Published Wednesday, Aug. 26, 2009 | 2:08 p.m.
Updated Wednesday, Aug. 26, 2009 | 2:19 p.m.
I love receiving e-mail about products like these, especially when it's going to be a million degrees here this weekend:
"Icicle Deaths Eliminated by New Ice Melting Technology Gutter Guard."
Although I question the marketing department's knowledge of its target audience, like Rene Zellweger at "Hello," they nonetheless had me at "Icicle Deaths."
A company called Gutterglove, which in Chicago also is a synonym for left fielder Alfonso Soriano, has created a heated gutter liner called IceBreaker that melts icicles, ice dams and snow loads in your gutter.
The press release said the technology, unlike these news accounts, is never before seen stuff:
In Moscow, TASS news agency reported that six people have been killed in three days by icicles falling from buildings in a central Russian region.
Icicles, ice dams, snow loads, an offer you can't refuse from Boris and Natasha ... it's always something in those central Russian regions.
In 2000, Donald Booth, a Wisconsin man, was walking down the sidewalk past the Neiman Marcus building in Chicago when a microwave-size piece of ice fell from the sky, crushing his skull and vertebrae and instantly killing him.
This is why people from Wisconsin should never leave the house without encasing their melons in a giant piece of Styrofoam cheese, even when the Packers are on the road.
The IceBreaker supposedly has 101 uses. These include melting the chip on Naomi Campbell's shoulder and minimizing the effects of a Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out at a Springsteen concert.
It also comes with a lifetime guarantee that hell will never freeze over and the Cubs will never win the World Series, at least not as long as Gutterglove is under contract in left field.
The other day at Cashman Field a vendor came by where we were sitting, with a chunk of ice that appeared to fall out of the wheel well of an old Buick, and insisted it was a snow cone.
I didn't buy it. Literally or figuratively. I was told the flavor was pina colada, hence the pale yellow-gray color that reminded me of Grand Rapids, Mich., slush.
The nachos looked pretty good, however.