This was the Niagara Falls of plumbing snafus. The frightening details spilled out yesterday morning, when Trina showed me our monthly water bill. I'm not a big fan of bills to begin with and I rarely get too excited about a water bill. We're probably a lot like you. Typically, we shell out around 30 dollars a month to keep the H20 coming. It beats taking showers out of the downspouts. But there was something different about this month's bill. I couldn't be quite sure why.... unless... the... oh... there it is... the balance due! It came right out of the Atlantic Ocean at a whale-sized $658. Yes, it's a new, "This Could Only Happen To Steve" world's record.
While we wait for the good folks at The Guinness Book to confirm this astounding feat, I shall explain what happened. We have a toilet secreted away in the basement. It's only used for extreme emergencies. By that I mean Trina uses it when there's some mysterious noxious, and possibly toxic odor in the main bathroom upstairs. Hmmmm. I wonder where that odor comes from? Possibly a topic for another blog....
Someone who shall remain nameless, Trina, used the downstairs toilet, being sure to flush! Flushing is almost always key. Sadly, you can have too much of a good thing. (See Joan Rivers' latest face lift) Our basement bathroom suddenly turned into the little commode that could. It flushed. (I think I can!) And flushed. (I think I can!) And it flushed. I think I'll smash that little toilet with a sledge hammer. (I think I can!) It flushed continuously for some period of time. Perhaps days. Maybe weeks. However long it took to rack up a $658 bill. And here's what you buy for $658. 77,500 gallons of nothing.

That comes out to:
2,672 gallons every day for a month

that's 111 gallons every hour.

or 1.85 every minute for 30 long days

That's more water than our dog Mika could have drunk out of the toilet bowl for her entire lifetime. We never noticed because we just don't spend a lot of time in the dark, dank corner of our basement where this Damian Dumpster lurks. I had an Eureka moment, thinking I'd made a tremendous (although wasteful) discovery! Maybe I could charge admission to see my toilet. But sadly, as it turns out that there's very little market for a perpetual motion flusher.

Next time: Clash of The Water Warlords
(or, Steve "negotiates" with the utility company)

Copyright 2009

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Mika & Me

Mika toppled over like a drunken sailor after two days shore leave. But it wasn't because she'd been drinking. Mika hadn't been acting quite right for a couple of days and we weren't sure what to think. But on the morning she passed out, we knew we had a problem. By the time we got her into the car Mika seemed better. But we took her to an emergency clinic just to be safe. We thought maybe she'd picked up a case of Lyme Disease because we'd seen some deer ticks recently. We figured the clinic would probably give us some antibiotics and send us on our way.
Not long after we arrrived the doctor told us it wasn't Lyme Disease. Antibiotics wouldn't help. She showed us a syringe filled with blood that had come from Mika's abdomen. The fluid should have been clear. Mika needed emergency surgery. The doctor thought her spleen had ruptured causing internal bleeding. And the reason for the spleen problem was almost certainly Hemangiosarcoma- cancer. Just like that, it was life and death. The doctor warned us that if the cancer had spread, the prognosis was grim. Without surgery, she might have two months. But even with surgery, maybe only six.
Trina and I sat in the operating room for hours, twisting tissues and trying not to cry. We reminded ourselves that no news is good news. After a seemingly endless wait the surgeon marched out, smiled and told us that Mika had pulled through. A biopsy confirmed the cancer diagnosis. But there was no sign the malignancy had spread.
Not counting my wife, Mika is my all-time favorite blond. Call it an animal attraction. Mika is Marilyn Monroe of Golden Retrievers. I've never had a dog that listened. Heel, sit or stay, my dogs always beg at the table, pee on the floor or get amorous with a visitor's leg. But Mika actually does what we ask her to do. She's a top dog at Agility shows- flying through obstacle courses filled with tunnels, teeter-totters and weave poles. She's always happy and eager to please and incredibly affectionate. She even gives us doggie hugs. Trina picked out Mika when she was just a puppie. They were instant BFF's and spent countless hours together. Mika soaked in many of Trina's qualities- they're both so sweet, patient, loving, (and mostly) quiet. When I wandered onto the scene five years ago, she was already four years old. That's Mika, not my wife. I teasingly tell everyone that I married Trina for her dog. Trina tells everyone, she's not sure why she married me.
These days we're up to our armpits in chemotherapy, antibiotics, anti-nausea drugs and blood cell counts etc. Mika is part of a clinical trial at the University of Pennsylvania. They're trying a more agressive form of chemo than they've used in the past. Mika's a little anemic, but she's responding well, so far. We've heard from other people whose dogs had cancer and are still alive 2-3 years later. We're hoping we'll be that lucky too. The vet says dogs don't generally get sick from the drugs and they mostly don't lose their hair. And blissfully, dogs don't seem to know they have cancer. If you saw Mika, you wouldn't think she's in the fight of her life. She's still happy and eager to please and incredibly affectionate. Good thing too because these days we need all the doggie hugs we can get.

Copyright 2009

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Supersize This!

I think the last straw was the one sticking out of my soda. That's pop for those of you living in the Midwest. We stopped on the Pennsylvania turnpike a couple of days ago for a coke. The greasy kid behind the Burger King counter charged me $1.99. And with tax it was $2.11. For a coke... I could have brought one from home for less than 50 cents.
Have you noticed that a lot of manufacturers are keeping prices the same, but they're ever-so-slightly reducing the size of their products? Cereal, toothpaste, canned corn- you name it. These corporate crooks may be greedy but they're not stupid. You have to take a close look to notice the difference. Pringles reduced the weight of its chips from 200 grams to 170 grams. Bryers Ice Cream- was 1.75 quarts. Now 1.5 quarts. Wrigley's gum cut the number of sticks from 17 to 15. That's getting the short end of the stick. Boxes of Cheerios went from 10 ounces to 8.9 ounces. This is all such a dirty business. Dial soap shaved its bars from 4.5 ounces to 4 ounces. The maker of Quilted Northern toilet tissue reduced the amount of paper in it's rolls. That's really hitting below the belt. Hershey's famous 8-ounce chocolate bar is now an infamous 6.8 ounces. That's 15% less. I can't be sure, but the Egg McMuffin I ate the other day sure looked smaller than what I remember getting before. It's just not fair. And I'll tell you what's even worse. With all of these food products getting smaller how come I keep getting bigger? I should be losing weight like crazy! And where does this corporate cutback spree end? I heard one guy complain there are fewer ribs in his condoms! I hope that's the only piece of his equipage that's been reduced. And somebody else thinks his size 10 shoes are really 9 1/2. I just looked at my last bank statement, and it's smaller than ever. Somebody call a cop. Looks like we've been robbed!

Copyright 2009

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Back to the Future

I just back from a reunion. Nope, not high school or even college. This was a working reunion. I got together with a bunch of co-workers from my first real job. And contrary to popular opinion that did not happen during the Eisenhower administration. So many memories come rushing back.
My first job was in a television newsroom in New York City. I was paid the astonishing sum of $164 a week. I was so broke, renting an apartment was out of the question. I had to live with my parents in New Jersey and ride the train to work. My monthly commuter pass cost $180. I remember going to a bar after work for some drinks. I went because I wanted to be part of the gang. I ordered a Bud and choked on my peanuts when the waitress charged me $5!!! For one beer!!! But it was worth it. I was a working journalist! Even if my Grandma Helen kept telling me she was praying for me to find "honorable" work. When you consider that most Americans rate Journalists a step below pickpockets, it appears that Grandma Helen was ahead of her time. Most of my co-workers were just out of college. And we were going to set the world on fire. Once, when U.S. troops invaded the mighty republic of Grenada, my TV station aired the first video from the war zone. It wasn't because we were smarter or harder working than the other journalists. There was only one satellite transmitter. They held a lottery to see who could send out their video first. We won. And we celebrated our mighty journalistic coup as if we'd conquered Grenada ourselves. We had some real characters in our shop. One old timer used to chase police calls with Walter Winchell. We smoked in the newsroom. I even had a bottle of scotch in the bottom drawer of my desk. These days I don't even have my own desk! There were all-night parties, all-day hangovers, and in our spare time, we learned the tricks of the trade. After hours, a bunch of us would always hang out together, drinking too much and then drinking a little more. If we left the bars and the sun wasn't up, there was still more drinking to be done. There were late night visits to speakeasies, illicit gambling halls, and even the occasional go go bar. New York is the city that never sleeps. And we rarely did. Maybe I should explain that we worked the evening shift. That meant getting to the office at 2:30 in the afternoon and leaving at 10:30, in time to enjoy the "shank of the evening". Despite the missed deadlines, mangled copy and garbled transmissions, eventually we all got promoted and began making a little bit of money. That generally meant we could afford better quality booze. But it also meant the beginning of the end. Our close knit group began unraveling. I took a reporting job in Gainesville, chasing fire calls and rabid armadillos. Some took higher paying positions in New York. Others headed for Chicago and LA. Amazingly, we were a fairly successful bunch. In our old gang you'll find a fair number of Video Editors, News Writers, Producers, Executive Producers, Senior Producers, Field Producers, (in TV Journalism we have a lot of "producers", but not so many people doing actual work) Reporters, Directors and even a Network News President.
Back to the reunion. We met at a New York City bar, (imagine that) not sure who or what we might find inside. It was amazing to see those familiar faces. For a night, we shared hugs, war stories, lots of laughs and a drink or two. The wrinkles disappeared and the memories came flooding back. We toasted a few who had passed away. And we remembered friends who couldn't get away to join us. It was intoxicating to relive our youth for a few hours. But in the sober light of day I know that we've all changed. I'm not talking about expanding waistlines or receding hairlines. We're different people now. We talked about kids, 401-K's, real estate and college tuition. The party broke up early. People had to get home to relieve babysitters, or be up early for Little League. But for a night, we were all 20-something and ready to take on the world again. We all promised to have more reunions. And we just might. I was among the last to leave around 10:30pm. As I made my way outside I couldn't help but think, sunrise was a long time away.

Copyright 2009

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Jay Walking

Perhaps you've never heard of Scrub Jays. Contrary to what you may think, Scrub Jays are not some revolutionary cleaning product. I'd assume they are related to Blue Jays. No, not the baseball team- I mean birds with feathers, beady eyes and bony legs.
We recently visited a wildlife preserve in Florida that's home to a Scrub Jay colony. Yes, they live in areas with lots of "scrub"- stubby bushes- hence their name. And no, there are not a lot of them left. They're endangered. Interestingly, Scrub Jays have no natural fear of people. They will fly right up and land on you. I am not making this up. Just look at Trina's photos. They seem especially anxious to interact if they somehow get the idea you have food. We have no idea what might have given the Scrub Jays that impression. The Snickers Bar I was eating was certainly not a factor.
Our face-to-beak meeting resembled a scene out of The Birds. The Hitchcock movie, not the rock band. These little blue bombers were flying in all directions, landing on various body parts. Trina was snapping photos like a demon. She's trying to capture the blue blurs on film, while these cheeky (and sneaky) sky chicks were perching on her head. One even fluttered down on Shirley, my Mom. But nothing ruffles her feathers! Watching these trusting birds in action, I think I see why they're endangered. I'm thinking of all the denizens of the animal kingdom that might enjoy a nice self-serve Scrub Jay snack. But as luck would have it these Scrub Jays do have one sneaky defensive system. Anyone know how to get bird poop out of a cotton shirt?

Copyright 2009

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Can You Hear Me Now?

Welcome to the cellular complaint hotline! Today’s first question comes from Tammy in Tampico.

Tammy says, “My cell phone service stinks. I have to stand out in the front lawn to make a call. What should I do?”

Well Tammy, it’s funny you should ask because the cellular complaint hotline had that very same problem. At the time we were an AT&T customer. Our phones simply wouldn’t work inside the office.

Step A: Being polite but firm is always a good idea.

But in this day and age, get real. When dealing with cellular providers, you should quickly move on to;

Step B: become a relentless psychotic.

The cellular complaint hotline called AT&T repeatedly, and we even threatened to cancel our cell phone service. We may also have inadvertently cursed out some of the representatives. And of course, when that didn’t work, we insisted on speaking to supervisors! Eventually, after we yelled ourselves hoarse, AT&T gave us a brand new phone. We did this twice because the new phones didn’t worked either.

Step C: change your cellular carrier.

The consumer complaint hotline switched to Verizon. Wouldn’t you know it; with our new Verizon phone we still couldn’t make calls from inside of the office. And on top of that, the phone wouldn’t hold a charge. After repeating Step B several times a supervisor finally explained the problem. In areas with poor reception, cell phones sometimes use up extra energy trying to pull in a signal. And that’s why our battery kept dying! The good folks here at the consumer complaint hotline felt kind of guilty about getting those free phones when the real problem was the fact that the consumer complaint hotline is located at the bottom of a gully no cell phone signal could ever reach. Excuse me. I have to go out on the front lawn to repeat Step B and probably Step C. I hear Sprint is offering special rates on new phones!

Copyright 2009

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No part can be reprinted or reused in any way without express written permission from the author.

You Lucky #%@&^%$

I’ve been thinking about luck. Our society is obsessed with luck or the lack of it. Luck pervades our language. There's a Lucky Magazine, Lucky Brand Jeans, and Lucky Charms Cereal. We thank our lucky stars. Some people have all the luck! There’s even the luck of the Irish. You can smoke Lucky Strikes. In China, they sell “Double Lucky” cigarettes. All those Chinese lung cancer patients must think they’re double lucky. Some people would rather be lucky than good. I'll bet most of those people just aren’t very good.
There’s Lady Luck. Of course, it’s mostly us guys who are always dreaming about getting “lucky”. And when your buddy scores, what do you say? “You lucky dog!” “Luck” is the phrase that pays in many social settings. When somebody gets fired you wish them "good luck" in the future. When somebody gets married: what do you say? “Good luck!” Today a friend e-mailed me a photo titled “one lucky dude”. My computer wouldn’t open the attachment. I never get a lucky break.
I played some of those scratch off lottery games and actually won. The prize was two more scratch off lottery tickets. Yep, they were both losers. Lotteries are scurrilous because they somehow seem winnable. Nobody notices those 4-bazzilion to one odds. Almost everybody knows somebody whose cousin’s ex-girlfriend’s hairdresser won a bundle. It’s that six degrees of separation that makes winning seem possible—except if you play the lottery, you’ll be separated from your money.
Most people know this. My wife Trina is always telling me that lotteries are a tax on stupid people. But every time that jackpot gets up around 230 million, I get stupid. Again. I just gotta buy a couple of those Power Ball tickets. All you need is a dollar and a dream! Yeehaw. Easy Street here I come…
And what about the lucky few who really do win the lottery? In 2002, Andrew Jackson Whittaker Jr. won the largest single-payout jackpot of all time. Andy took home a cool $114 million after taxes. Lucky stiff. They say money doesn’t buy happiness, but you can pick your own kind of misery. It appears Andy did just that. Since winning that jackpot he’s been plagued by personal and legal troubles. DUI arrests, deaths in the family, an ugly divorce.
According to the Associated Press, a man named Michel Horton is a study in dumb luck. In the span of 10 days, Horton won two new cars. After reading that I started feeling lucky myself. Just this morning, I found a dime and four pennies lying on the street. One of the pennies is a 1948 wheat sheaf design. Trina is pretty excited. She thinks it’s probably worth a penny and a half.
Some people are convinced they can actually change their luck. They carry rabbit’s feet. (Those rabbits sure weren’t very lucky.) People collect charms, magical amulets and even pay good money for “lucky numbers”. Some travel to Vegas and bet the ranch on Lucky 7. Me, I think I’ll settle for happy go lucky. Yeah, I know… Good luck with that.

Copyright 2009

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No part can be reprinted or reused in any way without express written permission from the author.