to this inner circle of carnal knowledge (pun), due to chance employment in a butcher shop.  I wielded steel with all the finesse of a ballet dancer, partitioning select cuts in a choreographed display of sensual manual dexterity.  The deft motions of my fingers as they expertly performed their precise maneuvers drew crowds of young women from the cashier’s station, to stare, transfixed with burgeoning lust at the perfected model of masculinity at work.  And that’s how I met my wife.

And that story is totally true, probably.  If it happened the way I remember it anyway.

But where was I?  Ah yes, the super-secret knowledge of steak.  Of the more unusual cuts that the elder butchers would put out in the case, that no one ever bought because no one knew what they were, were the tri-tip and the parachute roast.  As most meat ships from the slaughterhouses already partially sectioned, I never saw a whole steer.  We would get regular shipments of half-steers, but never the whole.  This is because it’d be terribly inefficient to butcher an entire steer without splitting it.  I mention this because, in this process, a section of the diaphragm is lost.  And in this section resided the elusive “butcher’s steak”, or the hanger steak.  Yet since it was mentioned to me, and since I never saw one, it built in my mind a certain mystique.  One day, I would try one.

Since those days, numerous articles had popped up extolling the taste and value of such underrated cuts.  The hanger steak was among them, and so with the forgotten now being popular knowledge, the mystique died.

Then we visited Dayton’s 2nd Street Market, and a stand (locally-sourced beef) was selling them.  $10 a pound was probably too much, but I had to honor a past promise to myself.  So I bought it.

And as is with the allure of waiting for anything, the hype surpassed the experience, though it was not disappointing.  To sum it up, the steak was as tender as any rib/loin cut, although it lacked the fatty flavor of the latter.  But, it had a good beefy flavor despite the lack of marbling.  I would choose it over anything off the chuck and sirloin, but had I the choice, I’d choose the ribeye.

So if you find one, as long as it’s cheaper than a N.Y. strip, it’s worth the cost.

And if you’re good, cutting out that center strip of silver might draw the lustful gaze of your lady.

–Simon

Posted on

More Whippet Stuff

Poppy just wants a friend, but Faye is old and hurting and dying.  Consequently, she does not appreciate being bitten by an instigating youngin.  Fortunately, the neighbors have their little hound who is causing the same problems amongst their pack.  So we combined the two into a furry vortex.

Twitterpated whippets.

–Simon

Posted on

Never Throw a Cord Out

This story begins with a remote-controlled centipede.

And how many stories have that preface?

Yet it’s true.  My mother’s boyfriend (Roger) is a big kid at heart.  And to me, that’s very relatable.  I too seek excuses to wander the Nerf isle, chuckling merrily at the myriad of mischievous machinations–made by malicious Man.  How I long to fork over the $150 for the battery-powered chain-fed fully automatic Nerf LMG.  And I totally would, were I to have a son instead of a daughter.

But Roger’s sense of humor provides the excuse, and I find myself buying him the toys that I secretly want for myself.  And he in turn does the same to me.  And so, I found myself with a really cool remote-controlled centipede.

[End preface 1]

I collect electrical cords.  Sure, proprietary monitor ports have given way to VGA, then to DVI, then to HDMI; but what of those old and still-functioning peripherals?  They might be re-purposed one day, and then where will I find one of those old cables?  So I keep them all, in a cardboard box, in which they’ve amalgamated into some form of insulated copper Gordian Knot, but I know that the moment I throw one out, I’ll need it.  And despite Liz’s protestations to what she considers “hoarding”, the box remains.

[End preface 2]

The centipede has an internal battery which cannot be swapped.  I find that unusual for a toy.  And equally unusual is that the toy did not come with a charging cable, given the clearly-labeled charging port on the centipede’s ventral service.  It was a situation of little importance given the far more demanding obligations at hand, but it irritated me.  And so, I dove into the box, looking for a cable–any cable–which might fit the connecting port on the centipede’s underbelly.

And found a cord I did, much to my surprise.  Yet, the cord’s other end was USB, which made me really wonder what it’s original purpose was.  No matter, what I needed then was an adapter.

But then I considered–how many different charging cables terminated in USB?  To answer, I dug through the box some more.  I found (before I grew weary of knots): USB micro, USB mini, and the unknown and aforementioned centipede charger.  I considered: wouldn’t it be nice if I could plug them all into something akin to a charging station?

And then I found the old USB hub, which was powered.  Huzzah!  I plugged the hub into an outlet, then the various cables into the hub (including the centipede-charger).  And sure enough, the centipede indicated successful charging via glowing eyes.  And now, I can plug additional devices into the hub to charge alongside the centipede.

So what started as a very insignificant dilemma turned into a more expansive solution.  I now have a charging station on the tech shelf for any modern electronic which might need a battery charge.

And they’ll all have a centipede guardian.

–Simon