Some mornings, the universe hands you a door, a saw, and absolutely no instructions, then stands in the hallway giggling.
You kneel down anyway. You measure the wrong edge with great sincerity. You turn perfectly good protractors into archaeological fragments. Somewhere, an angel of hardware stores writes this all down in a tiny spiral notebook and underlines it twice.
And yet: the carpet is softer. The room is still full of light. You walk out with a bruised shin, a story that sparkles, and a brand‑new understanding of where your limits stop and your laughter begins.
I agree completely with Rick. Your thoughts encapsulate this piece with eloquent depth and lyrical brilliance. It allows me to dive more deeply into its underlying perspective, and I appreciate that.
By the way, I'm pondering an essay about an important decision: whether or not to go on a certain podcast. (That decision seems to be fleshing out more than I realized.) More to be revealed.
Laugh out loud good, but that your roommate didn't actually share what he "saw" you doing is baffling. Either he was just an asshole or you'd pulled so many pranks on him that he was eager to watch you fall for one of your own.
Thanks, Rick. I don't recall pulling any pranks on my roommate Joe, but I think his devious side "saw" an opportunity to let me figure out what was going on without his help. Perhaps the overriding lesson in this tale of woe "hinged" on my own self discovery.
Larry, hilarious! I didn’t see the TOP of the door coming. I was loving the details of Farrah Fawcett (had the same poster) the dandruff, and the mailman. Those details, not too many, just enough and the right ones are part of the signature of your fun fill stories. I laughed so hard I only wish it hadn’t taken me so long to get back to this one!
It's really nice of you to go back and check out some of my past Substack silliness.
Truth be told, I gave away too many clues in an earlier version of this story, so folks figured out that I'd been lopping off the top of my door before I actually spilled the beans. My Mr. Fixit "skills" are matched by my digital "skills." To that end, I'm working on an essay about how many years of computer-tech frustration crashed & burned one sunny afternoon. (It wasn't pretty, but it's still fun looking back on it.)
Larry, I was ready to scream right along with you. I didn't realize you'd taken down the top part of the door, either! I'm just so glad that today you can find the humor and the lessons in what can often be so painful at the time. But, did you really have a drag-queen mailman living below you?
Larry, as an equally not-handy person, I felt this in my bones. Your story instantly brought to mind Dr. Joel Pearson’s work on mis-intuition and how easily we assume our competence in one domain will translate to a totally new one. Unfortunately, as you showed so hilariously here, it usually doesn’t ◡̈
A great reminder to slow down, breathe, and approach new territory with a little more humility. Loved this piece.
Regarding Dr. Joel Pearson's point: If my DIY skills matched, say, my cooking "skills" ... I'd probably still be sawing away on that door. (Note to self: stick to writing!)
Nothing in my life has humbled me--and nearly cost me appendages as well as this gift of life--like woodworking and DIY projects. I easily fall into a creative flow--not a particularly skilled or competent creative flow--but a creative flow that encourages me to ignore the most basic applications of common sense and fundamental safety. This was fun, but it makes me think we need a word for sympathetic schadenfreude.
Just this morning, I read the hilarious "A Spicy Alternative to Antidepressants," which opens with a reference to your recently lacerated hand. A DIY/woodworking mishap?
A good friend, who happens to be a world-class guitarist (he'd blow you away...) is also blessed with the knowledge of a general contractor; he can do *anything*. I occasionally picture him, with fingers trained to create extraordinary 12-string tunes, using power tools. Man, I hope *he* never gets into a "creative flow."
Finally: In one episode of "Malcolm in the Middle," one of the boys gets a job at a fish-packing plant. The name the old-timers give this new hire: "Ten Fingers..."
The lacerated hand will snap into focus when you get to The Avocado of Doom.
I also play guitar (poorly). More of a noodler than a player, but it's a form of meditation that has probably saved the lives of many people in my immediate vicinity. Whenever I hurt my hands, that's my first thought--Will I be able to play guitar? I'm jealous there's a man out there who can strum a guitar and whittle a canoe. Some guys have it all.
Ten Fingers is hilarious. Since I know you're a basketball guy, wait until you get to The Finger...
And I can picture you and your fellow young a-hole friends (1) bickering over who's gonna pick up the finger, then (2) farting around in that liquor store while your poor buddy is going into shock.
BTW, back in the day I was 6'4" 180 pounds. My brother has an old Super-8 video of me going up and actually touching ... the net. (Translated: I couldn't jump.)
Great storytelling, Larry. I definitely got drawn into the mystery but I'm a bit chagrinned to admit that I was 2/3 of the way through this story before I realized what you must've been doing that caused your roommate to laugh. That's why I too have embraced the use of the handyman for anything involving a saw.
Yeah, you likely sniffed that out around the time I kept repeating: "And again... And again..." These days, I always take a gut check whenever I even *think* about picking up a tool...
"I’m finally beginning to learn that the Cosmos shall smile upon us if we play to our strengths. Mine happen to be writing for (1) pleasure and self discovery and (2) gawd forbid, make a couple of bucks."
Well, Larry, I think you somehow forgot (3): Making more than a couple of friends along the way.
I enjoyed this one, and I’m glad that I cannot lift doors, otherwise…
Thank you, Kathy. As a trained engineer, you're probably pretty good with DIY stuff, or you pick up those skills pretty easily, yes?
Truth be told, while I don't write with my entire body, I occasionally type – but only consonants – with my elbows. (Doing that every other Wednesday, exactly at 2:30pm, somehow manages to STOP the voices. That and Lithium...)
Seriously, thanks again for your support.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to pouring my new foundation.
Oh so funny yet painful. Then the saw rubs salt in the wound attacking your shin.
You had everything right except one minuscule detail!
I’m always having to work on my house. I’ll remember this.
Amazes me how much energy your essays have. It’s like you write with your whole body. Like how an athlete uses their whole body to make a play or a shot. Somehow you do it with words. It’s quite something.
Some mornings, the universe hands you a door, a saw, and absolutely no instructions, then stands in the hallway giggling.
You kneel down anyway. You measure the wrong edge with great sincerity. You turn perfectly good protractors into archaeological fragments. Somewhere, an angel of hardware stores writes this all down in a tiny spiral notebook and underlines it twice.
And yet: the carpet is softer. The room is still full of light. You walk out with a bruised shin, a story that sparkles, and a brand‑new understanding of where your limits stop and your laughter begins.
There are people who can fix doors.
There are people who can fix days.
You are obviously the second kind.
Thanks, Matthew.
I agree completely with Rick. Your thoughts encapsulate this piece with eloquent depth and lyrical brilliance. It allows me to dive more deeply into its underlying perspective, and I appreciate that.
By the way, I'm pondering an essay about an important decision: whether or not to go on a certain podcast. (That decision seems to be fleshing out more than I realized.) More to be revealed.
Thanks again.
What a poetic and lovely comment Matthew.
Wow, great piece but no, you cannot borrow the hammer…
Thanks, Craig.
Today's algebra: "LU + hammer = mayhem."
Laugh out loud good, but that your roommate didn't actually share what he "saw" you doing is baffling. Either he was just an asshole or you'd pulled so many pranks on him that he was eager to watch you fall for one of your own.
Thanks, Rick. I don't recall pulling any pranks on my roommate Joe, but I think his devious side "saw" an opportunity to let me figure out what was going on without his help. Perhaps the overriding lesson in this tale of woe "hinged" on my own self discovery.
Or did he already know that self discovery is something you adoor?
Ha!
That’s PAINFUL. And I love it!
Larry, hilarious! I didn’t see the TOP of the door coming. I was loving the details of Farrah Fawcett (had the same poster) the dandruff, and the mailman. Those details, not too many, just enough and the right ones are part of the signature of your fun fill stories. I laughed so hard I only wish it hadn’t taken me so long to get back to this one!
Thank you, James.
It's really nice of you to go back and check out some of my past Substack silliness.
Truth be told, I gave away too many clues in an earlier version of this story, so folks figured out that I'd been lopping off the top of my door before I actually spilled the beans. My Mr. Fixit "skills" are matched by my digital "skills." To that end, I'm working on an essay about how many years of computer-tech frustration crashed & burned one sunny afternoon. (It wasn't pretty, but it's still fun looking back on it.)
Again, thanks!
Haha. There’s nothing like a big mistake to get it right the next time— if there is a next time!
Nope. Every “next time” eventually leads to some form of wacky mayhem.
Larry, I was ready to scream right along with you. I didn't realize you'd taken down the top part of the door, either! I'm just so glad that today you can find the humor and the lessons in what can often be so painful at the time. But, did you really have a drag-queen mailman living below you?
Thanks, Flori.
Truth be told, I wanted to DESTROY that door.
As for the drag-queen mailman: He was faaaaaaaaabulous!
Larry, as an equally not-handy person, I felt this in my bones. Your story instantly brought to mind Dr. Joel Pearson’s work on mis-intuition and how easily we assume our competence in one domain will translate to a totally new one. Unfortunately, as you showed so hilariously here, it usually doesn’t ◡̈
A great reminder to slow down, breathe, and approach new territory with a little more humility. Loved this piece.
Thank you, Rachel.
Regarding Dr. Joel Pearson's point: If my DIY skills matched, say, my cooking "skills" ... I'd probably still be sawing away on that door. (Note to self: stick to writing!)
I’m right there with you on both counts ◡̈
Nothing in my life has humbled me--and nearly cost me appendages as well as this gift of life--like woodworking and DIY projects. I easily fall into a creative flow--not a particularly skilled or competent creative flow--but a creative flow that encourages me to ignore the most basic applications of common sense and fundamental safety. This was fun, but it makes me think we need a word for sympathetic schadenfreude.
Norm, talk about timing.
Just this morning, I read the hilarious "A Spicy Alternative to Antidepressants," which opens with a reference to your recently lacerated hand. A DIY/woodworking mishap?
A good friend, who happens to be a world-class guitarist (he'd blow you away...) is also blessed with the knowledge of a general contractor; he can do *anything*. I occasionally picture him, with fingers trained to create extraordinary 12-string tunes, using power tools. Man, I hope *he* never gets into a "creative flow."
Finally: In one episode of "Malcolm in the Middle," one of the boys gets a job at a fish-packing plant. The name the old-timers give this new hire: "Ten Fingers..."
The lacerated hand will snap into focus when you get to The Avocado of Doom.
I also play guitar (poorly). More of a noodler than a player, but it's a form of meditation that has probably saved the lives of many people in my immediate vicinity. Whenever I hurt my hands, that's my first thought--Will I be able to play guitar? I'm jealous there's a man out there who can strum a guitar and whittle a canoe. Some guys have it all.
Ten Fingers is hilarious. Since I know you're a basketball guy, wait until you get to The Finger...
OH! "The Finger" was painful!
And I can picture you and your fellow young a-hole friends (1) bickering over who's gonna pick up the finger, then (2) farting around in that liquor store while your poor buddy is going into shock.
BTW, back in the day I was 6'4" 180 pounds. My brother has an old Super-8 video of me going up and actually touching ... the net. (Translated: I couldn't jump.)
Somewhat related, a friend of mind read you recently and sent me this text:
"Positive Pessimist Larry. Blood type: A-"
Pretty good. :)
Yup, that goofy About page ain't your normal fare... :>)
Great storytelling, Larry. I definitely got drawn into the mystery but I'm a bit chagrinned to admit that I was 2/3 of the way through this story before I realized what you must've been doing that caused your roommate to laugh. That's why I too have embraced the use of the handyman for anything involving a saw.
Thanks, Chris.
Yeah, you likely sniffed that out around the time I kept repeating: "And again... And again..." These days, I always take a gut check whenever I even *think* about picking up a tool...
…when life gives you topless doors, flip them over and join them in going bottomless…and this has been your daily musing from the mimosa glass…
You had me at “topless.” 😎
"I’m finally beginning to learn that the Cosmos shall smile upon us if we play to our strengths. Mine happen to be writing for (1) pleasure and self discovery and (2) gawd forbid, make a couple of bucks."
Well, Larry, I think you somehow forgot (3): Making more than a couple of friends along the way.
I enjoyed this one, and I’m glad that I cannot lift doors, otherwise…
That is soooo true. Thank you for the reality check. (Gotta fine tune my vision to see more gifts…)
Thank you Brigitte.
I only *wish* I couldn’t lift doors … or, for that matter, tools!
Amen and Awomen
Yes! As one who almost always needs to call the handyman... I totally relate. Fun story.
Thanks, Genie.
We all have our strengths and our shortcomings. The key is to be okay with the stuff we're less able to do and emphasize what we do well.
Thank you, Kathy. As a trained engineer, you're probably pretty good with DIY stuff, or you pick up those skills pretty easily, yes?
Truth be told, while I don't write with my entire body, I occasionally type – but only consonants – with my elbows. (Doing that every other Wednesday, exactly at 2:30pm, somehow manages to STOP the voices. That and Lithium...)
Seriously, thanks again for your support.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to pouring my new foundation.
What can go wrong ... right??
Oh so funny yet painful. Then the saw rubs salt in the wound attacking your shin.
You had everything right except one minuscule detail!
I’m always having to work on my house. I’ll remember this.
Amazes me how much energy your essays have. It’s like you write with your whole body. Like how an athlete uses their whole body to make a play or a shot. Somehow you do it with words. It’s quite something.