BeachHead

She said: In my last post I said we had to move.  And we still do.  But in a stroke of luck, we've found another loft in our building to rent -- and save some Ben Franklins while we're at it.  Good news, and an easy move awaits.  Only downside? Now I don't need a scooter to help out with the commute.  So the research of the last post, and the many emails I've received with good ideas for scooting options, might turn out to be just research and no action, for now.

He said:

Historical Window Restoration

Act 2, Scene 1.  At the Property Manager's Office

Contractor:  You said paint the windows shut.  My boys painted the windows shut.
Property Manager:  Paint the windows when shut.
Contractor: What's the difference?
Property Manager: The difference is now you have more work to do.
<Property Manager hands Contractor box of razor blades>

Can anyone guess why we're using our AC this week?  

She said (twelve hours later): Sometimes things really do get fixed quickly.  Now we can breathe port freely, and hear the guy in the street cussing his woman....the skateboarder on the way to work at 5am....and the drunken girls stumbling home on the weekend.

 

He said: The plan (not a great one, I agree...) was to write an ode to Roomba. Problems began when I discovered that nothing actually rhymes with Roomba (except Woomba). Problems continued as I remembered my B- poetry project from 10th grade and was paralyzed by inner critics and fear of angry muses. Why compose bad verse for Roomba? Because it is wonderful. It has so much personality that calling it an "it" seems offensive. And it cleans our loft (warning: large video).

For those not in the know, Roomba is a disc-shaped robotic vacuum cleaner made by a company in Burlington called iRobot. With a name like that, you'd think they have something to do with Apple, but instead they have more to do with the Department of Defense. In any case, this little vacuum cleaner is scheduled to roam the loft while Jo and I are at work, bumping its way around the place and sweep-sucking cat hairs and other dusty somethings into its innards. When it gets tired, it returns to its charger to juice up before returning to the spot where it left off.

Max and Milo were initially skeptical, but they've learned to ignore it. Roomba sets out from it's docking station with a short trill, and completes its mission with a fanfare. It had seemed it might just be a clever toy a-la Sharper Image, but Roomba genuinely keeps our loft free from the giant cat-hair tumbleweed that has plagued us in the past. Since we can't have our flying cars yet, we'll settle just fine for robotic maid service. Mom, Dad, Bestemor - thank you for a wonderful Xmas present.

(Oh, Roomba does rhyme with Woomba)