Category Archives: Homeownership

Homeownership, Social comment, Technology

A Craigslist salesbabble and rantbabble glossary

Leave a comment

With the large amount of commerce and commentary that emanate from CL of late, some trends of vocabulary have arisen to accompany it. Some already existed, but some are morphing or being invented. Language is dangerous on the propaganda principle, in that when the word is repeated often enough, the human mind inclines to take it more at face value. Glance at a Red Robin menu sometime, for example, and count the uses of ‘zesty,’ ‘hearty’ and ‘tangy.’ None of those really mean anything, except that they’re trying to convince you the food is good. Yet the overall impression you take from the reading is one of energy and strong flavor, simply because of the words they repeated.

Therefore, someone has to step up and translate the CL salesbabble and rantbabble. This is the work of writers, who are supposed to contribute some of their understanding for the common good. Just plug in the real meaning for the term, and read the ad that way, and you are good to go.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! or ***** or any other sprayed punctuation: “Mostly hype, move on”

Action figure: “Toy I outgrew.”

Affordable: “Desperate.”

ANYTHING IN ALL CAPS: “Uninteresting; this is my way of trying to get your attention”

As is: “Pretty sure it’s got problems.”

Athletic: “I walked last week from my car to the grocery store. And parked far away!”

BBW: “Really fat.”

Bizop: “Scam.”

Build your brand: “Marketing is all on you.”

Collectible: “No one collects this.”

Cute: “Someone’s wife once liked it.”

Detail ‘orientated’: “Can spell, unlike me.”

Distinctive: “In atrocious taste.”

Flexible hours: “At our beck and call.”

Forever home: “Hoping the crockpot won’t come into play.”

Franklin Mint: “Worthless.”

Full service: “I don’t return phone calls.”

Gorgeous: “Meh.”

‘Grammer natzi’s’: “Literate individuals.”

Great find: “Wasn’t such a great find for me, so I want it gone.”

Great view: “You can see some buildings and a farm.”

Highly collectible: “No one ever did collect this.”

Homebody: “Don’t really like doing anything.”

HP: “Highly Prone…to problems.”

HWP: “Somewhat fat.”

Inkjet: “Money sink.”

Landscaping: “You must pester me if you plan to get me to do actual work and accept your money.”

Limited edition: “Didn’t sell to begin with. Except to me.”

Make offer: “I know it’s worth very little. I hope someone will offer me too much.”

Management trainee: “Powerless toady abused by customers and manager alike.”

McAfee: “I bought a real virus scanner, so I want to dump this useless one on some sucker.”

MLM: “Much Lucre for Me.”

Must see: “Bores most people.”

Needs repair: “In ruins.”

No frame: “Wasn’t even worth framing.”

Nonprofit: “Pay sucks.”

Or best offer: “I’m desperate. Lowball me. I’ll guilt you, then I’ll take it.”

People-oriented: “Must deal well with assholes.”

Price is firm: “I know it’s not worth what I’m asking.”

Rare: “I have no idea how rare it is.”

Runs good: “Has other problems you will discover later.”

Rustic: “Plain.”

Section 8: “Get your concealed weapons permit first.”

Seafood processor: “Trawler slave.”

Shabby chic: “Old junk.”

Socially conscious: “Cheap.”

Spacious: “Will hold all your crap.”

Timeshare: “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

Vintage: “At least twenty years old (for electronics, five years).”

Works great: “Will probably work long enough for you not to sue me in small claims.”

Worth at least twice that: “Worth half that, if even that much.”

‘Your a moran/looser’: “I lack all sense of comic irony.”

Homeownership, Religion

Burying a thrush

4 Comments

Just a small story about a thing I do now and then.

For whatever reason–and it isn’t poisons, as I use those sparingly on the property–birds come to our place to die. Some, sadly, hit glass despite my efforts to reduce that incidence. Others, it seems, simply come here to pass on.

The varied thrush, a slate-and-old gold-colored bird, winters in our area. Most winters, at some point, I find that one has not survived the winter. Today was such a day. I came home from work (I do some technical writing) and spotted the little body, claws up, clearly deceased.

I have always liked birds. My wife refers to me as her Raven Man, based on Alaskan legends of Raven as a trickster and protector. And interestingly, wherever she travels in Washington or nearby, she finds ravens watching her. Sometimes they are flying along with her, like a combat air patrol. But I was an avid bird enthusiast as far back as my single-digit years. I want this place to be popular with birds, and to be visited by many. So when a bird dies, it is a bit hard for me. There is only one thing I can do: a dignified little funeral.

For reasons of health precaution, I get a shovel and a big maple leaf, which I use to push the fallen avian onto the shovel as gently as possible. Then I take him or her around to where the hollyhocks sprout in the late summer, lay the body on something, and dig a small hole. When it’s over a foot deep, I nudge the deceased onto the shovel and lay him or her in the grave as gently as I can arrange. I then say a few words, making a holy gesture and bidding the bird farewell. I tell him or her that I hope that the passing was of old age, and that he or she had a good mate, many chicks, plenty to eat and lots of happy days flying and singing. I hope that the bird is now in a place where migrations are short and not painful, where predators do not exist and where there are sunny days to flock, make music and hunt for delicious fruit. I usually tear up.

And then, for there is nothing else to do, as gently as possible, I fill in the little grave, pat it down firmly, make a holy gesture once again, and walk away.

Farewell, little thrush.

Homeownership

Groucho stance: the world’s worst light fixtures you don’t need a ladder to reach…

2 Comments

…are the ones in our bathroom. They’re halogens, four of them, and they don’t last as long as they should.

I have to use a stepstool to get up and stand on the counter.

The lights cannot be on because if one must manipulate the bulb, it becomes extremely hot, thus a lamp has to be placed on the bathroom counter for basic ability to see.

The roof is too low for me to stand up on the counter, so I have to do something like what cavers call the ‘Groucho walk.’ Call it the ‘Groucho stance.’

One must remove a ridiculously long screw that holds in place a little screen piece that keeps dust from landing on the bulb. One must not misplace this. The only easy part is removing the old bulb, which of course flashes light a couple of times while doing so, thus making me suspect that it isn’t really burnt out and that this is a needless pain in the ass.

I have to get the new bulb out of the blister packaging without getting finger oil on it, lest it burn out within minutes. That isn’t as simple as the writing makes it sound.

For the same reason, I must handle the bulb solely with a washcloth fresh from the dryer. It is hard to do all this while doing the Groucho stance.

It’s then time to attempt to screw the bulb into the fixture. Usually it’s too loose. The washcloth is a pain. Don’t fumble it, even though washcloths are not designed to be primitive oven mitts! If it lands in the bowl-like covering, which is full of dead bugs, guess what–bulb is rendered useless. Start again.

Did I get the bulb in correctly? Hope so. Have Deb switch the lights on. If it comes on, we’re almost done.

Now the screen has to go back in place–without touching the bulb. At all. It must be held steady until the screw is driven all the way down. I have excellent manual dexterity for a man; even so, I manage to ruin one bulb in four this way, just by bumping the bulb, which resides about 1/2″ below the screen’s final resting position.

Repeat this whole pain in the ass two times. Because you can now see why I don’t get into this until three of them are dead.

If in the end, I have four functioning light bulbs in the bathroom, I deserve a beer. If they all still work correctly the next day, I should go buy a lottery ticket. If only three still work, I declare marginal victory and am grateful.

Homeownership

Firing DefectiveTV

4 Comments

That, of course, is my name for DirecTV. We can choose between DoucheNetwork (DishNetwork), Cheater (Charter) and DefectiveTV.

We are not big TV watchers, which makes sense because much of what’s on there doesn’t interest us. The ‘History’ Channel is torn between antique dealers and paranormal research. The regular networks are a big faaaaaaaaaaa, except for my trashy reality shows. A&E is bearable. ESPN thinks poker is a sport. Half of what’s on is infomercials, especially late at night.

Here’s what I hate. At any given time, some channel(s) that we paid for and expected to receive are not available. If one navigates to them, one gets a DefectiveTV-slanted pitch as to why. Basically:  “The mean people of this channel want to raise your price to the stratosphere, but we, your defenders at DirecTV, stand firm to protect your lower prices! Write to them and tell them to cave in to us and stop being unreasonable!”

Yeah. I don’t think that’s credible. My prices for DefectiveTV keep going up. When they are bickering over prices, I never get any refund for the content I didn’t receive. The end result, therefore, is that DefectiveTV engages in a lot of pissing matches, but they don’t keep my prices down, and at any given time I’m not getting some of what I pay them for. I think it much more likely that DefectiveTV demands a much bigger piece of the pie, and the content provider balks, and DefectiveTV says, ‘fine. We’ll stop carrying you. Let’s see how your advertisers like that.’ I think DefectiveTV is playing the Wal-Part in this production, and I do not like it. Another good example is the brand new Pac-12 networks. Out here, failure to carry these is not allowable. What is DefectiveTV doing? Bickering with them, of course. What else do they know how to do? Maybe we’ll get them, maybe not. Maybe by the time that’s resolved, I won’t give a damn. Even their satellite reception is crappy, often cutting out just when we want to watch something.

Suppose you are dealing with a child. Daily, the child has a tale of woe. Every day, something goes wrong. Child’s explanation: this person did this, that person caused that, someone dropped this, she is a big meany, he is a jerk. At some point, if the child does not say “I caused this. I messed up. This is my fault,” we tend to think that the common factor in all problems is this child, and s/he is not taking responsibility. DefectiveTV is starting to look like the child.

I think I’m ready to spend my money with adults. I’m sick of second grade recess messing up the few programs and networks I care to watch.

DoucheNetwork isn’t a viable option. I hate going back to regular cable, but so far as I’m aware, Cheater doesn’t spend all this time fighting over content. It’s time to do some research.

Here’s an analogy. I have a grocery store. You shop there. You get used to the products I carry, but now and then there’s some item you cannot find at all. One week, no coffee of any kind; I’m putting the squeeze on my wholesaler. The coffee section is covered over with a large screed pleading my case as to why I am defending your low prices by failing to sell you coffee. Next week, no dairy; I’m bickering with the cow-milkers. Big poster explaining why this is actually to your advantage that you can’t buy sour cream and yogurt. The week after, it’s salsa: none on our shelves, just a large placard blaming the salsa manufacturer for trying to make you pay too much.

But wait: there’s more. You sigh and buy your groceries, minus whatever I was having a bitchfight about. You pay your bill in full. The cashier reaches into your grocery bags and randomly yanks out some of your merchandise, returned to my store’s inventory. No refund. Sorry. This is our policy. You pay for things that you sometimes don’t get. You complain. My employees explain that we do not guarantee that you will get anything at all for your money, therefore we have the right to take back any or all of what you paid for. You call this larceny. My store doesn’t care.

How do you like my business practices?

If you didn’t shower me in vile language, condemning my ancestors as the obvious products of canines fornicating with swine and camels, you either have no passion or weren’t paying attention, or are a nun who doesn’t use that sort of language. One might argue that you should come back to my store and rob me at gunpoint. After all, I robbed you. I took your money and stole back your merchandise. You’d just be getting your money back.

So that’s where we are at with DefectiveTV. We are sick of being robbed. We tire of explanations transparent in a seven-year-old troublemaker. We think the Robin Hood spin is a crock of crap. When we see our DefectiveTV bill go down, when we see a monthly rebate for the content we are denied, we might believe the spin. Until then, it just looks like DefectiveTV waterboarding its content providers for maximum profit, happily hosing its paying customers.

Everyone hates cable companies, but I am hard pressed to divine how they could be more scrofulous than this. I think it’s about time to vote with our wallets.

Homeownership, Religion

Athena’s owl

2 Comments

Clear caution: if references to religious faith bother you, you won’t care for this post.

We live on a quarter-acre of hilly property, about half of which is grass that I must irrigate and mow.  Lately times have been a bit discouraging for Deb and I, owing to some life setbacks that relate to business and the law (no, we aren’t in trouble with it or anything).  Most of you probably know that she and I are pagan, as in, we profess faiths that make us not People of the Book (Muslims, Christians, Jews).  This means that we see evidence of the divine in nature, most times, and while her beliefs and mine differ, they have a fair bit in common.

Lately I am lamed somewhat with knee trouble, but in at least some basics of yard maintenance, the show must go on.  Irrigation is one such, and a couple of weeks ago I was doing the annual test and startup rituals.  It was a good year, with no failed valves and no yard-high gushers of water.  I was making the rounds of the yard as the timer went through all six stations, periodically rewarding me with a surprise soakdown.  Since our piping is set up with great inefficiency–the same pipe waters a couple spots in the front yard and several in the back–this means a lot of walking around to observe results, adjust misguided sprinklers, and generally figure out what will need help.

One of my favorite parts of the property is a magnolia tree.  It’s odd.  The patio is poured around it.  In winter, it develops little pussy willow pods that in spring will break into lovely violet, magenta, pink and white flowers.  Also in spring, it produces little seed pods that will grow to the size of hot dogs, then fall.  Inside them are bright orange seeds.  If not watched, Fabius (our Labrador retriever) will eat them, as he will eat nearly anything just to see if it’s any good.  A great joy of spring here is to sit on the patio shaded by a spreading tree full of flowers; they had come and gone.

On the day I was testing the irritation system (as I usually call it), I was making my way across the patio past the magnolia when I saw several splotches of bird droppings, brightest white, on the patio under the magnolia.  We get a lot of birds on the property, attracted by various fruit trees and vines (plum, apple, cherry, grape), so I am rarely surprised but always pleased.  I leave a lot of dense underbrush around the edges, to enable the quail to find impenetrable shelter to raise their little quail families.  Ah, I thought, a new nest in the magnolia!  Hurrah!  Wonder what kind of birds they are? I went over to the obvious spot, saw a dark shape on the branch.  Didn’t look like a nest at all.  I was maybe five feet from it, almost directly below, when I saw the eyes.

It was a small owl, maybe 8″ high, just looking at me.  She didn’t scare.  I just gazed up at her (I think it was a hen Western screech owl based on the size and later research; thank you, Rob and Jennifer) for a bit, and she back at me.  In eleven years of residence here, we have never before seen or heard a single owl, much less in broad daylight, much less perched in the magnolia and willing to let people approach so near.  Without making sudden movements, I went to the house and called Deb to come out with her camera.  Out came my wife, camera in hand:  “Oh, my god!  We never had an owl before!  She’s beautiful!”  Deb hurried to snap a lot of pictures; the owl followed us with her eyes but did not scare.  Hi.  I’m an owl!

Then I realized that this was bigger than simply a treasured moment sighting an extremely cool little owl in our yard.  Deb’s tutelary is Athena, Greek goddess of a lot of things:  business, warfare, victory, law, crafts, wisdom.  All of which, of late, come very much into focus for Deb and I as we deal with some adversity.  Rather more regularly devout than Deb, and though I am Asatru (Germanic heathen…we are the Viking pagans, in essence), in my regular nightly homages to my gods, I continue also to honor the Hellenic gods.  Athena among them; Athena’s symbol is the owl, seen on much ancient Athenian coinage and art dedicated to the city’s tutelary and namesake.  It would very much seem I might not have just been talking to the midnight wind.

I mentioned this to Deb and suggested she go in and get some raw meat and a glass of wine.  Maybe the owl wouldn’t want the meat, but it was in the nature of offering.  We did a small observance of welcome and blessing as the owl watched us.  If there were any sprinklers malfunctioning, I’d just have to find out about them later.  We watched for a while, then left her in peace.  Either way one looks at it, it was a marvel.  If one is not spiritually inclined, we got to see a wonderful owl, and got closer to her than one ever logically expects.  I myself am not the type to believe in coincidences that are too multi-faceted.  To Deb and I, this owl symbolized favor, hope, support and guidance in difficult times, a sense of being less alone against adversity.

For those who read this far, here’s one of Deb’s pictures of the owl.

A Western screech owl that visited us.
Homeownership

“What’s that smoke?” “Oh, he’s started mowing.”

Leave a comment

Where I live, irrigation is necessary to have lawns.  Call it wasteful if you will, but first know the realities:  our irrigation systems were primarily built to sustain agriculture, and by providing it to homeowners as well, the cost of that system is better supported.  Also, the Columbia is about half a mile wide near me, showing no signs of drying up any time soon.  Oh, and I have to pay $400 a year for it even if I don’t use it–‘water rights’ are associated with the property.  So, yes, we live in a desert, but not like the deserts of southern California, grotesquely overbuilt for the water supply and beseeching it from five states away to support breakneck sprawl.

Each year, this means some maintenance work for me.  In fall, I must shut off the main, and have the system blown out.  I pay a guy with an air compressor who does this every fall, enabling him to pay for a family vacation every year.  He’s willing, reasonably priced, pleasant and thorough.  If I do not do this, my entire underground piping system will be destroyed that winter.  Not ‘might.’  It will.  In spring, it’s time to turn the system on.  I don’t like mowing my very hilly obstacle course of a yard, so I’m in no hurry to do that.  It usually doesn’t happen until Mrs. Anderson comes to me (again) to ask me politely when I plan to turn them on, reminding me (again) that her raspberries are actually watered by my system, and won’t thrive unless I get moving.  I usually do.

That process involves turning on the main and running a test watering from the entire system, which is set out quite illogically.  It involves frequent drenchings at the very least, occasional slips and falls onto ass in wet grass, and often repair work.  If a whole valve is hosed, I call professionals.  If it’s just a broken sprinkler or riser (that’s the piece going from the pipe to the sprinkler), I get to dig in mud, use a special tool to extract any broken pieces of riser, put in a new sprinkler and correctly aim it, etc.  This was a good year, with only minor issues.  One year, I had five Old Faithfuls, in which the riser is completely broken off and water gushes 3′ in the air.  I learned about this when Bill, who has the misfortune to live downhill from me, came over and asked me quite courteously if I would see my way clear to do something about the water pouring down his driveway.

Once I do this, of course, I will soon need to mow.  Some years I sharpen the mower blade.  Most years I change the oil.  However, I am prone to overfill the oil.  My philosophy is that overfilling is not good, but a seized engine from lack of oil is rather worse.  This year, it seems, I went a little overboard even by my standards.  I learned this within about the first five minutes of my first mowing, when my mower horked up a very dense cloud of acrid white smoke.  This is not part of the usual plan.  The cloud’s thickness was quite impressive, like a mortar had thrown a smoke shell near me.  In some alarm, I turned the mower off, went in and did some research.  It seems that excess oil is vented into the exhaust pipe, so the oil had probably sloshed into there as soon as I had occasion to tilt the mower for any reason.  As soon as the pipe got hot enough, it started to cook off the oil.

Here is what’s amazing:  this happens nearly every time I change the oil, but by the time it does, I have forgotten the above explanation and must re-research this particular problem.  Why don’t I remember?

Maybe it’ll help if I blog it.  And if it doesn’t help me, people can at least smile in wry amusement that my neighbors can usually gauge my mower maintenance by the air pollution that results.

Homeownership

Looks like someone barfed in my sinks, bathtub and shower

Leave a comment

Fortunately, no one did.  When the plumbers came recently to address our water pressure issues, I asked them about drain cleaner.  They don’t recommend Drano (what plumber ever does?), but instead, an environmentally friendly cleaner (what environmentally friendly cleaner ever works?). Because I was not getting anywhere with my toxic chemical soups full of sodium hydroxide, I was willing to explore a new option.

This stuff looks a lot like coarse goldenseal powder, costs about $55 a can, can lasts about a year.  It is insoluble in water, so the water you mix with it basically is there to wash it down the drain.  Its enzymes, which are all -ases of some sort, are supposed to eat hair, slime, anything of biological origin, yet be safe on skin and even if you ate it.  I think not.  You have to treat all your drains with it, then not mess with the water system for about eight hours.  I have been doing this before I go to bed, and am supposed to do it for five days.  Four down, one to go.

Of course, you may imagine the visual effect.  I’m not supposed to wash the stuff down the drain after dumping it in, so it looks like our drains have been the target of the Kennewick Serial Vomiter.  Kind of reminds me of 5th Floor McCarty Hall men’s room at the UW on a Friday night.  I know (at least, I tell myself, and hope) that this is beneficial in the long term, once the -ases finish chowing on all the disgusting things slowing down our drains.

In the short term, though, it looks like we got attacked by a rogue drain puker.  Good thing I did this when Deb was out of town–her commentary would wither my spirit and blister the paint.

Homeownership

A confused neighbor

Leave a comment

One of our neighbors (the only one I can’t stand) puts up a comically garish, theme-free, obnoxious Christmas light display.  I’ll call him Cletus.  Evidently, it is very important for Cletus to let us know the true spiritual meaning of this jolly holiday.  In addition to the reindeer and Santa on the roof, and the odd mixture of colored lights strung about the place, Cletus puts up a 12′ high cross edged with lights.

Cletus seems to have forgotten the birth part and moved straight to the torture and execution part.  Good lord, Cletus, can’t you stand the idea of letting the kid live a while before he gets nailed up and tortured to death? What part of this is unclear?

I have no problem with lights, displays of faith, or people having holiday fun.  I do think it’s pretty funny when someone doesn’t think it through.  Cletus, You’re Doing It Wrong.

Homeownership

I empathize with Linus

Leave a comment

Every year I go Linus.  Not Full Linus, but partial Linus.  Just as adults gave me candy at Halloween, I look forward with great enthusiasm to the chance to perpetuate the tradition and have fun with the kids.  I put on an ogre mask and some sort of hat (this time a fishing hat from Puerto Rico), and speak only in monster growls:  bluuueeeagh, blluuuaaaaagh!  I tone it down slightly for the real little ones, but most of the kids think it’s great fun.  “Thank you!”  “Blueeeeaaagh!”

Unfortunately, correct trick-or-treating (which involves the children coming to your door and saying ‘trick or treat’), is on the wane.  It’s being replaced by the bubble-wrapped-kid option of trunk-or-treat, taking away 100% of the adventure and 90% of the fun.  Can’t have Precious learning to take care of him or herself while walking around in the dark, because as we know, the density of lurking pervs is about four per square yard.  Those not brutalized by the lurking per patrol will all be given a razor-blade-loaded bit of candy by the ten psychotic homeowners per block.  Step outside the bubble wrap, certain death.

No wonder so many of them can’t handle adult life when they reach it.  They never got the opportunity to learn or adventure.

Anyway, these days I feel much like Linus, with my bowl of candy and my lit pumpkin clearly displayed, lights bright so it will be obvious someone is home and would probably hand out candy.  One year we got zero.  Three is about average.  This year, three trick-or-treating groups, and one of them produced the funniest thing that has happened to me on Halloween in living memory.

We have some great neighbors to the north and west, Mary and Bill.  (We have great neighbors in all directions, but these are the droids we want.)  They have two daughters and a son:  Kate, Nathan, Sarah.  Kate is now married with an adorable one-year-old daughter; Nathan’s giving mice diabetes in med school.  Sarah I used to hire in high school to help with work; now she’s out in the working world, doing well.  Over time we have all become friends.  Kate, hubby Thomas, Sarah and little Clara stopped by, kind of a tradition, Clara in a tiny Princess Leia outfit with the danishes hat for her head.  I did my usual thing:  bluueeagh!  Little Clara smiled happily at the noisy monster in the fishing hat.  Of course, I invited everyone in, and removed my hat and mask to beam friendly greetings at the tiny Princess Leia.

Faced with my true countenance, smile and voice, the child bawled out a wail of shocked disgust.  Right on cue.

I actually had to lean against a wall to compose myself, I was laughing so hard.  So were my visitors, except for the tiniest one, who glared at me and wept frustration throughout the visit while parents, aunt and neighbor chatted.

Someday it will be a hilarious story to tell her, when I am near retirement and she is a young teen.

Homeownership

Thinking about home security…

Leave a comment

This is one of the better pieces I’ve read on how to make your place a harder target for burglars.

There is a reason why I react very badly to solicitors who ignore my sign prohibiting such:  because it helps my home security for them to think a crazy person lives here.  A crazy person probably owns the means of defense, and radiates eagerness to resort to them.  In reality, I am not.  But burglars hate surprises, and a person of seemingly unstable temperament and fierce disposition could present all manner of surprises.

Personally, I think the best home security system is almost free:  know and like your neighbors.  Nearly all my neighbors will keep an eye on this place when I’m not around, just as I do for them.  One pays nothing for this except the nominal contributions to general interdependence and community security that signal membership:  help one another, be friendly, be interested in lives without being nosy.  I think that if the burglars sense for one minute that they might be under surveillance and that someone may already have called the police, they’ll find a softer target.

It’s much like personal self-defense.  You don’t have to be Chuck Norris.  You just need to be a harder target than other people.  It is my view that making my neighbors’ homes harder targets does the same for my own.

Oh, and if a couple well-dressed young men come to your house offering a free evaluation for a home security system, you know what to do, right? Ask them to wait a minute; you left something on the stove.  Go get a camera.  Bring it to the door.  Snap their pictures, and then smile, and let them know you’re sending the photo to the police, because they’d love some photo evidence of likely burglary suspects.  Then make them get the hell off your property.  (You have to be physically imposing to do this the way I did, which involved profanity, a raised voice, and a sports implement, so adjust this to your personal capacity.  But you can certainly dial 911 right in front of them and say, “I have a couple of people pretending to sell security systems here, trying to case houses for burglary in my opinion.  Would you send an officer to deal with them?”)

It’s all about being a hard target. Burglars depend on us being nice, trusting idiots.  Cold, distrustful, intelligent people are hard targets.