Doin' It For Myself!

Yesterday John introduced me to a really fascinating site called Instructables. This is a place where users can submit step-by-step instructions on how to create all manner of do-it-yourself projects, from the practical (ice-box air conditioners; recipes) to the creative (wall art; jewelry) to the downright bizarre (square watermelons; stripper poles). It's really a great resource, with a trove of knowledge for people like me.

Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "But Donn! You're gay, artistic, and resourceful. Surely you must be adept and handy at do-it-yourself projects!" Well, you're wrong. I don't have the patience nor the leaps of imagination required by these sorts of tasks. I can look at words on a page, or letters on a keyboard, and see entire worlds just waiting to be explored. But when I look at a two-by-four and a roll of cheesecloth, I see a two-by-four and a roll of cheesecloth. There are limits to my creative prowess.

I am less Bob Vila and more Mary Bellows. Who is Mary Bellows, you ask? Back in the 70s, Mary Bellows hosted a do-it-yourself home improvement show on Canadian public television. The show was called, appropriately, "Do It For Yourself". However, Mary couldn't do anything for herself. She was completely inept, a total dunce with a bowl-cut and bellbottoms, and all of her projects were fantastic failures. The show was meant to be serious; instead, it was high comedy. I remember clearly one episode where Mary undertook the chore of installing a new toilet in the basement bathroom. Try as she might, she just could not get the bottom of the toilet to lay flat against the floor; the blasted crapper refused to budge from its strange sloping angle. It was stuck in such a way that should anyone ever attempt to use it, they would slip right off the seat like it was a porcelain slide. At a loss as to how to proceed, Mary looked frantically around the cluttered basement...and spotted an old bicycle in the corner. She then turned to the camera and said, "I know! I'll put the BIKE on it!" She fetched the rusty old bike and hoisted it atop the toilet, with the noble thought that the bicycle would apply enough pressure to get the loo to sit flush against the floor. Throughout this farce (and in many other episodes as well), Mary's dog, Zeke, who was her co-host on the show and infinitely more intelligent than she, was darting around the room, in and out of the frame. Occasionally she'd interrupt her masterpiece, reach into her groovy white apron, and toss a dog biscuit across the studio. "Go get the doggie cookie, Zeke!" she'd shout. "Go get the doggie cookie!" Poor Zeke.

I have tried to find a clip of this show, or even a picture of Mary, to share with you, but there's next to nothing online about her. Perhaps she is now a dramatic recluse holed up in some Canadian mansion: the Greta Garbo of Winnipeg. However, I did track this down, and sadly, it's the best I can do. It's a picture of the "Do It For Yourself" book she wrote. I'm more than a little amazed she knew how to work a pencil or maybe even -- more impressively -- a typewriter.

But that is precisely what's so nifty about us sentient creatures. In times that require us to be resourceful, we can be resourceful. Perhaps I was too quick to count myself out of the do-it-yourself world; perhaps I CAN offer some hands-on practical advice for taking back your power and building some shit.

Yes. Yes, I can! Mary Bellows taught me that.

So I searched through my vise-grip memory for something, anything, that I crafted myself in recent years. And lo and behold, the answer was right before me. Literally. I made my desk myself!

Without further ado, here are my step-by-step, do-it-yourself instructions for

How to Build a Crackhouse Desk

1. The first thing you need to do is go to your local dairy and get some milk crates. Being vegan, I would never normally suggest you patronize your local dairy, but since this is in the spirit of recycling, I figure it all balances out. You will need four crates total, all the same size so they are easily stackable. You can buy cheap plastic crates at your neighborhood box-store, but these tend to be flimsy and unreliable. The dairy crates are quite strong.

2. Take your milk crates home and scrub the hell out of them, removing all traces of milk, pus, hormones, and udder crusties. After drying out the crates, turn one of them onto its side and measure the length from front to back (the open end to the bottom); add an inch or two for good measure. While you're busy doing this, you may want to let your cats sit in the other crates. Cats seem to enjoy this. At least for a few minutes -- until they find something more entertaining, like a wad of paper, a dust bunny, or licking their naughties.

3. Next you will need to figure out the right length for your desk. Mine is about five feet long and two feet wide (the two feet being the length of the milk crates plus an inch or two). To determine this, deduce where the desk will be placed and how much space you will need both on top of the desk and underneath for your legs. Record your measurements.

4. Once you have this information, it's time to go to The Lesbian Capital of the World, otherwise known as Home Depot. There is a shady area in the back of every Home Depot where you can find "remainder" boards for remarkably low prices (five bucks or so). These are pieces of lumber of varying size, shape, and thickness, that for whatever reason, Home Depot has deemed unfit for sale to people who have money. But these social outcasts of the elite lumber community are perfect for broke-ass bitches like me. You just want to be selective and look carefully at every one. Don't choose one with deep splits or cracks; this board has to be strong enough to hold a computer monitor, keyboard, and an obese cat. Discolored boards are fine. Also, of course, you want to select a board that is at least somewhat close to the measurements you require. It doesn't have to be precise, but it should be in the ballpark. For example, don't buy a moldy wooden rod expecting it to be sturdy enough to support your office wares.

5. Now is the fun part. It's time to visit The Frugal Gay Male Capital of the World, otherwise known as Target. Once you've purchased your Icee from the snack bar and retrieved your red plastic cart, go to the Home section and marvel at the wide array of tablecloths, runners, throws, and tapestries. You will be using this to cover the wood, so don't buy some ass-ugly embarrassment. When selecting, it's wise to keep in mind the approximate length and width of the board you've just purchased from Lesbianville. Also, you probably don't want to choose a covering material that's too soft or fluffy. The pen will stab right through the paper on which you're trying to write. Trust me on this.

6. We're almost done! Now that you're full of Icee goodness and you have your desktop cover, just place the crates on their sides, and stack one on top of the other, creating a two-crate pedestal. Repeat the process with remaining crates. (Be sure to dump the cats out first, should they have rekindled their attraction to the crates.) Put the crates where you want either end of your crackhouse desk to be, with the open sides of the crates facing outward. You can use this space to store various sundries, office supplies, books, painkillers, or chocolate. Then place the retard board lengthwise on top of the crates, readjusting both the board and the crates as needed to ensure maximum sturdiness and support at both ends. This may be a good time to test out the strength. Grab the obese cat and place her atop the desk. If she doesn't fall through, you're good to proceed.

7. Finally, fit your covering over the top of the desk. This will more than likely require some folding, draping, or, if you're particularly adventurous, cutting. I don't recommend this, since scissors frighten me. After the cover is comfortably in place, arrange your stuff on the desk just how you like it. If you require a firm writing surface, consider buying a rectangle of Plexi-glass or, if you're particularly wealthy, a beveled piece of glass. This is also an aesthetically-pleasing way to display pictures, photos, or notes, by slipping them beneath the glass. I have a nudie man calendar under mine. Lastly, push your chair in and admire your handiwork. Just seven easy steps, a few dollars spent, and voilà! A crackhouse desk!


As much fun as this has been, I really need to go now. I know that as soon as Canadian public television reads this post, I will be getting a phone call.

Hopefully Zeke is still with us. I'm going to need a sidekick.