Posted on: Monday, November 8, 2004

ABOUT MEN

By Michael Tsai
Advertiser Staff Writer

When the drain in my bathtub clogged like one of Dick Cheney's arteries last month, do you think I called a plumber?

Not on your life!

I'm a man. I have a plunger. I bring home enough bacon to afford a bottle of Drano Professional Strength Foaming Liquid.

D.I.Y., baby!

When that same pipe was still plugged two weeks later, bath water draining by the trickle, do you think I gave up?

Uh-uh, no sir! I was undeterred, unbroken, unapologetic — positively Bush-like.

I was D.I.M. (Doing It Myself).

And when, another week later, the hand spinner I borrowed not only failed to penetrate the blockage but also deposited a layer of powdery rust atop the soapy water, well, what do you think happened then?

Right, nothing.

Nothing until I stood up disgustedly, banged my foot against the shower/bath switch and heard the enormous sucking sound of backed-up water rushing down a perfectly good drain.

Seems the drain had been stuck on the bath setting for three weeks. Tee-hee.

Had I half a clue, I'd have realized the problem the moment the water didn't drain.

Had I a fourth of a clue and a lot less pride, I would have called a plumber, he would have instantly recognized the problem, and I would have paid him $100 for not laughing in front of me. But at least I would have been able to take a shower without soap scum on my shins.

Such is life when you're a D.T.I. (Don't Touch It!) kind of guy living in a D.I.Y. kind of world.

I suppose you can thank HGTV, the D.I.Y. network and all those other broadcasters of nefariously addictive hearth-and-home programming for turning us into a nation of born-again do-it-yourselfers.

If not for the admirable diversity of lifestyles represented in these shows, I'd almost suspect they were all part of a grand neo-con plot to narcotize us back to a sort of 1950s domesticity.

Instead, I suspect that, similar to author Stephen Ducat's recent comments about the appeal of "working-class, hyper-masculinity" to the socioeconomic class of men who live and work in cushier circles, being a do-it-yourself hero in your own home carries with it a sort of manly validation. Like, if you can replace your own toilet chain, you can't be a total wimp, right?

Well, I've had it. The D.I.Y. thing just isn't working out for me and I have the trail of disasters to prove it.

I spent a month of weekends nailing together a shed that I wouldn't even store a bucket in for all the leaks it has. My TV stand is a constant reminder that it really does matter what grade of sandpaper you use. And I'm still traumatized from the time my buddy and I tried to "fix" my motorcycle.

D.I.Y.? Save it for punk rock and cable access programming.

I say, D.I.F.M! (Do It For Me!)

Reach Michael Tsai at mtsai@honoluluadvertiser.com or 535-2461.