Martha, move over for Martin

A few years back I suggested in a column that there ought to be a male counterpart to Martha Stewart.

I opined, for purposes of gender equity, that men might benefit from the wisdom of a tall, blond handyman god capable of doing everything better than any mortal male could hope to accomplish. He would be a square-jawed fussbudget with a talent for making men obsess about all they had yet to accomplish around the house. I called him Martin Stewart, which I thought evoked the right image for this master of the manse who could domesticate the average Joe and guide him to creative heights around the house he never dreamed he could attain – or cared to.

OK, so it was a joke. But now, I’m not so sure. From what I’ve read lately, I think there might actually be a place for a guy like Martin Stewart. Since the real Martha Stewart is expected to go to jail for a while, said a story in the Baltimore Sun, an “elite stable of lifestyle celebrities” is jockeying for position in a race to take her place. But could there ever be another Martha, the experts asked, someone who could adequately step in and fill the Martha Stewart vacuum while she does time?

Yes, and I’d like it to be me, or my alter ego Martin. Whoever said domestic perfection was an entirely feminine ideal? I have none of Martha’s extraordinary skills in this area, of course, and organizing things around the house in charming groupings has never been my strong suit. But I could learn. After all, Martha wasn’t born knowing how to whip up an elegant gourmet dinner for 12 in less than an hour.

For inspiration, I browsed the April edition of “Martha Stewart Living” magazine but found little material for Martin to work with. The article on decorating Easter eggs with origami paper went right over my head, as did the piece on turning “humble paper bags into party-perfect decorations.” Her back page article, titled “Chintzes I’ve Known,” opens with the line, “My introduction to chintz, the fabric, was complicated.” I am sure it was, which is why I, as Martin, would never consider writing an entire helpful-hint article about chintz for my male readers. I’m not even sure I knew that chintz was a fabric, let alone a complicated one.

Martin would keep things simple around the house. Instead of devoting page after glossy page to the intricacies of a proper spring-cleaning, Martin would urge his readers to eliminate the tedium by renting a Dumpster, setting it outside the front door, shoveling into it every household item that isn’t nailed down or plugged in and then starting fresh. He could instruct readers about carving old car tires into whimsical lawn ornaments that add curb appeal on the cheap, about the unexplored potential of duct tape and how to resurface worn roof shingles with the gravel deposited on one’s property through the winter by public works trucks.

As for food, Martin would advise that absolutely everything be grilled outdoors, no matter what meal you’re making or what the weather. He’d suggest applying liberal amounts of hot sauce, sour cream and cheese to every dish as a tasty way of hiding culinary blunders. Your family might not consider this a good thing, but they will get used to it. Mine did. And if not, you can always order out for pizza.

In either case, under Martin’s practical tutelage, you will avoid the tyranny of having to wash pots and pans, which gives you more time to watch sports on TV in a room devoid of anything even remotely resembling chintz, the fabric.