Over the last few weeks, the drain in our upstairs bathroom has been getting increasingly backed up and now every time someone uses the sink they leave behind two inches of standing water….

So yesterday afternoon I finally dug out my tools, and with my daughter Jo Jo as “helper”, I set about doing some amateur plumbing.

Jo Jo is 4 years old…..she asks a LOT of questions……and despite the fact that there’s NO ONE else in the bathroom other than the two of us, she makes sure to start every question with the word “Daddy” just so there’s no confusion about who she’s addressing.

Daddy what are you doing?  Fixing the sink, honey.

Daddy, what’s that?  That’s a wrench, honey.

Daddy, what’s that?  Those are channel locks, honey.

Daddy, what’s that?  That’s a bucket, honey.

Daddy what are you doing?  Still fixing the sink, honey.

Multiply that by 10 million and you sorta get the idea.

After taking apart all the sink pipes, I find a clog that may have started forming when Eisenhower was in the White House……..it looks like someone shaved the hair off a raccoon, dropped the hair ball into a jar of peanut butter, rolled it in duct tape and then stuffed it into the drain pipe……

20 minutes of fishing and cajoling and cussing later, I clear the pipe, put the sink back together and test it out….

A HA!  Success!  This drain is flowing so clean You could probably shoot a fire hose into it and not worry about a back up……Mission accomplished!

And as I’m putting away my tools, Jo Jo says “Daddy, I need to go potty. Can you close the door?”

Figuring I’ll kill two birds with one stone, I leave her to use the upstairs bathroom while I go downstairs to use the other one.

And as I’m sitting there rather pleased with my plumbing prowess, leafing through sports illustrated, taking care of my business, I hear Jo flush the upstairs toilet…..and about 3 seconds later, it’s like someone opened a garden hose above me…….drops of water are falling out of the ceiling onto the floor….onto my sports illustrated…..and into my hair…..and in case you can’t connect the dots…this water ain’t coming out of a garden hose if you know what I’m saying……

The lesson here is this:  unless the idea of spending an afternoon in an 6 by 8 foot bathroom with an inquisitive four year old and getting a sewer water shower sounds especially appealing to you, I recommend leaving the plumbing work to the professionals.

Wheeee!

Rox are two games up in the NL Wild Card Race with 6 games to play and they start a series with Milwaukee tonight at Coors Field.

If you’re not a season ticket holder, you already missed the deadline to put your name in the hat for tix to the NL Divisional Series should the Rockies make it, but you still have time to take a shot at NL Championship Series and World Series Tix!

NLCS deadline is tomorrow (Weds 9-30 at 11:59p) and Series Tix deadline is October 12, at 11:59p.

Click here for all Rockies post-season ticket details.

Good luck and Go Rockies!

There was a time not all that long ago when nearly all the manufactured goods bought in the United States of America were also made here.

Of course we all know that those days are long gone….but here are 5 companies who’s products we’d probably all consider to be as American as Mom’s homemade apple pie which, at least technically speaking, aren’t.

1. A home-maker named Dorothy Gerber started the Gerber baby food company in her Michigan kitchen back in 1927.  However, the next time you feed your baby a jar of pureed sweet potatoes, keep in mind that Gerber was sold to a Swiss pharmaceutical company called Sandoz for 3.7 billion dollars back in 1997 which was then purchased by the Nestle company in 2007.  Apparently a marketing initiative to offer a free Swiss army Knife with the purchase of every case of mushed up Gerber carrots never quite made it past the drawing board.
2. Brothers George and Alfred Rawlings founded their namesake sporting goods company in St. Louis back in 1887 and 120 years later, the Rawlings brand name is probably most closely associated with the baseballs it makes for the great American past time.  But the next time you’re out in the yard playing catch with your kids, please know that Rawlings baseballs are actually manufactured in Costa Rica and have been since 1986.  Though, to be fair about it, the cores, the cowhide and the yarn used to manufacture the balls themselves do come from the United States.  USA! USA!USA!

1. The Miller Beer company was founded in 1855 when Frederick Miller bought the Plank Road brewery in Milwaukee Wisconsin.  Though ownership has changed hands a number of times since the 1960s, South African Breweries bought Miller in 2002 for 3.6 billion in stock and 2 billion in debt.  Who knew that a tall cold glass of “the high life” was such an international experience, right?
2. The legendary 77 story Chrysler building in New York City was constructed in 1930 but hasn’t been exclusively owned by American holders since 2001.  As of today, 90% of is currently owned by Abu Dhabi Investment Authority with the remaining 10% held by the real-estate investment firm Tishman-Spears.  No word on whether or not anyone has been able to convince the Abu Dhabi Investment Authority to buy those 16 billion Chrysler K Cars that were manufactured back in the 80s.
3.  And finally, it goes without saying that no musical instrument has more directly influenced the world of rock n’ roll than Leo Fender’s namesake solid body electric guitar first manufactured in California in the early 1950s and favored by artists as diverse as Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Springsteen.  Though Fender’s  higher end models are still made in California, a majority of the rest of it’s guitars are made in Mexico, Japan, China, India, and South Korea.

Interesting to think about, isn’t it? 

In the interest of full disclosure, I was born in the great American City of Pittsburgh, but my parents honeymooned in Mexico like 9 months and 1 day before I was born. 

Do with that information what you will.

Information for today’s In Case You Wondered was taken from msn.com and minyanville.com

Both websites may (or may not) have been made in America.

I’m not saying I’m over the hill or anything…..but somedays it occurs to me that if I were a bottle of wine, I’d be WELL on my way to turning into vinegar by now …….if I were a carton of milk, I might be starting to smell just a little bit sour ….and if I were a package of ground beef, the sticker on my forehead would say, “Best if Sold by ….1987…”

So in order to do my part to at least slow down the inevitable march of time….. I actually managed to drag myself to the gym yesterday afternoon for that “every 3 weeks whether I need it or not” work out…..

And from the minute I walked into the place, the vibe just felt a little….I dunno….unusual. 

It seemed like everyone I passed by was in a really good mood, or something…

People were making eye contact with me…..smiling big smiles….saying “Hi…how’s it going…..did you want to work in on this machine?”…and things like that.

And then, to add to the general strange-it-tude, while I’m moping along on the elliptical machine, I get the odd sensation that people are staring at me……and not in one of those “man….what a dork” kind of ways I’ve gotten so used to over the years either….

I know it sounds inconceivable…but it’s more like people were stealing glances at me out of the corner of their eyes while I’m working out….and for a split second I think…”boy-howdy…I must look really good or something….”

And while I know there’s a strange group of endorphin junkies who are always annoyingly happy about working out, I just can’t believe that every single person in the gym on a Sunday afternoon falls into that category….I mean, at least a percentage of the people HAVE to be saying “Why didn’t I just stay on the couch with the bag of chips?”…you know?

So anyway….I figure I must just be imagining things….and after I schlep through my workout, I’m in the locker room washing my hands…..when I look into the mirror….and realize I have two rather large globs of peanut butter on my cheeks from the sandwich I ate before I went to the gym.

Seriously, it looks like I did a facial exfoliation with two hand-fuls of Jiffy extra smooth……

And at that moment, it occurs to me, that maybe my fellow gym goers weren’t offering me random friendly smiles because they could sense what a wonderful human being I am….or checking me out on the elliptical machine because I resemble a younger, more chiseled Brad Pitt…..but rather, because it looks like someone fed me a peanut butter sandwich with an industrial grade sling shot at 50 paces……

As I like to say……welcome to my life….”cool”, doesn’t even BEGIN to describe it.

…to move us into the age of Muh-Muh-Muh-Max Headroom!

Check this story out!

Here’s the video.  (Caution!  Profanity.  Not safe for work-especially if you work at a bank!)

When I was a kid and I used to go to work with my Dad, I could never figure out why the family pictures in his office were at least 10 years out of date.

In addition to the horror of having to see a desk picture of yourself in kindergarten or 1^st grade when you’re an uber-cool pre-teen, part of me started to wonder “Does he realize I’m not actually 5 years old anymore?”

Fast forward about 35 years or so to last weekend when my 9 year old son accompanied me on a Saturday office trip.

After eyeballing my vintage Bob Dylan poster for awhile, “Who’s that guy with the guitar, Dad?”, and marveling at my small but impressive collection of Pittsburgh Steeler memorabilia “Can I have all this stuff, Dad?”, Evan fixed on a small blue frame with 2 black and white pictures in it.

One picture was of a little blonde haired two year old boy standing in a green backyard, wearing a gigantic grin and a baseball glove the size of his head.

Evan said, “That’s me, right Dad?”

I said, “You got it, pal…”

On the other side of the picture frame was that same blonde haired little boy, laying on his back next to a dimply baby girl who couldn’t have been more than 6 months old.

Evan said, “I know that’s me…..but is the baby Lily or Jo Jo?”

I said, “That’s Lily when she was a baby….”

So my son looked at the picture again somewhat quizzically and said, “but where’s Jo Jo?”

I said, “Well..she wasn’t born yet, buddy……”

After staring silently at the picture again for a few minutes Evan said, “It’s a nice picture, Dad….but we don’t really look like that anymore….and Jo Jo would probably be mad that she’s not in this one…”

And in that one statement of fact from the mouth of an 9 year old boy, I suddenly realized that my desk pictures were probably out of date for the very same reason my Dad’s were 35 years ago…

Part of being a parent means surrounding yourself with items that constantly remind you of that famous line from Ferris Buehler:  “Life moves pretty fast.  If you don’t stop and look around once in a while…you just might miss it.” 

Ain’t that the truth…..

(Click here to see Ferris Bueller’s famous line delivered by the man himself.)

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Resort traffic was down 6% last year so incentives are up this year.

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Yesterday afternoon I went to a Sporting Goods store here in Denver to get some new soccer shin guards for my 9 year old son.  I tried to tell him that getting cleated repeatedly in the shins was actually a good learning experience that would serve him well later in life when he grew up and got married and had to work for a living…but he didn’t seem to buy that argument.

So after wandering around this store about the size of Invesco Field, I found some shin guards, took ‘em to the counter, and was greeted by a mid 20’s young man sporting goods associate who smiled and said, “Could I start with your phone number, Sir?”

I said, “Why?  Did you want to call me up and ask me out on a date or something?”

Either he didn’t get the joke or just didn’t think it was funny because the perma-smile glued to his face didn’t change at all.  “No sir”, he said, “it’s just for our records.”

Not wanting to get into a big hassle over 10 dollars in shin guards, I did what I usually do in these situations and gave the guy my office phone number, figuring that when the phone spam service ended up with it, at least they couldn’t interrupt my dinner with sales calls.

After punching the number into his computer, the junior sports associate said, “Uh….sir… I’m actually showing that as a commercial building phone number and not a residence…”

Great……busted by the counter help…..serenity now..serenity now……

I said, “Well….see…here’s the thing my good man…..all I really want to do is buy these shin guards here.  My thought is that I give you 10 dollars, you give me the shin guards…and I go on my way.  If I really wanted my phone number to be public information I’d have it tattooed to my forehead or spray painted on the side of my car for everyone to see….. I don’t know exactly what you intend to do with my phone number, but it doesn’t seem like me sharing it with you is a necessary part of this retail transaction, you know?” 

Without even a slight change in expression, Johnny Mc Sportster said, “I see……well, if you’d like to talk to my manager, I could have him come over.  You can wait right over there…” and he pointed to a large seating area that looked something like the Group W bench for troublemakers and ne’r do wells from that old Arlo Guthrie song….

Spending the rest of my afternoon arguing over corporate retail policy and phone numbers didn’t seem like a really good time investment, so I just said, “Nah…that’s okay…I’ll just have the kid wear an extra pair of socks to protect his shins”….and I walked out the door.

Apparently, as I get older…I’m turning into some strange combination of Ralph Nader and my Grandfather…

Ralph..if you’re listening…. can you please get my kid some shin guards?  Thanks.

Yesterday afternoon I was lucky enough to have the chance to drive four, count ‘em FOUR, 6 year old girls to soccer practice.

During my carpool ride I was reminded of 4 things that are very important to 6 year old girls.  Here they are:

1.        One-up-man-ship:  At some point during the ride one of the girls said, “I went skiing last year.”  And so the next girl in the line said, “Well, I went skiing twice last year.”  And so the next girl in line said “Well, I went skiing 400 times last year!” And the last girl in line said, “Well, I went skiing 6,000 times last year and my Grand Pa built the Mountain we skied on.”  In case you’ve forgotten, no one does “nyah-nyah-nyah” quite like a 6 year old girl. 

2.       Repetition and mimicry:  At some point yesterday, one of the girls said, “I’m just kidding.”  And so another girl said it, and another girl said it until eventually all 4 of them were chanting in unison “I’m just kidding!  I’m just kidding!” over and over and over again.  If you haven’t driven a carload of 6 year old girls around lately and you’d like to replicate the experience, go to your nearest pet store and buy 100 parrots and take ‘em out for a spin. 

3.       Seating order:  I’ve probably driven my son and his friends to a couple thousand practices over the years, and never once in that time has any of them expressed concern over where they were going to sit during the car-ride.   On my ride with the girls yesterday, I’d guess that 90% of the conversation centered on this topic.  “Well, I want to sit in the way back with Ella!”  “Well I want to sit in the middle seat with Grace and Ava Belle!”  “I want to sit in the front seat with Lily and I want Grace to sit in the way back and Ava Belle to sit in the middle!” After about 10 minutes of this I said, “Everyone is staying RIGHT where they are!  The next option is that you’re all going to be sitting on the roof!”  Of course they found this idea hilarious…and then they started arguing about who was going to sit next to whom on the roof.  Nifty…..

4.       Volume and pitch: Not only did all 4 girls talk continuously at VERY LOUD VOLUME and in VERY HIGH PITCH throughout the entire ride, as near as I can tell, not one of them actually took a breath at any point.

In the world of music Phil Spector was famous for creating the “wall of sound” production technique wherein large numbers of different sounds were meticulously layered on top of each other to produce something so unbelievably dense that no one sound was distinguishable from another.  On my ride yesterday, I believe I experienced the carpool equivalent which I now refer to as “The Wall of Girl Sound”. 

Other than frayed nerves and a slight ringing in my ears, I really enjoyed the soccer car pool. 

By my math, it’s Anne’s turn to drive for the next 4 or 5….or 15…… years.