Faulty Intelligence

Today I screwed up a home improvement project. It's not a disaster; the big, jagged hole in the bathroom ceiling can be patched and, with a little work, no one will ever be aware of my battles to remove the original vent fan. How did I get myself in this predicament? I proceeded on false assumptions and inadequate investigation. I didn't assume that the fan extraction would be easy; I just assumed it would be possible, without creating a big, jagged hole in the ceiling.

I knew I was going to have to call on my old spelunking skills for multiple crawls and wriggles through the tight ranch-house attic, dragging crawl boards over the insulation. I was ready for that. And I have even installed a ventilation fan before, a project that included cutting an exhaust-duct hole through the exterior wall of the house. I had the tools, I had a plan. I had a timeline. On my timeline, I was at the point where I removed the old fan, expanded the dimensions of the existing opening in the ceiling, and installed the new fan, before priming the ceiling and then applying texture. I had even removed the old electric motor from the fan housing without incident.

So, imagine me -- a portly 57-year-old man in knee-pads, arriving at the fan location after much grunting, wheezing through a particle mask with sweat running down my glasses, dragging a bag of tools and a flashlight over the cellulose -- digged out the insulation around the fan to discover that the fan housing is attached, firmly attached, to thick metal supports that entend under the joists and over the ceiling. This is what I had failed to anticipate: The fan had been original equipment in the house, installed before the ceiling drywall. Can the housing be detached from the supports? Several minutes of grunting and straining with inadequate leverage tell me it can't, and that any attempt to do so expands the hole in the ceiling. Chunks of drywall are breaking off and thudding to the new ceramic tile floor below. (Excuse the uncouth transition from past tense to present)

Eventually, I resign myself to the obvious: I'm going to be forced to intentionally expand the hole, clear out to the joists on either side -- actually, to the outside of each joist so that a new rectangle of drywall can be screwed onto the joists, taped and mudded. The timeline is out the window. All I can do is retreat from the attic, with more grunting and wheezing, and shift my project in reverse.

And what is running through my mind, as I drag my crawlboards and toolbag ahead of me? George W. Bush and Condi Rice, of course. I may not be able to complete a bathroom remodel without a mishap, but I could not possibly have screwed up like those clowns. The average American has very little reason to be well-informed about ceiling fans, construction standards of the mid-'60s, security reports of the intelligence community, or the social/political/religious complexities of Iraq.

Now, most average Americans who know nothing about ceiling fans and mid-'60s ranch-house construction would have the sense -- unlike me -- to call in an expert. A remodeling contractor would have that job done in no time. There a bunches of them in the yellow pages. And if it turns out that the "expert" you contacted is incompetent -- much like yourself -- you can require that it be done right, or that they tear up the bill. If the plumber snakes your drain and fails to open it, there's no charge.

So, that's why I was thinking about Condi Rice after 9/11, the chief scrutity advisor of the President of the United States, saying that no one could imagine terrorists hijacking airplanes and flying them into buildings. Which is to say -- the country's top "expert" on such matters expressing ignorance of a terror scenario discussed frequently and seriously by the intelligence/security community for years, the subject of top-level reports.

That's why I was thinking about George W Bush invading Iraq while not knowing the difference between Shi'ites and Sunnis, and appreciating that the differences might be a problem. Not understanding that the probable outcome would be bloody, unmanageable chaos. Gotta have that oil. Gotta have those bases. Gotta be tough.

Yes, strange as it seems, that is what I was thinking as I wriggled back toward the attic access, preparing myself to face the rather mundane consequences of my domestic screw up. Trying to make myself feel better; rationalizing my failure. "I would never have screwed up that bad, in a situation with real, serious consequences, because I would never have invaded Iraq in the first place," I thought. Of course, the immediate problem was that I know more about Iraq than I know about ceiling fans. And, unfortunately, my immediate task involved a ceiling fan. Average folks have to deal with the big, jagged holes they create.

Why the top security advisor does not know about security -- and after that failure gets a promotion -- and why the "decider" is ignorant about what he is deciding, and compounds the disaster with more bad decisions? THEY have to answer for that.

Don't they?