Handyman genes were there, waiting to be used

My handyman genes may have only been dormant, contrary to my belief that I never inherited any from a long line of blue collar do-it-yourselfers.

Growing up, I avoided anything requiring mechanical skills, mainly because my dad was an electrician by profession and a jack-of-all-trades by skill. If I ever needed anything built or something, like a 1979 Pontiac Sunbird, fixed, I relied on him to do it for me. “Why try something I know he can do better?” I thought.

And then he died when I was 21.

Since then it’s been a slow learning experience. I couldn’t turn to him when I had a problem. If my car broke down, I looked at it myself to formulate a little something about what the problem might be so when I took it to the shop I could sound reasonably intelligent. If I needed to assemble a furniture item I bought, I carefully studied the confusing instructions and then painstakingly tried to figure it out. For the most part I’ve been successful in that endeavor, although my wife likes to point to the upside down shelf in my son’s bookcase whenever I try to brag about my “assembly” skills.

I’ve managed to avoid any home projects requiring a major power tool, though, until this past weekend.

With the upcoming arrival of a new addition to the household, my wife developed a vision for the baby’s room. This vision did not just involve paint, which is something that I don’t get along with well. It involved refinishing an antique dresser and hanging chair rail, two projects I would never have fathomed tackling if given an option. My wife’s vision doesn’t come with options, as any married man probably understands.

I started the dresser project more than a month ago. After watching some YouTube videos, which I declare to be the greatest thing to happen to the home project industry since duct tape, I bought the supplies I needed and then started sanding the finish off the dresser.

It was time consuming but fun. The person at the hardware store recommended me to try some chemical that could strip it for me. I should have known that getting an outer layer off is never that easy. It requires patience, time and some sweet talk, all of which I was able to do and have while using a sander.

After it was completely sanded, I put on several coats of stain and several coats of some polyurethane to finish it. For the most part, I was successful. There are some spots where the stain was darker than it should have been, and in a few spots some dripping spots are noticeable, but I was happy to get it done. It’s also a little rougher than it probably could be, but both my wife and I thought it was good enough for a first time. Next time I won’t get this leniency.

The chair rail project was the one I feared more. Leniency wasn’t an option, and goofing up could mean spending more money than I wanted to spend.

I got some advice from a friend who also lent me his miter saw. When he explained how to use the saw, I just kept envisioning it removing one of my thumbs or fingers. “Doctors can sew them back on,” I kept thinking.

I could have asked him to help me with the project, but I knew I wanted to learn on my own. I carefully measured, thought out my cuts and then determined where to place the board and where to nail it so I hit the studs in the wall. When all this was done, with my wife’s help, I hung my first board – successfully.

Doing so inspired a victory dance. Fortunately my home project skills were better than my dancing abilities in this case.

My wife kept all her MacGyveresque friends and relatives informed about progress throughout the day by texting them. They were greatly amused. I didn’t mind, though, because it wasn’t a disaster.

My next project, a basement pantry, may be, though. I’ll have to remember to take the battery out of her phone.

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Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, June 8, 2012.

Putting Jim Schuh on toilet is place he didn’t want to go

Jim Schuh is on the toilet. Jim Schuh is in the toilet.


The first sentence has one meaning: Jim Schuh is sitting on the toilet, taking care of Mother Nature’s business. But the second sentence could have multiple meanings: he could simply be in the bathroom, maybe on the toilet or maybe doing something else; or, if taken literally, some part of him like his foot, head or arm could be in the toilet. If it’s a giant toilet, then maybe his whole self could actually be in the toilet.

I bring this up following an email discussion Jim and I had earlier this week after he corrected me for a change I made to his column in last week’s Gazette.

Originally, Jim sent the column to me with a phrase stating that political robo calls often come to him when he’s “in the toilet.”

Nobody I know uses that phrase. Instead, they usually say “in the bathroom” or “in the restroom.” Assuming that if he had meant to say that, he would have used one of those phrases, I figured he must have meant that he was “on the toilet.” Because he often likes to make fun of himself in his column, and because his subject matter – political robo calls – was one that is even a step below normal bathroom humor, I made the editorial decision to put Jim Schuh on the toilet.

I don’t normally like to imagine Jim Schuh on the toilet, but in this case picturing him taking a political robo call on the toilet was really funny. It would be funny imagining anybody on the toilet taking such a call, but someone with his personality is especially funny.

Jim did not want to be on the toilet. He simply wanted to be in the bathroom. He said the corrected version made his comment seem more explicit than he intended.

I told Jim that being “on the toilet” may be the perfect place to take such phone calls.

He pointed out that in societies other than the U.S., “in the toilet” is quite prevalent. “It means being in what we Americans (as wusses) refer to as the ‘restroom.’ Nobody rests there – they relieve themselves. The word ‘toilet’ is somehow anathema to Americans, but for no good reason,” he responded.

That may be the case, but lest he forget, this is the U.S. And because it is, I put Jim Schuh on the toilet, and not in it.

Knowing Jim well enough, I’m pretty sure that my editorial decision didn’t put me “in the toilet” with him, although I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a way to put me on one. He’s already tried, as he suggested I go “in the toilet” with a laptop to write this column – after I warned him I would – to give it real authenticity.

I’m not going to do that, mainly because I live in 2012 and use an iPad rather than a laptop. But using it “on the toilet” “in the bathroom” might rightfully disgust my wife, who has the power to put me “in the doghouse.” That’s a place no guy ever wants to be, and it’s a place I never want to write about in a future column.
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Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, June 1, 2012.