Money down the drain. (Or what a glass hole).

Garbage disposals are great for grinding up leftover food off dirty dishes, eggshells, broccoli the kids don't eat, orange peels, things like that.

Glass? Not so much.

Two nights ago, while hand-washing a large, expensive, Pyrex glass storage dish in soapy water, my wife lost her grip on it and it shattered into a bazillion pieces in the sink.

I was in the next room when I heard it shatter, and immediately went running into the kitchen screaming the one question any concerned husband would ask, "Did the dog get hurt?"

Unfortunately, it broke over the side of the sink with the disposal, and a ton of glass went in.

I know what you're thinking: hand-washing? Downright primitive, right? What's next? Pounding laundry on rocks? You're preaching to the choir.

Next thing you know we'll get rid of our microwave and start cooking hot dogs in a toaster oven.

Oh, wait, we did that. Crap, I thought I dreamt it.

Anyway, after I cleaned all the shards of glass out of the sink, I decided reaching into a disposal full of broken glass to get the pieces out might not be the best idea. I also thought grinding it up and washing the glass down the drain probably wasn't much better.

But with Plan B I got to keep my fingers. So I turned on the disposal.

Besides Gilbert Gottfried and Fergie there aren't a lot of things that sound like glass being ground up by a garbage disposal. It jammed up almost instantly, and I knew we'd have to get a new one.

So today, Raphael the plumber was here to install the new Insinkerator. I would've done it myself, but as I've said before the only tool I know how to use is the Yellow Pages.

Raphael has been here before. When the faucet on our bathtub sounded like we were going to need a crucifix and Father Karras to fix it, Raphael did his magic - not with an entire new pipe and stem like we thought, but with a 99 cent washer.

An honest plumber. A man of integrity. There's a lot of love for Raphael in our house.

Our new glass-free Insinkerator is awesome. More compact than its predecessor, we now have room to lose old sponges and store more almost-empty cans of Comet under the sink. It's also considerably quieter, and not just because it's not grinding glass.

So, what can we take away from all this?

Don't hand wash the dishes. Nothing good comes from it. Ever.

There are honest plumbers in the world. Well, at least one.

And finally, don't ever trade in the microwave on a toaster oven. Making hot dogs is okay, but you won't have popcorn nearly as often as you used to.

Pink's goes south

There's nothing like a Pink's chili dog at 8:30 in the morning. I should know. That's where my Fairfax High friends and I went when we'd ditch P.E. at second period (sorry Mr. Stone).

The thing that made it great - besides the radioactive chili and great tasting, specially made Hoffy hot dogs since 1939 - was that Pink's was a one of a kind experience. Well, sadly, they're not one of a kind anymore. Another Pink's is opening in Orange County. At Knott's Berry Farm. And while I'm sure the chili dog loving residents of the OC will be happy they don't have to drive to the big, bad city to experience Pink's, the reality is it won't be the same.

Part of the Pink's experience is waiting in line for at least forty minutes with the colorful cross section of L.A. you find there almost any time of day or night. Movie stars, millionaires, down-and-outers, teens, seniors, people in drag, people who are a drag. All excitedly waiting for the same culinary experience. Pink's levels the playing field. Yes we can all get along. Over a chili dog.

Want to know how to insult a great chili dog? Sell it between cotton candy and jars of grape jelly. It's just wrong.

When The Original Tommy's opened stands everywhere, the experience wasn't anything near the same as waiting in a line of 500 people at the downtown stand at eleven at night after a concert at the Sports Arena or Staples Center.

But times are tough, and I suppose it's an understandable move.

Still, some places manage to hang on to their uniqueness. The Apple Pan has had many, many offers over the years to expand, franchise and relocate. None of which they've done. Their 27 seat counter is full most of the time, and the same employees that served me those awesome Hickory burgers when I was a kid are still serving them. There's something extremely comforting about that.

Philippe's downtown is another singular L.A. dining landmark. Screw French dip for the masses. You want it, you go downtown.

So while it makes me sad there won't be just one Pink's anymore, I suppose in the end broadening the fan base is a good thing.

Almost as good as thinking about those diners at Knott's getting tossed around on Montezooma's Revenge after their first chili dog.