Home Actor Mike Rowe HD Instagram Photos and Wallpapers January 2024 Mike Rowe Instagram - I sure do appreciate all the well wishes from so many of you worried about my dad, who continues to recover at home from a heart attack (or two) the day after Christmas. If you want a more detailed account of his convalescence, including the gradual but nevertheless spectacular reawakening of his lower GI Tract, I’ll direct you to my mother’s page, where details (and photos) await. Here, I’ll keep it tasteful, and simply tell you that for the last week, I personally observed a 91-year-old man get a little stronger and a little more determined with every passing day. At this rate, he’ll be back in the Shuffleboard Tournament this Tuesday. In fact, he probably could have competed this past Tuesday, had his wife permitted it. Here, he can be seen kicking my butt in back-to-back games just a few days ago – 18-9, and 15-13. After that, my mother – with not a trace of pity - vanquished us both in a vicious game of Big 2, which I regret teaching her every time we play. I’d love to chat, but I’m off to Lichtenstein, for reasons I’ll explain later. Till then, Weidersehen, Mike

Mike Rowe Instagram – I sure do appreciate all the well wishes from so many of you worried about my dad, who continues to recover at home from a heart attack (or two) the day after Christmas. If you want a more detailed account of his convalescence, including the gradual but nevertheless spectacular reawakening of his lower GI Tract, I’ll direct you to my mother’s page, where details (and photos) await. Here, I’ll keep it tasteful, and simply tell you that for the last week, I personally observed a 91-year-old man get a little stronger and a little more determined with every passing day. At this rate, he’ll be back in the Shuffleboard Tournament this Tuesday. In fact, he probably could have competed this past Tuesday, had his wife permitted it. Here, he can be seen kicking my butt in back-to-back games just a few days ago – 18-9, and 15-13. After that, my mother – with not a trace of pity – vanquished us both in a vicious game of Big 2, which I regret teaching her every time we play. I’d love to chat, but I’m off to Lichtenstein, for reasons I’ll explain later. Till then, Weidersehen, Mike

Mike Rowe Instagram - I sure do appreciate all the well wishes from so many of you worried about my dad, who continues to recover at home from a heart attack (or two) the day after Christmas. If you want a more detailed account of his convalescence, including the gradual but nevertheless spectacular reawakening of his lower GI Tract, I’ll direct you to my mother’s page, where details (and photos) await. Here, I’ll keep it tasteful, and simply tell you that for the last week, I personally observed a 91-year-old man get a little stronger and a little more determined with every passing day. At this rate, he’ll be back in the Shuffleboard Tournament this Tuesday. In fact, he probably could have competed this past Tuesday, had his wife permitted it. Here, he can be seen kicking my butt in back-to-back games just a few days ago – 18-9, and 15-13. After that, my mother – with not a trace of pity - vanquished us both in a vicious game of Big 2, which I regret teaching her every time we play. I’d love to chat, but I’m off to Lichtenstein, for reasons I’ll explain later. Till then, Weidersehen, Mike

Mike Rowe Instagram – I sure do appreciate all the well wishes from so many of you worried about my dad, who continues to recover at home from a heart attack (or two) the day after Christmas. If you want a more detailed account of his convalescence, including the gradual but nevertheless spectacular reawakening of his lower GI Tract, I’ll direct you to my mother’s page, where details (and photos) await. Here, I’ll keep it tasteful, and simply tell you that for the last week, I personally observed a 91-year-old man get a little stronger and a little more determined with every passing day. At this rate, he’ll be back in the Shuffleboard Tournament this Tuesday. In fact, he probably could have competed this past Tuesday, had his wife permitted it. Here, he can be seen kicking my butt in back-to-back games just a few days ago – 18-9, and 15-13. After that, my mother – with not a trace of pity – vanquished us both in a vicious game of Big 2, which I regret teaching her every time we play.

I’d love to chat, but I’m off to Lichtenstein, for reasons I’ll explain later. Till then,

Weidersehen,
Mike | Posted on 08/Jan/2024 02:22:35

Mike Rowe Instagram – I was in Zurich yesterday, window shopping, when I noticed my reflection in the glass, and concluded a haircut was in order. The closest place was called Finest Barbers, and I was curious to see if the establishment lived up to its name. My barber was Sammy, from Turkey. He told me he’d been cutting hair for ten years. After Sammy finished with my haircut, which was excellent, by the way, I went to Angel’s chair, and had a memorable chat about work ethic, entrepreneurship, and the value of mastering a skill that’s in demand. As we chatted, Angel dipped some Q-Tips into a fondue pot filled with hot wax. The wax was black for some reason – like the pitch they apply to ropes on the tall ships, to keep them from fraying. As we chatted, Angel inserted the black Q-Tips into my nostrils, and waited for the wax to harden. “Is this a service you include with all haircuts,” I asked. “No,” said Angel. “This is an additional $15 francs. “But not for you, my friend. This one is on the house.” “You’re too kind,” I said. “Don’t mention it,” said Angel. After a minute or two, the wax was sufficiently hard, and the suspense was sufficiently built. “Just relax,” Angel told me. “I’ll count down from three.” I tried to relax. Angel said, “Three…” and quickly ripped the Q-Tips from my nostrils. I screamed, and maybe peed a little. If you find yourself in Zurich and in need of a trim, please tell the Finest Barbers that the dirty jobs guy sends his regards. And if you go with the internal nose wax, you’ll find the Swiss air even more bracing and more invigorating than before…
Mike Rowe Instagram – Back in 1984, most of my friends had a porno mustache. I could have grown one myself, I guess, but it wasn’t really my thing. That’s not to say I wasn’t guilty of other dubious fashion statements. Here, for instance, I’m dressed like a black-jack dealer on a break from my duties at The Moulin Rouge. And speaking of rouge, yes, I’m wearing some. As are my old friends, Pat Paul, (porno-stash to my left) and his brother Mike Paul, (porno-stash to his left) and Michael Gellert, (porno-stash to my right.) We were a barbershop quartet called Tyson Street. I won’t even try to explain why four unapologetically virile, masculine men would dress from time to time in matching outfits and slather on pancake and rouge to compete with other male foursomes in elaborate singing contests. But we did, and it was a hell of a lot of fun. This photo was taken after a competition in Pennsylvania where we came in 17th. Funny, I remember thinking at the time that we had a shot at winning. When they announced that we came in 17th, I remember laughing with my mustachioed friends. I miss the days when we could harmonize, not on the stage or in matching outfits, but in a stairwell, or on a street corner, or in a restaurant, where unsuspecting diners were delighted (were they?) to hear us ring out an old chestnut. Or better yet, on a sailboat anchored somewhere in the Chesapeake, where innocent passersby weren’t subjected to the sounds of a quartet fueled by a cooler full of beer. There are friendships, and there are friendships held together with beer and close harmony. Those friendships are the best. Mike Gellert turns 70 today. I wish to take this opportunity to acknowledge his dotage. I’m struggling to believe how my old friend can be 70 years old. As always, I’m still nine years younger, but still don’t they go by in a blink? I’m sitting here with my 91-year-old dad this morning, who is doing better every day since his heart attack last week and wondering how quickly the next 30 years will go, if I’m lucky enough to have them. Wish me well, and him, a hell of a happy birthday.

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