Let's Build Something Together...

I read the latest New Orleans crime statistics report the other day.

For those who are unfamiliar with this cheerful piece of paperwork, it’s a stack of numbers that the folks at the FBI thoughtfully publish periodically in order to remind us that, in all probability, you WILL be brutally murdered in your driveway while talking with your neighbor- perhaps BY your neighbor.

It’s also quite possible, according to the stats, that your lifeless body will then be raped and/or domestically abused and then you‘ll be robbed, stabbed and lit on fire.**

**Note: If you have pets, they will likely be abused and left for dead...until an animal shelter volunteer comes to rescue the pet.  At such time...the volunteer will be killed by a drive by shooter.

With so many creative minds in this town I was hoping that someone would form the largest “Second Line” parade or concoct the world’s largest Po Boy or anything of record breaking proportion in order to overshadow the title of “Murder Capital.”  Murder capital is soooo Gary, Indiana.

In a related story I read an article about how a “beefed up” police presence would be employed in our fair city.

The plan calls for a heavily armed militia; a moat will be constructed around the city perimeter and F-16 fighter planes will begin daily patrols with orders to shoot first and ask questions later.

This strategy will be activated in order to project a friendlier image for the city.**

**(Note: The red light and speeding cameras will be unaffected by these new implementations)

Fearing that Al Qaeda might burst through my windows at any moment, I decided that it was time to put a new security latch on my door.

I don’t know what the official name for it is, I just call it a door thingie which looks important and secure.

This is why my father always became frustrated with me in the garage. It was also the leading cause for him to frequently violate the third commandment.

He’d ask me to go get a 3 and 5/8ths wing nut toggle-action torque screw hydraulic ratchet socket. I would dutifully bring him back a Phillip’s head screw driver…and a beer.

There I was- standing before him with a proud look on my face- feeling like a man’s man because I was doing manly stuff with my dad in the garage. Then I'd fart...just to feel even MORE manly.

He, on the other hand, looked at me as though he felt certain that he and my mother were given the wrong child at the hospital.

In order to properly secure my home I felt it prudent for a trip to the hardware store.  As I strolled down the sidewalk I ran into my landlord and informed him of this important plan.

My landlord is a friend of mine…which means that he knows me well enough to understand the fact that I can’t read a calendar…at least on or around the first of the month. The conversation went like this:

Jeff: What’s up man?

Me: I’m gonna install an extra security latch on the front door.

Jeff: (Laughing hysterically)

Me: What?

Jeff: Let me do it for you.

Me: Why?

Jeff: Because I remember your last house project.

Me: The room was poorly ventilated-- and no one died.

Jeff: Just be careful. By the way, your rent is due.

Me: I thought this was leap year.

I fully own and accept the fact that I’m not the most handiest of people. I once installed a shelf though and was quite pleased with how quickly I managed to do so…until, after neatly placing my stuff on it, I learned that brackets don’t work properly if they’re not mounted on a stud.

You live and you learn.

Example: This is expressly why I don’t date women from the Westbank of New Orleans anymore.

After buying a stud finder, another shelf, a replacement television, six new picture frames and a replacement lamp, I consider it a valuable learning experience that can’t be taught in a classroom.

Speaking of which, I finished shop class in junior high school with a triple F-minus as I recall.

The largest project that I tackled was when I attempted to build a small chest of drawers. When I was finished, I felt an indescribable sense of pride and accomplishment as I submitted to my teacher a beautiful little wall mounted coat hook. I stained and varnished it though and gave it to my mom for mother’s day.

I used a wood-burning pencil to etch her name on it, but ran out of room.**

**I also gave one of my classmates a small 3rd degree burn

Nonetheless, according to my mom, my little coat hook was the greatest gift ever.

My shop teacher can eat it!

My shop teacher’s name was Mr. Jennings...and the fact that I can’t build crap is a direct reflection on his smelling like stale whiskey.

His facial expressions were priceless- especially when I’d call for assistance as I stood at the high-speed table saw. He looked as though he wished for a camera equipped bomb squad robot that he could send over in his stead.

In retrospect, I believe that if he'd owned a robotic drone he would have sent it out for another cocktail.

Now that I think about it, I’d probably stay drunk too if my job entailed teaching hormone ravaged young, stupid boys how to build a bread box and a picture frame.**

**Important Note: Neither of which I successfully built

Even though I’m not very handy, I really enjoy watching those home improvement programs. I’m fascinated by how Bob Villa can remodel an entire house using nothing but a can of shellac, a few nails, wood putty, some crown molding and a hammer…all in 30 minutes!

I liken those programs to the Martha Stewart or Rachel Ray show. It should be titled:

“Things that we make look easy but YOU, of course, will NEVER be able to do.”

My grandfather was a professional interior painter and he was good at it. The old school painters are impressive to watch, in that you will never see them using trim tape.

These old salts, despite several who I know to be raging alcoholics, can wield a paintbrush with the steadiness and precision of a brain surgeon- never a drop on anything but their intended target- Show offs!

I on the other hand tackled a bedroom painting project and taped the entire house, including the cat. Somehow I still managed to drip paint on the carpet, the window pane, the telephone (the one located in the next room), the car AND the cat.

When I removed the trim tape I likened my foray into the painting world to that of a 6- year old child who proudly presents a page that he or she has colored from a kindergarten activity book...after smoking a bowl of crack cocaine.

I succumbed to the fact that it was time to spend some money and call a professional painter to the scene. Once he stopped laughing he gave me a bid and I walked away feeling suicidal.

Back to the lock installation project.  After walking around the home improvement store for about 35 minutes looking for security latches, a very pleasant store associate clearly recognized that I had no business whatsoever in a home improvement store. 

He asked if I needed assistance and I assured him that I needed assistance in many areas of my life but the task at hand, in which he could be of immediate aid, pertained to the security latch aisle and its whereabouts.

I also suggested that the store layout could be a little more user friendly since I’d been searching for a half hour for the latches.

He thanked me for my suggestion and assured that he’d pass my thoughts along to the manager...and then he bent down to the lower shelf in front of me and grabbed a security latch.

 Show off.

On the way home I made a brief stop to cover the most important order of business in ANY home improvement project. I strolled into the convenience store and bought a case of beer, a bottle of peroxide and a package of band-aids.

1:22pm
Step 1: Begin removing the security latch mechanism from the package.

1: 49pm
Step 2: Finally made a small opening in the bottom of the impenetrable hard plastic blister pack (open my third beer)

2:12pm
Step 3: Aborting further attempts at removing the latch from the bottom of the package.  I focus on opening it from the side...with a box cutter.

2:26pm
Step 4: Able to reach far enough into the slit in the side of the package to actually TOUCH the security latch.
(open another beer)

2:29pm
Step 5: Completely douse my right hand with peroxide and grab a dishtowel to stop the bleeding.
(Breaking the third commandment frequently)

*Note: They should build a security latch made from blister packages.

2:43pm
Step 6: Finally remove the latch from the blood covered blister package- installation instructions are torn to pieces, with the exception of the Spanish version.

3:00pm
Step 7: Open another beer as I scan my high school Spanish translation textbook. Jeff stands above me on the porch laughing hysterically while his girlfriend stares at me judgmentally.

3:09pm
Step 8: Step aside as Jeff tightens the final screw in the security latch.

3:11pm
Sitting on the couch drinking beer with Jeff while his girlfriend properly bandages my hand…and stares judgmentally at me.

Later that evening as I lay on the couch I felt good knowing that my new one pound 12-dollar alloy security latch, mounted on a strip of 160 year-old decaying wood, somehow made me feel safer in a dangerous world beyond my tiny porch.

I now understand why home contractors make tons of money and Junior High School shop teachers smell like stale whiskey.

I’m thinking that I’ll take a stab at replacing the decaying door jamb this weekend.

copyright Pontchartrain Press 2010