As my descendants will proudly tell you, I can be a bit slow on the uptake. But now I found the “I Can’t Do Any of This” channel on cable television, and it opened my eyes.
It’s like shopping in an army surplus store. Lots of fun just cruising around, trying to figure out what this little thing does. A lesson in belittlement?
Faugh! I say.
No, for the up-to-date old cowboy and columnist, it’s simply a challenge. I always try to figure out what the little gizmo does before throwing myself on the mercy of that young girl at the cash register.
It’s much the same with the “No Can Do” channel. I’ll turn it on in the morning while ingesting coffee, and they’ll tell me, “Don’t throw away that old fan until you’ve filled it with cement.”
Then out comes some 12-year-old kid they found in the jungles of Laos or somewhere and he gets right to work, mixing up stuff that will set and look like a real goal in about half an hour.
I’m only left in the lurch for the first 29 minutes, however, as I watch him put the finishing touches on a flower pot/lamp stand/mirror prop/dog feeding bowl/heavy jar in which to someday store your ashes.
But again, if it were that simple to figure out, why bother? Hey, who of us can be certain that we won’t find ourselves alone in the jungles of Laos with no way to survive the plane crash except for the concrete and the broken fan?
That’s why we were made superior to other mammals. At least that’s what I tell myself and my dog Minnie before starting the day’s work.
Brought to you by my books, none of which deal with broken fans or concrete.