Recording that unique string
Put into a contest between the Grey Cup and Netflix, I’m a captive audience – to a detective series. I’ll do my own reseach, as the score is available on the news sites. The only thing missing will be, well, the game. Maybe next year.
We’re getting some flurries. The kind that accumulate, so there actually might be footprints in the snow by morning. What better way to learn which wild beasties have an ancestral trail across the back yard. I have my suspicions (as the garage light is triggered at odd moments).
Trying to put together a “let’s watch folder” of holiday media. Most of it qualifies as already seen, but if it notches up the mood then I’m in favour. Might even push me to find the folding tree. Might…
This morning, I had this mental flash: I need to record the serial number of my latest purchase. Just in case. Of course, it required some gymnastics and a trick shot with a camera to capture what might be considered as the “unique string”. Hidden under some other, added after components. For now, I have a partial… I wonder if my receipt details things, or if I have to accept on faith that the store will remember me and mine. A quandary. Maybe I’ll just keep a close eye on the gear and hope that there is never a need to prove anything to anybody.
And with that, I’m going to recheck the score of the “big game”. After all, isn’t that what we’re supposed to do (even if the competing teams hold no place in our hearts).
