Monthly Archives: March 2009

Solio H1000

I picked up the Solio H1000 over at Best Buy.  They’re getting rid of them, clearly, as the one I purchased was brand new and well over 50% off.

Additionally, I managed to pick up enough tips and combined with the iGo USB charging cable, I’ve got almost all of my on the go charging needs met.  Overall, I’m happy with the H1000, although I have yet to charge it in the sunlight.  However, charging it over the USB cable, and then having the extra power when I need it is great, considering my plethora of my mobile devices.

I’d like to try charging it in the sunlight when the days are a bit longer.

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Stronger, faster

Well, in adding the weather stripping to Roomba-kun, I found that he may have some damage.  It doesn’t affect the overall performance, he vacuums fine.

It looks like a piece of plastic may have broken off of the inner part of the brush assembly.  I’ll have to take him apart and see if the part I need is available as salvage or as a refurbished part.  Thankfully there is a good Roomba tear-down guide.

Then, then I can rebuild him.



Although in all seriousness I probably should at least do the firmware upgrade and get a new battery, and replace what looks like the gearbox cover for the brush assembly.

And if I pull this off, I can say that I’ve repaired a robot.

Mobile Solitude

Riding the metro on a Saturday morning is desolate, and I share the train with one other passenger, a gentleman already asleep at one end of the train.

I’m headed for Twinbrook, which is not a long ride, but long enough to get some reading done.  A space opera is in my bag, along with a book about municipal darwinism, and a fantasy novel about assassins.

Most of the trip is underground, and it’s jarring to feel the sunlight on my face when we hit the surface before Grosvenor.  More jarring is the fact that I realize I’m waking up more and more every time the doors open and bring fresh air into the train car.

It’s Twinbrook soon enough and I pack my book into my backpack.  The doors open and I walk over the rain slick hexagons with care.

I think next week will be a longer ride, and I’ll bring more books.


As a joke, I suggested to another Roomba owner that we have a “play date” for our Roomba’s over at a friend’s house.

It’s actually rather interesting to see how people really take to the Roomba.  There’s inevitably a lot of oohing and aahing at how the robot moves around the room.  It’s understandable why the Roomba is so successful.  People really just love watching it and seeing how it moves around the environment.

When there are two Roombas, watching them collide and then navigate their way around each other is also very amusing.

You can’t help but anthropomorphosize them.

The smallest thing

I remember very clearly.

It’s a colder spring day in 1996 and I’m shivering in my long wool coat.  Despite living in the District for three winters, I still haven’t learned to layer.

I look over to my girlfriend, and she’s occupied with driving.  She shifts matter of factly in the stop and go traffic on Rockville Pike.  It’s a slightly misty rainy sort of day and the intermittent wipe of the blades punctuates our conversation.  It’s about everything and nothing at all, the kind of conversation that two lovers have when they’re not entangled in each other.

We should be in class but we’re not.  We do this more often than we should.  Even though our grades don’t suffer, I know that every time we skip class, a part of us rips away.  A little bit more, every time, we step further and further away from being the perfect son or daughter that our parents want us to be.  But we don’t care.

It’s a long trip in the rush hour traffic, longer still because we ache to get to our destination.  We know what awaits us there.  We long to hold it in our hands, to be complete.

We arrive and we get out of the car.  I wait, in the rain, feeling small droplets through my too short hair.  She locks up the car, takes my hand and we walk through the doors together.

We walk slowly, window shopping at first, stopping at every counter to look at the tiny, expensive objects under glass.  Every now and again, I ask a salesperson to bring an item up from behind the counter.  She nods her approval or disapproval and we move on, taking great care to thank the salesperson each time.

Finally we stop at what feels like the last counter.  The final one for us.  The reason we came all the way out here, in the rain and through the traffic, together. Continue reading

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