The inmates were running the asylum . . .

. . . and when they grew tired of covering every surface with carpet, they removed and replaced every decent doorknob. And left us something worse than no doorknobs. Look at this:

Liz affirms my frustration that these photos make the knobs that blemish our doors look acceptable. We fear the eyes will begin to roll at my exaggerations. Suspicion will grow that we are effete doorknob-snob elitists, and there's nothing a real American would find objectionable about these ordinary late 20th century doorknobs.

Au contraire.

They're made of stiff polished tinfoil in Malaysian sweatshops by malnourished tweens harboring a caustic loathing for Americans that they satiate by creating the most painful, nonfunctioning, awkward doorknobs known to science.

e.g.: parts of them move independently when you turn them! This violates a basic, fundamental principle of doorknob design. Turning the knobs must always result in releasing the latch mechanism. Isn't that the point of a doorknob? Not for these ones. Go ahead, they encourage, keep turning the knob. We can do this all day if you like.

or: the one in the bathroom. Slippery and small to begin with, before the steam. But not content with mere frustration, this knob aims higher: human blood must be shed! Sharp scalloped edges! Unexpected spring action!

Enough!

So we've been hunting for knobs.

We had to guess what sort this house was originally graced with. I grew up in an old farmhouse from the same period, and there we opened doors with an eclectic mix of white, black, or solid brown ceramic, Benningtons, and ornate cast bronze beauties. Our catch for the Puddinghouse has been just as eclectic, but included quite a few faceted glass knobs, and no nice bronzes.

Next post: Doors with Real Knobs!