tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87029929120650407512024-03-12T22:56:45.441-04:00Skiving OffJeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.comBlogger161125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-2910129475109108192019-11-27T09:30:00.000-05:002019-11-27T10:25:00.203-05:00Love Story What can you say about a 12 ½ year old yellow lab that died?<br />
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That he was beautiful. And Brilliant. That he loved his Frisbee and Pork Loins. And snuggling. And me. Once when he specifically lumped me with those other items, I asked him what the order was, and he replied, smiling, “Alphabetical.” At the time I smiled too. But now I sit and wonder whether he was listing me by my first name - in which case I would trail Frisbee – or by my last name, in which case I would edge in there between Pork Loins and Snuggling. Either way I don’t come first, which for some stupid reason bothers hell out me, having grown up with the notion that I always had to be number one.<br />
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(The above is stolen from Erich Segal and adjusted to reflect my “Love Story”)<br />
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On Tuesday, November 26, 2019, I let Peyton go. The good news is that we didn’t wait too long. There was no undo suffering required of him in order to placate my inevitable heart break. For the last two years the arthritis in his right hip has prevented our running Manning/Wayne frisbee football routes in the backyard. However, even losing his favorite athletic hobby never diminished the smile on his face. There is no exaggeration… Peyton Skiver was the smilingest dog that has ever been. He wore his joy on his face, and his life was one of pure happiness. He was born beautiful, and he was an industrial sized magnet that pulled people to him to dote on his sweet nature and touch his silky, soft fur. Even people who were not dog lovers found they were unable to resist their attraction to Peyton.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(The first picture of Peyton upon arriving home on his first day)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Peyton recreating his epic first photo shoot)</td></tr>
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As a puppy Peyton was something of a media darling when I wrote about him and his predecessor (Simon) in the April 2008 issue of Popular Woodworking. That article expressed my doubt that Peyton could ever replace the love and loss of Simon, and as recently as last year I still receive email from strangers telling me how that article impacted them and reminded them of their lost partners. As the readers of my woodworking blog witnessed Peyton grow through his puppy time, it soon became obvious that he not only healed my pain over losing Simon, but Peyton raised the bar on what love and devotion for a canine child could be. And trust me… that bar was already amazing high before this beautiful boy came along.<br />
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In April of this year, it became too difficult for me to carry 100 squirming pounds of Peyton up and down the 16 stairs to the second floor morning and night, and we set up camp on the main floor. For 7 ½ months every night at Stately Wayne Manor has been spent with Gail and me sleeping on the floor on an air mattress with him on a twin mattress pressed next to us. Occasionally, I would roll off the inflated slab and spoon with him on the twin mattress. Either way, he and I were always together.<br />
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As the old saying goes, “Friend are Friends, and Pals are Pals, but Buddies sleep together.” During these “bonus days” since April, Peyton continued to be his normal happy self. He ate; he slept; he pooped; he snuggled; and he always SMILED.<br />
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A few weeks ago we found that his arthritic leg had a growth that was not like the normal fibroids that one finds on old labs, and the vet confirmed that he had bone cancer. We knew the bonus days were drawing to a close. He still ate, slept, pooped, and smiled; and we decided to take it day by day. Then, on Saturday, November 23rd, rather suddenly Peyton stopped smiling and even ignored his food.<br />
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So, on Sunday morning I told him that I was going to let him go. As if acknowledging his agreement to move on from this version of his time on Earth, he SMILED. He smiled at me and then ate his food, and he spent the next three days in good form lying at my feet and smiling at me.<br />
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On his final day, I fought back tears and asked him once again what was the order of the things he loved, and he repeated, “Alphabetical.” Then he added, “to me you’re not Jeff Skiver. To me, you are Dad. And Dad comes before Frisbee, Pork Loin, and Snuggling. Dad is the center of my world.”<br />
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My face was the last thing Peyton saw as he closed his eyes on Tuesday, but he and I both knew the separation will only be temporary. Just as Simon came back to me as Peyton, I know that Peyton will return to me. In a few months we will go pick out Nico Schumacher Skiver, and though he will look different, my boy will return to me. He will likely be a media darling on Instagram, and even non-dog people will dote on him. However, his focus will be on me as opposed to how many social media followers he has. And the next cycle of this Dog-Dad love story will renew, once again proving that true love never ends, even when separation or death comes between two souls who are joined.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our way home the day we got him, stopping at the store to buy a tiny collar, tiny kennel, and a treat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Judging from the Blackberry this was home from Brazil during the days at Technicolor.<br />
He always wanted to be as close to me as he could get.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ours was always a wet, sloppy kiss kind of love.<br />
(And it went both ways.)</td></tr>
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<br />Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-53879816626197524692015-08-31T05:55:00.000-04:002015-08-31T14:47:49.887-04:00Ya Know You Only Get One<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People are always talking. Make no mistake, though, an effervescing flow of words is not an indication of factual accuracy or any connection to reality. Normally, when someone babbles on about something, spewing inaccurate information gleaned off of Pinterest or a half-remembered Mental Floss blurb, I simply nod my head and smile with my eyes. On the inside, I am clearly laying out reminders that I do NOT want to get involved in a discussion with this misguided scholar. Yet, publicly declared inaccuracies can serve as catalysts for useful thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Saturday I was out in the woods with a group. We were neither a Druid Cult nor mushroom hunters, but we were in the forest. A violet colored butterfly landed on the shoulder of a woman in our group, and the guy next to her transferred it to his index finger. He held out the butterfly to our pack, and we gawked and cooed. The man looked at his little, winged friend hitchhiking on his finger and said, <i>“How’s your day goin’? Ya know you only get one.”</i> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Having not anticipated or planned for this moment, I had not brought anything remotely close to my poker face, and looking back I’m sure my face screwed into a pointed cone of confusion. The man looked around the group, and said, “<i>Isn’t that right? Don’t butterflies only live for one day?”</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the sake of maintaining good group dynamics and with a commitment to achieving the greater good of the day’s group mission, I released the incredulous look on my face. I kept my Google-soaked, Wikipedia-dripping phone in my pocket and looked around as everyone murmured non-committed agreement. I made the decision to resist looking up the truth until after I separated from the group later that evening. Those eight hours of not knowing the pure truth were torture to me, but they opened by eyes and my mind to a better thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later that night I confirmed the truth that nearly all butterflies live at least one week following their exit from the cocoon, and many species of butterflies live for months. I’m glad I didn’t pull out my smart phone to immediately eradicate the group ignorance. I’m glad I allowed myself to consider the possibility that I was wrong. I spent that afternoon and evening pondering the idea that perhaps butterflies really do go through the whole thing just for ONE DAY with the wings. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Left Brain Lesson: apparently there is misinformation among humans about the lifespan of butterflies. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Real Lesson: the lifespan of a winged butterfly is not one day; butterfly lives range from 5 days to 365 days. Similarly, there appears to be zero information among butterflies about their own life spans. Butterflies must not understand death. If butterflies understood death, then one species would spend all 5 of their winged days cursing the fact they weren’t born into the crowd that gets 365 days. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t think that Galapagos tortoises realize they get more than 100 years to hang out here. We humans are the rare breed to be cursed with understanding the cold reality of our finite existence. Yet, we cannot be sure whether our life will be one of 22 years, 68 years, or more than 120 years. Still, we seem to saddle ourselves with trappings that wouldn’t be necessary if we stuck around this place for a thousand years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We humans would make horrible butterflies. After everything we have done to survive our time as an egg, caterpillar, and pupa, when we finally emerge with our wings we seem to develop countless reasons for staying in the safety of our cocoon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think it’s the misinformation about us human butterflies that lead to our self-induced failure. We are led to believe that we always have more time. So, rather than reaching for the brass ring today, we organize our closets. Rather than striking out to capture our dream, we wait until after our degree is complete. Worst of all, we sometimes compare our wings to the wings of different butterfly humans around us and say that perhaps, we were wrong to even think that our dream was meant for us. So, we compromise our dreams.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">T<i>he great philosopher, racing driver, and furniture maker Jeff Skiver once said,<b> “The moment you compromise a dream, it ceases to be one.”</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It doesn’t matter how or why you landed on my page today, but as I look at you here, balanced on my finger and I see your beautiful wings, I have a question for you: <i>”How’s Your Life Goin’? Ya Know You Only Get One.”</i></span>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-56325668362815366722015-02-22T08:29:00.000-05:002015-02-22T08:29:00.949-05:00Patiently Waiting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Racing restarts in America today. Well, a form of racing restarts. To the NASCAR crowd this week is their birthday, Christmas, the Opening of Wild Boar season all rolled together. For me, it's just another day waiting for the return of the one I love.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I suppose I prefer my racing a little more lean and athletic. I prefer my racing more chiseled and German. The great love of my racing life is Formula 1.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To 95% of the world, my distinction is likely lost, but to me the differences between NASCAR and F1 are enough that this afternoon Peyton and I will skip the Daytona 500 and watch old episodes of The Sopranos on the big TV through Amazon Prime Fire Stick. (Peyton prefers Sex in the City, but without thumbs he cannot gain control of the remote.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We furniture makers well understand the concept that details that are significant enough to drive our actions, direct our purchases, and steer our creative art are overlooked by 95% of the world. Still, the choice between the dovetail bit and the saw & chisel can be be very personal. My preference for Formula 1 seems to be rooted as deep in my soul as my preference for a dovetail saw and the feel of my hands on my chisel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have no ill will toward the folks celebrating the return of NASCAR today. I just know that I need both left and right turns. I need the mental strain of the chess match around fuel and tire strategies. I <strike>need</strike> NEED racing in the rain.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ODB_VD8bM-A/VOnUMKy8ScI/AAAAAAAABzw/mh0o-jBuogg/s1600/canadian-grand-prix-rain-soaked-review-11313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ODB_VD8bM-A/VOnUMKy8ScI/AAAAAAAABzw/mh0o-jBuogg/s1600/canadian-grand-prix-rain-soaked-review-11313.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, Peyton and I will wait three more weeks for the start of the F1 Season. And as always, we will be up in the middle of the night as that season kicks off in Australia. In the interest of full disclosure I will admit that HOW Peyton chooses to watch the race with me is not always comfortable.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x88HkROo4BA/VOnWaJf8w6I/AAAAAAAAB0E/RIx35_C_G2Q/s1600/IMG_9915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x88HkROo4BA/VOnWaJf8w6I/AAAAAAAAB0E/RIx35_C_G2Q/s1600/IMG_9915.JPG" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peyton and I will wait three more weeks. We will be up after midnight without hesitation to start another year with our German Silver Arrow. We've waited this long, what is another three weeks. Immer, wir bleiben.</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-717BYK_r_VU/VOnQa1V29dI/AAAAAAAABzM/Q1LJAn_6pFw/s1600/merc-silverarrow_2137243b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-717BYK_r_VU/VOnQa1V29dI/AAAAAAAABzM/Q1LJAn_6pFw/s1600/merc-silverarrow_2137243b.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Postscript: The German Silver Arrow is so beautiful and so photogenic that regardless of its age, it still quickens the pulse and sets off a wave of endorphin that reminds everyone why the credo is: The Best or Nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-46838628569752656312014-04-04T21:11:00.000-04:002014-04-04T21:11:08.984-04:00Cutting Through The Myth of Chris Schwarz<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Back in 2009, Chris Schwarz spent blog space babbling about his striking knife.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.popularwoodworking.com/woodworking-blogs/chris-schwarz-blog/3-things-i-like-about-my-striking-knife" target="_blank">3 Things I Like About My Striking Knife</a></h1>
<a href="http://www.popularwoodworking.com/woodworking-blogs/chris-schwarz-blog/3-things-i-like-about-my-striking-knife" target="_blank"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2009-02-09T13:56:26+00:00"></time></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Suddenly, 5 years later....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cue the Marty Stouffer voice-over discussing "circle of
life" while we watch the video of the wolf eating the baby rabbit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today at the
Lie-Nielsen tool even at PopWood in Cincinnati
I purchased this very striking knife from Chris for $15.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the same one shown above that says
"London"
on one side and "1876" on the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like a 17 year old girl who has been dumped two days after
prom, this little knife is right now sobbing, "Chris Schwarz liked THREE
things about me back in 2009!!!!!!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why was this not
enough to keep us together forever?!?!?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With that said it should also be noted that today Chris also
GAVE me a complete set of turning tools to give to a 14 year old kid/guy I know who is just now
learning the craft.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our cut-throat world has no way to really understand Chris
Schwarz, because Chris is a guy who does not make money the #1 priority in
every decision he makes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chris just won't
milk out the last dollar (or two dollar bill) at the cost of the craft or the
relationship.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Since the moment Chris and I met about 8 years ago, my life has been GENUINELY improved because of Chris Schwarz
and his selfless desire to promote<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>woodworking, craftsmanship, and writing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Thank you, Chris... not just for the deal on the striking knife or the turning tools for Jared, but thanks for everything you've done for me over the last 8 years..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I will cherish this striking knife, and I will take very
good care of it. (Camellia... Jojoba... whatever it takes.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br />Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-73132090321394379982014-02-24T05:52:00.000-05:002014-02-24T09:01:22.978-05:00I Got My Mind On My Chisels And My Chisels On My Mind<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have no problem admitting that I love Chisels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are clearly my favorite woodworking
tools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While some look at simple chisels
and label them as “un-photogenic” compared to complexity of a Stanley 45, I am opposite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The simplicity of the chisel hides an
elegance that outshines everything else on the bench.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chisels are well-rounded athletes, and at
times they are called upon to be large brutes who hog out mortises, and at
other times they are needed for their finesse that can pare away the last wispy
shaving of endgrain to perfect the fit of a dovetail.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week I completed a simple chisel rack to hold my
chisels on the wall behind my bench.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
just a couple pieces of purpleheart to hold two rows of chisels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I showed this picture to my coworker as <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a way to prove that I am once again active in
woodworking.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R4FoD8nIuLc/UwtN-8AHDGI/AAAAAAAABoU/yYyK03YtRI4/s1600/P2245642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R4FoD8nIuLc/UwtN-8AHDGI/AAAAAAAABoU/yYyK03YtRI4/s1600/P2245642.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I expected her to have questions about the chisels, but
instead, she mentioned the color combination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She said she thought I was a Colts fan, and then asked why I had chosen
the Purple wood and Gold screws.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>She
told me of being a girl growing up in Minnesota at a time when both the Vikings and the
Lakers still played there, and both teams wore purple and gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled, and went on to explain that the
purple wood was not dyed but happens to grow that color in South America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(On the inside I thought how wonderful it
would be if there was a tree that had wood the color of Indianapolis Colts
Blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmmmmm….)</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9lq0mO1qZ1Q/UwtOhxYwYEI/AAAAAAAABos/5S3fCXCARAs/s1600/P2245643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9lq0mO1qZ1Q/UwtOhxYwYEI/AAAAAAAABos/5S3fCXCARAs/s1600/P2245643.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only shocking part about the chisel rack I made last
week is that it is too small to hold my entire collection of chisels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has room for eight feet of side-by-side
chisels, yet I still have others that stay boxed up and sitting on
shelves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t apologize for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just truly LOVE chisels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always will.</span></div>
Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-82712843516823841192011-07-19T15:52:00.000-04:002011-07-19T15:52:48.879-04:00Remembering Roselle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3YPwIHy2Fuo/TiXdij-PdhI/AAAAAAAABf0/G6DgTKAXlA0/s1600/roselle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3YPwIHy2Fuo/TiXdij-PdhI/AAAAAAAABf0/G6DgTKAXlA0/s320/roselle.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I just received word of the passing of Roselle, the Yellow Lab Guide Dog who led Michael Hingson out of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Roselle was an alumna of <a href="http://www.guidedogs.com/">Guide Dogs for the Blind</a>. (www.guidedogs.com)</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I first made a donation to Guide Dogs for the Blind in 2007, when I lost my dog Simon. I needed to do something to ensure Simon's name was remembered, and I thought perhaps a donation to GDB in his name would send his spirit on. Little did I know that a year later I would be able to secure an entire page in a national magazine to tell my story of how much I loved that goofy dog (Popular Woodworking, April 2008). </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But my acquaintance with Guide Dogs for the Blind has continued, and today I received my my monthly GDB eNewsletter ("Chew On This!") and it told of the loss of Roselle on June 26th.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Roselle's story is told here: <a href="http://gdb-reflections.blogspot.com/2011/06/saying-goodbye-to-hero.html"><i><b>Saying “Goodbye” to a Hero</b></i></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I cannot add anything to what Michael Hingson wrote. It is a touching memory he shares, "She kissed firefighters in the World Trade Center as we descended the stairs, a memory that moves me to this day. She inspired us all and will continue to do so."</div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-9068519381110233032011-06-21T15:23:00.001-04:002011-06-22T06:26:20.284-04:00Nights Are Forever Without You<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Last weekend I noticed that one of my favorite bands, America, was performing at a casino here in Central Indiana. Ultimately, I decided to not make the trip to see them because I worried the Doo Doo Naa Naa harmonies might not be the same as they were in the studio 40 years ago, and I also thought that a 2 man America may fall short of the harmonies recorded by the original 3 man band.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then, today it hit me, that if Journey can grab a Philippino guy in place of Steve Perry, then perhaps America is ok putting the audience on the power play while they play shorthanded without Dan Peek who took the self-imposed Match Misconduct penalty back in 1977. That is especially true considering at least one of their hits (You Can Do Magic) came in their post-Peek period.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I suppose for every band like The Beatles that can call it quits and stay apart, the almighty dollar can manage to pull together others like Journey and INXS who will attempt to bust it out without the one guy that people really want to hear. Nevertheless, that same dollar is calling to me, so today I left a voicemail on the answering machine of John Ford Coley and asked if he wanted to get together and hit the State Fair circuit with me this summer.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I can honestly say that John Ford Coley and I have NOT spoken in the time since "England" Dan Seals passed away, but perhaps it is time for us to give America (the nation.... not the band) what it really wants:</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A revival of the hottest adult contemporary sound of the mid to late 70's.... </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">England Dan & John Ford Coley featuring Little Jeffy Skiver</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gWlII52Hpws/TgDsLHTdhXI/AAAAAAAABfw/5FtXUKTAZcQ/s1600/album+ED+JFC+LJS+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gWlII52Hpws/TgDsLHTdhXI/AAAAAAAABfw/5FtXUKTAZcQ/s320/album+ED+JFC+LJS+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After Michael Jackson and Donnie Osmond dominated the early Seventies, there was an awful void of Micro-sized front men that went unfilled until the arrival of me: Little Jeffy Skiver. However, when Dan and John added me to the group, it all came together, even if it did look a little weird. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I still remember going on the Mike Douglas Show and addressing the hard questions of how a 6 year old kid could have enough life experience to sing along with Dan Seals and John Colley.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">However, it only takes one look at that picture above to realize that the baby blues on that apparent "little kid" hide a lifetime of pain. Beneath that silk shirt and orange leisure suit was the broken heart of a young man who knew all too well what it was like to "Really Want To See Someone Tonight", but would instead have to endure a "Night that was Forever Without Her", because "She Belonged to Another When the Right One Came Along." Nevertheless, the sly smile also shows that Little Jeffy Skiver was one who held onto hope. He realized that since "Love Was The Answer", perhaps there would come a time when "They'd Never have to Say Goodbye Again."</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, it may be about 30 years since we split, but I still love "us"... the way we were... when we were together.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, John Colley, hit me up, Brother. Maybe it's time for us to kick it up old school and give America (again, the nation... not the band) the $12 per seat concert series it wants:</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">England Dan & John Ford Coley featuring Little Jeffy Skiver on the Dan Seals Memorial, Last Hurrah Concert Series. </div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-39009652830198591002011-04-05T11:09:00.000-04:002011-04-05T11:09:03.982-04:00My Galoot Card Has Expired<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My friend <a href="http://greystonegreen.blogspot.com/">Ethan</a> hit me up this morning to see if I had purchased another Panther Saw recently, and it got me thinking about the woeful state of my tool collecting. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm not sure if the <a href="http://jeffskiver.blogspot.com/2011/02/between-storage-wars-and-american.html">Panther Saw I mentioned in February</a> ever got relisted on Ebay. There have been a couple of others on Ebay in the last few weeks. One was in a similarly rough condition like the February sample, and the other was a very, very nice one. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sadly, my tool purchasing is in hibernation at the moment. What have I been reduced to? Wisner Planes and Panther Saws are showing up on Ebay without a single bid from me. Full wooden boxed sets of Campagnolo tools are whizzing past without my ever raising a finger or screaming out a Dave Hester "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!" to piss on the tree and mark my spot in the bidding frenzy. I haven't even stopped into any antique stores to scour the corners for heavy, steel farm wrenches presented in large, flip-top jewelry boxes.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.supertool.com/forsale/aprlist2011.htm">Patrick Leach's email </a>arrived this week, and I didn't even want to open it. I sat there wondering what I would do if I saw something I had to have yet had no liquid cash available for its purchase. My mind raced to thoughts of emailing Patrick and asking about a tax season layaway plan.... Then, I finally just sucked it up and decided I was man enough to scan the tool list in a pure window shopping mode. Reading Patrick's email I now know what it's like for Wayne Gretzky to sit in the crowd and watch a hockey game. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ultimately, I decided that, at the very least, I am still the Commander McBragg of Tool Collecting.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-doFxK6L4Vkw/TZstTO0JXfI/AAAAAAAABfc/ENIdc5QHHtk/s1600/COMMANDER+McBRAGG+YELLOW+BKGD+300+DPI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-doFxK6L4Vkw/TZstTO0JXfI/AAAAAAAABfc/ENIdc5QHHtk/s320/COMMANDER+McBRAGG+YELLOW+BKGD+300+DPI.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, Ethan, did I ever tell you about the time I purchased all of the Mason's Tools used to build the Great Pyramid at Giza.............</div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-87647203861227397212011-03-25T10:53:00.000-04:002011-03-25T10:53:55.901-04:00Recommending Ronnie Lott<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I jumped onto LinkedIn today to track down someone's email address when I happened to see something interesting there in the People You May Know area... Ronnie Lott.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-MgwkIZclw5A/TYypc1gohlI/AAAAAAAABfA/J4P9__EkcNw/s1600/PeopleYouMayKnow4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-MgwkIZclw5A/TYypc1gohlI/AAAAAAAABfA/J4P9__EkcNw/s400/PeopleYouMayKnow4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It appears I am now connected within one or two people of much of the NFL. Who knew? (It's probably related to that half time speech I referenced yesterday.)</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Naturally, I pulled up Ronnie's page and there were two things that struck me.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Dh-ypdjqF28/TYyim3W-rYI/AAAAAAAABe4/Lnti-BCH3LE/s1600/Ronnie2cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Dh-ypdjqF28/TYyim3W-rYI/AAAAAAAABe4/Lnti-BCH3LE/s640/Ronnie2cropped.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">First, I loved the understatement next to Honors and Awards. "Class of 2000 Hall of Fame." That could be the Delta Skymiles Hall of Fame, but I suppose if you are working with Ronnie Lott then it's sort of implied it's the National Football League Hall of Fame he was inducted into in 2000.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The other thing I noticed is that Ronnie has only two recommendations. I thought about adding Ronnie to my network just so I could provide a third recommendation. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-0d8dYqJP6dQ/TYyjFZLfi5I/AAAAAAAABe8/yX9Y2cGfASQ/s1600/Ronnie1cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-0d8dYqJP6dQ/TYyjFZLfi5I/AAAAAAAABe8/yX9Y2cGfASQ/s640/Ronnie1cropped.jpg" width="640" /></a>His two current recommendations are as Managing Member of Lott Auto Ventures, so I would put my recommendation under one of his other positions, like the one that says Safety, San Francisco 49ers.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In recommending Ronnie, I'm not sure if I would use corporate buzz words or not. Ronnie Lott is not the type that needs flowery embellishment about creating synergy. Not to mention that during his time in the NFL, Ronnie was certainly NEVER looking for Win-Win situations. Obviously, corporate-Speak isn't the right tack so I would just keep it straight. My LinkedIn recommendation for Ronnie Lott would probably look like this:</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"Ronnie's impact to a team stretches far beyond the white lines. His crushing tackles that cause trepidation for opponents are the clear reason why if I needed one guy to put an open field beat down on the enemy, my first choice is Ronnie Lott. And there is no greater leader in NFL history than Ronnie. That is a big statement, but if you have one inkling of doubt just shake hands with him using your left hand and remember why the tip of his pinky is missing. When you combine God-given ability, hard work, and passion for what you do, you can move the world. Ronnie Lott is a true warrior who exemplifies that recipe of success: Ability, Effort, and Passion."</i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Jeff Skiver recommends Ronnie Lott. </i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/aGSQLpLPEJA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(This ESPN video is a strong recommendation, too.)</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ya know... now that I think about it, I doubt a recommendation from me on LinkedIn is going to really add much to Ronnie Lott's resume. It's pretty strong on its own. </div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-85747551296778680942011-03-24T10:08:00.001-04:002011-03-24T17:14:45.323-04:00Pick Me Out A Winner, Bobby<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I've gotten a few emails over the last couple of weeks about my motivational speech about hawks. Granted, most have asked me to stick to curmudgeonly observations. However, at least a couple of folks wanted to know what my Corporate Rate is. Rather than jump right into the quote for bringing Jeff Skiver to your next benefit, let me seed my Motivational Speaker resume with another example of my work..... and a VERY high profile example at that.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Below is the text of the speech I gave at halftime of the 2007 AFC Championship Game when my Indianapolis Colts were losing 21-6 to the evil New England Patriots. As many Skiving Off readers know I had lost my beloved dog Simon six days before this game was played, and most people listening to my speech were expecting an exhortation to "Win One for Simon." Instead, I went with the version below, and I believe it was quite effective. As Wikipedia now documents, the Colts "18-point comeback was the largest ever in an NFL conference championship game, and tied the record for the fourth largest NFL postseason comeback." (The Colts scored 3 points at the close of the 2nd quarter to cut the lead from 18 to 15 at halftime.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Gentlemen, today I'm going to share with you a prize. A true prize. Today I am going to give you the greatest bar bet/trivia question known to the sports kingdom.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>In the movie version of The Natural, what is the name of the bat Roy Hobbs uses to hit the Pennant Winning home run? </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>When you ask this trivia question to someone you will get one of three possible responses:</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>a) 80% of the people will stare blankly with no clue</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>b) 18% will confidently blurt out the incorrect answer "WONDERBOY!!!!!"</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>c) 2% will smile and tell you that is a trick question and then correctly answer, "Savoy Special"</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Throughout the movie, Roy Hobbs' hitting exploits are done with Wonderboy, the bat he hand made when he was still a boy living on his family's farm. At the height of his heroic single season in the Majors, Roy even takes the time to help chubby bat boy, Bobby Savoy, carve a bat of his own that Bobby names "Savoy Special." </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Every man in the Colts locker room knows what it means to be worshipped as a hero by fat little kids. But that's not what is important right now. In the closing moments of that film, Roy Hobbs stood at home plate representing the winning run in a game that would send his team to the championship. And in his hands he held his trusted bat, WONDERBOY, who had been with him for 25 years. And when he lashed out at the ball with Wonderboy, he sent the ball over the fence.... but just foul. Then, when he turned around to go back and take another cut, he saw that Wonderboy had split in two.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Gentlemen, that is my question for you today: <b>What do you do, when Wonderboy is gone?</b> It is a touching moment in the movie when fat little Bobby Savoy runs out onto the field to take the broken bat away. Roy hands his mortally wounded friend and partner, Wonderboy, over to the portly bat boy and says, "Go pick me out a winner, Bobby." Bobby returns with Savoy Special, the bat he and the heroic Mr. Hobbs made together, and Roy returns to the batter's box to take another swing.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>There is a life lesson here about handling fame and good fortune. It adds flavor to the movie's plot that the relationship the Hero kindled with the lowly, seemingly unimportant boy can pay dividends when the hero most needed a friend.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>It's easier to be a hero when you're healthy. It's easier to be a hero when you hold a commanding lead. It's easier to be a hero, when you're holding Wonderboy, the biggest gun in the arsenal. But the measure of a Champion... indeed, the measure of a Man is what he does when Wonderboy breaks.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Out on that field the score shows the Patriots with 21 points and the Colts with 6. I think it is clear to all of us that at this point in our season of destiny we are looking at the shattered pieces of Wonderboy. But Wonderboy was only a tool. And regardless of whether he held Wonderboy or Savoy Special, Roy Hobbs had the heart of a champion. And if we X-rayed every person in this locker room we would see that same Champion's Heart beating. We are down 15 points. We are looking at the shattered dreams of Wonderboy lying in the dirt. But our destiny doesn't lay in the dirt..... it courses through our veins, propelled by the Champion's Heart. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Today's victory is NOT for our owner, Mr. Irsay. Today's victory is NOT for our parents and families who sacrificed to help us. Today's victory is NOT for the people of Indianapolis. Today's victory is for harmony in the universe. Gentlemen, it is your DESTINY to win today; anything less will create a divine disturbance in the universe. See that victory in your mind, and go back to that field and fulfill your destiny. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><object data="http://movieclips.com/e/FN4bK/0/126.511/" height="303" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(0, 0, 0); display: block; overflow: hidden;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560"> <param name="movie" value="http://movieclips.com/e/FN4bK/0/126.511/" /><param name=FlashVars VALUE="autoPlay=false"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#000000" /><param name="wmode" value="transparent" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><embed src="http://movieclips.com/e/FN4bK/0/126.511/" FlashVars="autoPlay=false" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" movie="http://movieclips.com/e/FN4bK/0/126.511/" wmode="transparent" allowscriptaccess="always" ></embed> </object> <br />
<div style="-moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 4px; -moz-border-radius-bottomright: 4px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(0, 0, 0); height: 27px; line-height: 11px; margin: 0pt; padding: 1px 0pt 0pt; text-align: center; width: 560px;"><a href="http://movieclips.com/FN4bK-the-natural-movie-savoy-special/" style="color: #00aeff; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,Sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">Savoy Special</a><br />
<a href="http://movieclips.com/7hAM-the-natural-movie-videos/" style="color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,Sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">The Natural</a> <a href="http://movieclips.com/" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,Sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">at MOVIECLIPS.com</a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Clicking above will play the scene from the film.)</span></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It should be noted that at halftime of the AFC Championship Game on January 21st of 2007, I gave the above speech to my wife, Gail, and our surviving dog, Abby, in the living room of our home in Holland, Michigan. I have no idea what speech Indianapolis Colts coach Tony Dungy provided to the team down at the RCA dome in Indianapolis. But it doesn't matter. I've always known that it was MY speech and the spirit of the movie version of Roy Hobbs that propelled the Colts to their second half comeback and carried them through to their destiny of being Super Bowl XLI Champions. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">That's what I do.... I motivate Champions. Also, sometimes I take credit for Championships that I really had nothing to do with. It's up to the readers to decide just how important my role really was. However, my mom says I was key to the Colts winning the Super Bowl.</div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-25225890100666831662011-03-02T10:58:00.000-05:002011-03-02T10:58:38.781-05:00Interview With an Eagle<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Warning...<span> The following issue of Skiving Off contains a </span>Motivational Speech. If you are overly cynical or jaded, it may be best to wait for the next update.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sometimes life is like Robot Chicken, where you see something that is truly wrong, but you struggle to quantify exactly what the issue is.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Last night Gail and I were driving home from dinner.<span> </span>Actually Gail was driving and I was staring out the passenger side window.<span> </span>Sometimes just for fun Gail drives while speaking French like Rallying legend Sebastien Loeb and I scream out co-driver navigation commands in a fake Finnish accent, "Haaaard Left Fiiiiife Huudeeeeert metters oooofer da Ridddge!!!!!!!!!!!!"<span> </span><span> </span>(There's a reason Mika Hakkinen asks me to race with him every year... I'm that good.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Nevertheless, last night I was just staring out at the muddy fields of Central Indiana when I yelled (in my own personal middle American accent), "Look at that hawk!!!!"<span> </span>I pointed to the field off to the right where there was a giant hawk poking at something on the ground.<span> </span>Then, it started running and flapping it's wings, and I said, "Well, that aint a hawk.<span> </span>It must be a huge...crow." <span> </span>My voice trailed off.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I did NOT see it, but I imagine if we had been there 5 seconds earlier we would have seen little sparrows in green and yellow jackets & helmets running around before a yellow-clad Robin (the Shooter) saluted then started Vogue'ing.<span> </span>Or as the Central Indiana Avian Catapult Procedures Manual describes, "extending his arm (wing) overhead and sweeping upraised hand (wing tip) downward in the direction of the launch, touching the deck and returning the hand (wing tip) to horizontal in the direction of the launch."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My brain was reeling.<span> </span>The bird ran, flapped, and took flight; and it was NOT a crow.<span> </span>It flew westward and crossed over Oak Ridge Road just as Gail piloted our TDi Jetta under it.<span> </span>Kids, it was a MASSIVE hawk, and he was beautiful.<span> </span>Still, I felt like I was five years old and reading Highlights because I was dealing with a "What is wrong with this picture?" situation.<span> </span>Something seemed grossly wrong with the hawk's take-off.<span> </span>Then, it hit me.<span> </span>It was the flapping.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Hawks and eagles can be big, heavy birds.<span> </span>However, they are beautiful.<span> </span>They are birds that soar.<span> </span>They dive.<span> </span>They swoop.<span> </span>That's how we humans like to envision our birds of prey.<span> </span>Motivational posters show eagles soaring above majestic mountains, not running across muddy fields flapping their wings madly.<span> </span>We like to see raptors swoop down and do a touch and go on a lake while pulling out a wriggling fish to serve as a carryout dinner for the chicks at home.<span> </span>It is not as attractive to watch a hawk pecking at a dead rodent as its talons sink into the mud.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yet the lesson is that even eagles hit bottom.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Intrigued by what I saw with the hawk last night I called an eagle friend this morning and asked him about it.<span> </span>His words were eye opening:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"Life is pretty sweet when you're soaring.<span> </span>It's effortless.<span> </span>It's both an adrenaline rush and an ego trip.<span> </span>'Cause while<span> </span>you're up there riding the thermals and taking your pick of the hot meals 500 feet below you, the humans just stare in awe.<span> </span>What the opposable thumb crowd doesn't realize though, is that life happens, and sometimes we have to land and walk among them in order to get by.<span> </span>However, we don't stay on the ground for long.<span> </span>And as we run and flap and struggle for altitude, it isn't always pretty, but we do whatever we have to do to survive.<span> </span>I'm an eagle, Jeff, and just because I occasionally have to get my talons muddy does not change who I truly am or what I was born to do.<span> </span>Just because hunger can bring me to a place 'below' the humans does NOT mean I have to stay there.<span> </span>I am an eagle, and regardless of the reading on the altimeter, you can rest assured that I am ALWAYS soaring on the inside."</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Don't ever be embarrassed to flap. The soaring dreams we keep stored on the inside only come true through our tenacious efforts and our willingness to flap our way out of the mud. (That last line is mine... not the eagle's).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-70535626477629799822011-02-24T10:58:00.002-05:002011-10-23T10:01:59.882-04:00Happy 3-0!!!!! Here's your Jeep.<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I've been busy for the last few days. I've been working furiously to finish up a major birthday present (A JEEP) for someone who turns 30 years old TODAY!!!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gz0yGmnzFzs/TWZ8COwDa8I/AAAAAAAABek/rk-KGDuww-4/s1600/P2245306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gz0yGmnzFzs/TWZ8COwDa8I/AAAAAAAABek/rk-KGDuww-4/s320/P2245306.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">NFL Safety <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_Sanders">Bob Sanders</a> hits the big 3-0 today.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fQQAajptC_c/TWZ9iUKlHaI/AAAAAAAABes/hH4QDhs5l1M/s1600/Bob-Sanders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fQQAajptC_c/TWZ9iUKlHaI/AAAAAAAABes/hH4QDhs5l1M/s320/Bob-Sanders.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I've been a fan for a long time. Here is the license plate from one of the cars when I was still in Michigan.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G__4B_vivYc/TWZ6fSHaLlI/AAAAAAAABeM/4HsWcJ9SjGQ/s1600/P2245312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G__4B_vivYc/TWZ6fSHaLlI/AAAAAAAABeM/4HsWcJ9SjGQ/s320/P2245312.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">However, Bob has a well known problem; he's injured a lot. During his seven seasons in the NFL, the Colts have played 112 Regular Season games and 13 Playoff games. Of those 125 games, Bob has only played in 48. It's been really bad the last 3 seasons where of the 53 Regular and Playoff games, Bob Sanders has only played in NINE games. Bob's style is extremely aggressive; and his bones, muscles, and tendons are apparently made of fine crystal.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">So as a fan who wants to help Bob improve his robustness, I decided to give him Cool Hand Luke. Cool Hand Luke (or Luke for short) is my Jeep. Similar to Bob Sanders, my Jeep has not seen a lot of action lately. In 2010, I only put 11 miles on it. Ferrari 250GTOs get more miles just being pushed around museums than my Jeep got in 2010. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_xGubqN7kfw/TWZ6stDyxUI/AAAAAAAABeQ/WmWAzZMsufY/s1600/P2245309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_xGubqN7kfw/TWZ6stDyxUI/AAAAAAAABeQ/WmWAzZMsufY/s320/P2245309.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">My 1995 Wrangler has just under 61,000 miles, but they have been HARDCORE miles. Yet, nothing has EVER stopped it. Regardless of the smackdown that the trails of the US and Canada apply to my little Cool Hand Luke, it has always found a way to "Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome" as Gunny Highway would say.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Here is a quick PARTIAL list of smacks, little Cool Hand Luke has gotten off of the deck from:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">1) Snapped a front U Joint/Axle in Sault Ste Marie -- We just hack sawed off the carnage at the knuckle, zip-tied the inner axle up for additional support and drove out of the trail in 2WD. We used 3WD as needed (courtesy of our front AirLocker). Then, we drove the 300 miles home where I put a new (pre-owned) driver side axle in.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">2) Ripped a front spring mount off of the frame in Tellico, NC. It happened late on a Saturday night, and rather than try to find someone to weld it up on Sunday, I went to Wal-Mart and bought 2 feet of chain and an adjustable link. I wrapped the chain around it and drove it home to Michigan where I welded the spring perch back to the frame.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">3) In 1996, I buried it in Fall Creek in Indianapolis when I hit an unexpected DEEP hole. The water level was over the airbox (no snorkel, you know), so the engine died right away. After standing for a moment in the icy cold April water, I tried something I never expected to work: the winch. Guess what....the winch works under water!!!! Who knew? I pulled out about a hundred feet of cable and winched across the creek. I pulled the drain plugs to empty the cabin. I sprayed the distributor cap down with WD40, verified there was no water in the engine, and fired that little four cylinder up. VROOM!!!! I drove the 10 miles home and replaced all of the milky fluids.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">4) A few years ago when a rear differential grenaded at highway speed the dissipated energy shredded the driveshaft and ripped a shock mount off of the rear end. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4I-bqNRHTnc/TWZ7rOWJ1HI/AAAAAAAABeU/HmGGGc2fMyc/s1600/DCP_0634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4I-bqNRHTnc/TWZ7rOWJ1HI/AAAAAAAABeU/HmGGGc2fMyc/s320/DCP_0634.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C60vpmF1MXQ/TWZ7r7zGJiI/AAAAAAAABeY/slTx2S4NanI/s1600/DCP_0641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C60vpmF1MXQ/TWZ7r7zGJiI/AAAAAAAABeY/slTx2S4NanI/s320/DCP_0641.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> Being only a few miles from home, I rolled under the Jeep on the side of the road and disconnected the rear driveshaft from the Transfer Case. I Then I jumped back in, threw the driveshaft in the passenger seat, pulled the Tcase lever to High4, and drove home with Front Wheel Drive.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j28oZxkk6AE/TWZ7sMELAwI/AAAAAAAABec/jUduQAV8Ofw/s1600/DCP_0689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j28oZxkk6AE/TWZ7sMELAwI/AAAAAAAABec/jUduQAV8Ofw/s320/DCP_0689.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">See, my Jeep is unstoppable. It gets hurt every now and then, but he NEVER leaves the game. Somehow Cool Hand Luke goes all out, yet lives to drive me home and see another day. THAT'S the lesson Bob Sanders needs to learn. Run Fast, Hit Hard, Crush The Opposition.... but hold back just enough to not kill yourself. I believe Luke can be Bob's mentor. Having Luke around can help Bob, by Raising Hope when he feels down. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">So a couple of weeks ago I decided to do the Dirty Job of replacing the rusty fuel tank skid plate and present Luke to Bob today, on his 30th birthday. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yaWTKkAGSOs/TWZ8Bedn3sI/AAAAAAAABeg/aurShuD1zAk/s1600/P2235302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yaWTKkAGSOs/TWZ8Bedn3sI/AAAAAAAABeg/aurShuD1zAk/s320/P2235302.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-htUSKxTchTQ/TWZ8DGAY7vI/AAAAAAAABeo/3DEmdrjF2F0/s1600/P2245307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-htUSKxTchTQ/TWZ8DGAY7vI/AAAAAAAABeo/3DEmdrjF2F0/s320/P2245307.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Then, over this past weekend, the Colts made the very sound business decision to release Bob Sanders. Hell, the guy has only played 9 games the last three seasons... who can afford that?!?!? Let's move on. Having Bob Sanders on the team is like owning an amazing Ferrari that needs its gearbox replaced every time you back out of the driveway. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">So since Bob Sanders is no longer an Indianapolis Colt, I am NOT giving Cool Hand Luke away to him... even if today IS his 30th birthday. I suppose I could offer it up to anyone else with a birthday, but what if it was a girl and she wanted to paint it pink and purple???? Pink Jeep Tours may be a big deal in Sedona, but who ever heard of a Pink Birthday Jeep named Cool Hand Luke???? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">No, even during the years like 2010 where he spent more time landscaping (winching bushes out of the back yard) than he spent on the road, Luke is much like my dog... he's all mine. I bet if I gave him away, I would find him in my driveway the next day after he ran away and came home in the middle of the night.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Bob Sanders, I hope you have the best birthday ever. I still think a mentoring Jeep could help, so if you want I can help you shop for one of your own. It's your birthday, so pick out whatever color you want. It's all yours, so you can even choose an automatic. WOW, an automatic??? Well, let's not go crazy... </span></div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-87274230798869104762011-02-03T11:18:00.003-05:002011-02-03T11:31:03.062-05:00Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!!!!Between "Storage Wars" and "American Pickers," America's TV junkies have been getting broadcast proof that folks do hang onto all kinds of worthless junk. And it has made me give more respect to the OCD folks that seasonally "snap" and clean out the closets, throwing away everything they find that isn't nailed down.<br />
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Yet, even the most hardcore possession-purging, dumpster-filling non-hoarder alive today would surely hang on to a few things from their past. Most would at least keep their Tinker Toys, Cabbage Patch doll, or their Calico Kitties.<br />
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We Galoots hope that old tools make the short list of items that even the "Clean & Purge" crowd would keep.<br />
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Followers of Skiving Off realize that I have a thing for Panther Saws, and a few days ago another showed up on Ebay. (The auction ends tomorrow).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TUrWo6HFZsI/AAAAAAAABdo/OdpqaILohcI/s1600/PantherEbay20110203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TUrWo6HFZsI/AAAAAAAABdo/OdpqaILohcI/s320/PantherEbay20110203.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I sent off an email to the seller asking for some additional information, and I was delighted to get a response from Wanda in Alabama, telling me the story of how this saw arrived on the open market. Apparently, a few years back Wanda purchased the saw along with a box of hammers at an estate sale because her father collects hammers. Wanda's dad didn't want the saw, so she decided to keep it, simply because it was intriguing. She and her family called it "The Mad Monkey Saw" because without the preconceived notion of a big cat, the carving does look as much like Lyman F. Baum's Flying Monkeys as it does a panther.<br />
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Now a quick statement about Wanda's Ebay listing. I think she did a really good job of listing the saw, considering that she is not a tool collector. She describes all of the defects that she sees along with lots of pictures. She did not attempt to disassemble the handle from the blade or do any chemical treatment to bring out the etch, which likely would have done more harm than good. Instead, Wanda described what she sees and provides enough photos for anyone to realize with 99% certainty it is a genuine Panther Saw. I think this is a good thing.<br />
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Panther Saws are rare, but it's hard to quantify. We still don't have accurate census data on Panther Saws. For the last three years I have talked about starting a Panther Saw Registry, just to finally get an idea of how many of these kitties are out there, but alas, I have still not done it yet. I just haven't had a chance given most of my free time is spent building a 3 bedroom ranch home out of Tinker Toys to house my "crazy cat lady" Cabbage Patch doll and her hoards of Calico Kitties.Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-47767902798549415432011-01-26T08:51:00.001-05:002011-01-26T09:21:10.736-05:00Has Anyone Seen The Lambs?<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have been pondering the ultimate woodworking project, the building of an ARK to carry a boatload of critters.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I realize Noah and his boys accomplished this task in a little over a hundred years, but I was originally thinking that with my shop full of power tools I could knock it out in a couple of weekends. However, as I fired up a little background music (James Taylor's "Handy Man") and initiated my plan (a logical start for a Project Management Professional), I realized this exercise is more than I can take on. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In an attempt to offer pragmatic help to any other power tool-wielding Noah's out there, I am providing the following thought seeds for the compilation and analysis of possible project risks.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Let's begin.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Material is a major challenge in building a real ark. As any woodworker will tell you, we just don't have access to the wide, old growth Gopher wood like Noah had. One trip to Woodcraft will show you that the only Gopher wood available is in tiny planks with interlocking grain and far too many knots. Ask any sawyer or arborist and they will confirm that any straight and clear Gopher trees that come available are instantly swiped up by the veneer mills. So there is just no way to get enough Gopher wood to build an entire 350 cubits x 50 cubits ark. Even if you have unlimited funds to buy the S4S Gopher shorts at Woodcraft, it would take millions of Festool Dominoes just to join them together. (One final caution: on the off chance someone finds a Lumber Widow whose late husband had barns full of air dried Gopher Wood, please use a forced air ventilator during any milling or machining operations. Kids, Gopher Wood is as toxic as any species known to man; which is why Noah lived 600 years before the flood and only 350 years after emerging from the ark.)</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The other great challenge in building an ark is the lack of established designs available for benchmarking. Oh sure, there are tons of old paintings of animals walking the plank two by two, but they offer very little useful information about construction. Most artists were far more interested in "making statements" by showing the lions and the lambs walking along together, when what the modern ark builder needs are views showing the internal structure. One assumes there is a lot of timber framing going on inside the hull, but there just isn't any remaining visual record to confirm that.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One final area of caution for building an ark is also the primary challenge on nearly any project, whether it be the construction of a bridge or the design of a minivan lamp/coathook module: CONTROL SCOPE CREEP. Throughout the entire project the project leader must not lose sight of the primary objectives: cost, timing, seaworthiness, and cargo capabilities. However, it is so easy for additional "Wants" to get added to the list that pretty soon the basic, animal-hauling ark looks more like a Carnival Cruise Ship. I highly doubt Noah's original arc included a climbing wall and a top deck where Mrs. Noah could lay while sunning herself and drinking Riesling provided by Isaac, her friendly bartender. Then again, who's to say that is all bad? It might be nice to include some comforts on a voyage of unknown length.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Hmmmm.... I just thought of something. If we include a Helipad, then we don't have to worry about sending doves out to find dry land. COOL!!!!! I'm back on the project!!! I'm sure we can bury the cost of a helicopter in the initial budget, and if not we just wrap it up in the first big design change. Can't you just hear the opening chords of the Magnum, P.I. theme song as I pilot my helicopter toward the helipad on my ark?</span>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-45294043959176938672011-01-15T11:04:00.001-05:002011-01-15T11:15:17.312-05:00Buy What You Like<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I've never owned a minivan. I've never owned a pair of Vans either for that matter. Why would I? I was never a skater. I mean, I was never a skateboarder. I've previously (and quite believably) blogged about being one of the best roller disco skaters in the world, but I was never a skateboarder. I will date myself by confirming I did own a molded plastic FREEFORMER that was the same width as an Olympic balance beam. However, I never joined up with Leif Garrett to sneak into the abandoned swimming pools of Southern California or avenged the death of a sibling by Gleaming the Cube along with Christian Slater. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Many folks know that my friend, furniture maker Chris Gochnour, began his career as a kid making skateboards and eventually some of earliest snowboards. This summer Chris is teaching a weekend <a href="http://www.marcadams.com/class185">class </a>at Marc Adams School of Woodworking on building a skateboard. It could even be a good way to introduce a young person to our craft in a way that will absorb their attention.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(Note: In an effort to make this return to blogging quite complete for my buddy Ed, I am hitting on all of the old standby's.... I'm calling out Gochnour, MASW, bad movies from the 70s and 80s... Holy cow, if I could just do some gushing over modern hand tool makers or make a poignant reference to Steve Perry of Journey, we could call it a year, and I wouldn't have to make another blog update until just before the world ends in 2012.)</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My friend Erin recently graduated from Art School. On December 22, 2010 she commented on MyFace about working with skateboards. She wrote, <i>" I think I just realized how much I love designing skateboards.....how do I make this into my job?"</i> Someone then suggested she call Tony Hawke. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ever the capitalist and marketing whiz, I responded with, <i>"Then call Burton or Sean White and jump into Snowboards, too... there's more market there. If you're looking for information on the woodworking aspect of MAKING skateboards, Chris Gochnour is teaching a weekend class next summer at Marc Adams' School of Woodworking in Whiteland. (Erin, always find a way to do what makes you happy.)"</i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I didn't think too much more about Artist Erin making skateboards until January 9th. Again through FaceSpace I saw that Erin had updated her profile picture with this:</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTGy1CFH_JI/AAAAAAAABb4/fG9d6Wi_u1c/s1600/Board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTGy1CFH_JI/AAAAAAAABb4/fG9d6Wi_u1c/s400/Board.jpg" width="182" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I then realized what Erin meant about designing skateboards. I also realized that I wanted that skateboard. Art is like that with me. Sometimes the things I want hearken back to childhood and gentler days. A few years ago Gail and I bought a piece from our friends <a href="http://www.amazwi.com/">Mike and Wally</a> that had been painted by <a href="http://www.blackart.co.za/2009/02/01/patrick-rapai/">Patrick Rapai</a>, an artist in Zimbabwe. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG3yVTc-oI/AAAAAAAABcg/2a3TC2HKNBs/s1600/IMG_1968cr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG3yVTc-oI/AAAAAAAABcg/2a3TC2HKNBs/s400/IMG_1968cr.JPG" width="396" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It is called <i>Bicycle</i> and for me it reaches back to a time when my greatness and all my accolades were received from piloting a two wheeled machine with no brakes around 333 meters of high-banked concrete. (That picture of me wearing Eddy Merckx's Molteni Trainer in the June 2008 issue of Popular Woodworking was not a random choice; it was a shout out to my cycling buddies.) That is why <i>Bicycle</i> is the first painting I ever purchased. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In 2007, I visited my friend Randy at a craft show where he was selling his turnings. At the back of his booth I saw something else that was for sale... this walking stick carved by his mother-in-law.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTGzGb_YN5I/AAAAAAAABcA/GgEPjZK_1eg/s1600/IMG_1970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTGzGb_YN5I/AAAAAAAABcA/GgEPjZK_1eg/s400/IMG_1970.JPG" width="265" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG2pi1QVJI/AAAAAAAABcc/5SlE5-Dn5e4/s1600/IMG_1975cr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG2pi1QVJI/AAAAAAAABcc/5SlE5-Dn5e4/s400/IMG_1975cr.JPG" width="261" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">At first glance I knew I wanted it. By comparison the stick does NOT hearken back to my youth. I was never a gnome, and I never lived near a waterfall. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG2m8jiyTI/AAAAAAAABcU/RYi7Rvfu3-Y/s1600/IMG_1972cr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG2m8jiyTI/AAAAAAAABcU/RYi7Rvfu3-Y/s640/IMG_1972cr.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG2oVpUXeI/AAAAAAAABcY/ZlemKG8yAKs/s1600/IMG_1973cr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG2oVpUXeI/AAAAAAAABcY/ZlemKG8yAKs/s640/IMG_1973cr.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">However, it struck a chord with me. We could analyze whether it is modern folk art. Perhaps it was just my recognizing how many hours of work went into the carving even before the paint went on. I don't know why I had to have that walking stick, but I did.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTGzS_4fLOI/AAAAAAAABcQ/lCxPNCOLU0w/s1600/IMG_1976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTGzS_4fLOI/AAAAAAAABcQ/lCxPNCOLU0w/s400/IMG_1976.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Similarly, Erin's skateboard touched me. I love card games. I can pass the time playing spider solitaire just as easily as I could explain the finer points of playing Omaha Hi-Low. I don't know if that's why I wanted that skate board or if it was something else.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4ZShlrCI/AAAAAAAABcs/qMqE62ojoBw/s1600/IMG_1985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4ZShlrCI/AAAAAAAABcs/qMqE62ojoBw/s320/IMG_1985.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
I just know that on Monday, I emailed Erin and asked if she would consider selling it. Erin and I agreed upon a price, and she informed me that not only is it the first skateboard she has done, but this is the first thing she has sold since graduating from Herron School of Art and Design. </div><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am not an accomplished art collector. Perhaps I have eclectic tastes. Then again, some of you may believe that I have an eye for greatness. Although I still fall victim to the need to be liked by everyone, the reality of my tiny little art collection is that I do not care what anybody thinks. The art I buy is not about artists names or perceived collectability; it's about what touches me.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4KvSxKPI/AAAAAAAABck/ovS_4T2XiYg/s1600/IMG_1982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4KvSxKPI/AAAAAAAABck/ovS_4T2XiYg/s320/IMG_1982.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I realize that if Gail and I lived with my parents and saved every dime we made for two years we could purchase a Sam Maloof rocker that is truly beautiful and almost universally loved by everyone who has the opportunity to gaze upon one. However, I am thrilled to be the owner of an O'Brien.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4yxwzbrI/AAAAAAAABc0/WeLU3FGB0Fg/s1600/IMG_1980cr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4yxwzbrI/AAAAAAAABc0/WeLU3FGB0Fg/s320/IMG_1980cr.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4KvSxKPI/AAAAAAAABck/ovS_4T2XiYg/s1600/IMG_1982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Perhaps in the future someone will look upon my skateboard and say, "Oh my God, is that an O'Brien?!?!" And I can say, "That is the very first piece that Erin O'Brien ever sold, and the reason I have it is because I always had the wisdom (and the courage) to buy what I liked."</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4bu7EcyI/AAAAAAAABcw/cFi7aRcRGQE/s1600/IMG_1990cr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TTG4bu7EcyI/AAAAAAAABcw/cFi7aRcRGQE/s320/IMG_1990cr.JPG" width="281" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Erin O'Brien has not yet established her permanent studio. However, if you are interested in her work you can email me and I forward it along to Erin. Don't try to sneak into my house and steal this one. As you can see it is being closely guarded by the Attack Lab.<br />
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Erin, may you be greatly blessed in your career. May you find an audience that fully appreciates your efforts as you create the work that rises up from your soul. Thank you for letting me have the chance to be your friend and patron.</div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-92201979385389026262011-01-12T21:31:00.001-05:002011-01-12T21:32:45.891-05:00The Chef is THE CHEFF!!!!!!!<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I don't know which is more shocking: my doing four blog updates in a single calendar year or my updating the blog two days in a row?????</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yesterday, I promised to divulge a secret about my friend Brunetto. So today I am following through with that.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yesterday I told you that Brunetto is the greatest gaucho chef I have ever heard of. He cooks the best tasting barbecue on the western hemisphere and can then cut it perfectly. I have seen him shave off full slices of Picanha that were the thickness of a playing card. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">However, Brunetto's secret takes me back to my blog from last Friday. On that day I commented about the rare achievement of Wayman Tisdale having world class talent at two different things: basketball and bass guitar. As I wrote that I was also thinking about Brunetto. You see, the best Gaucho chef I have ever encountered is also Cheff Brunetto, an amazing pastry chef. I realize both of these areas involve food, but they really are not that similar. For the woodworkers who still read my blog it would be like saying the most amazing wood turner you have ever met is also the most gifted person you have ever heard of at Marquetry. Sure, they both involve an area of the craft called woodworking. However, it is understood these areas use different tools, materials, muscles, etc.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cheff Brunetto recently started a <a href="http://historiasreaisdavida.blogspot.com/">blog</a> where he shares some of his recipes. I encourage you to check out his blog and try these recipes.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Despite my quirky eating habits I mentioned yesterday, one area where I have unlimited appetite is chocolate. I have always agreed with the old saying, "The worst brownie I ever had was delicious." As a brownie expert, I can give two full thumbs up to the creation of my dear friend, Cheff Brunetto.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TS5hDsM3BNI/AAAAAAAABb0/w9hTm4qFbt4/s320/brownie.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://historiasreaisdavida.blogspot.com/2010/12/brownie-royal.html">Brownie Royal</a></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Brunetto, please hurry home from your much needed holiday so we can talk about it over steak, wine, and dessert. Also, while you have been away, the student (me) has done some private study, and I have learned to barbecue shrimp. Imagine fresh shrimp wrapped in prosciutto grilling over natural lump charcoal as we sip wine and talk about the beauty of Porto Alegre and Florianopolis.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To those people who have either stuck with or rediscovered Skiving Off, it appears that in the coming days, I may return to my old (original) ways. I have some woodworking projects to do, and I have some interesting (sometimes irreverent) insights into the world around me. I cannot guarantee the updates of 2011 will be quite as interesting as those from 2008, but perhaps I am finally in a position to put the hecklers behind me and start writing again. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And if Skiving Off fails to measure up to your expectations, just compare it to the price of the admission. (That was said with love.... tough love..... whatever.) Welcome back.</div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-16874769404393491872011-01-11T12:05:00.001-05:002011-01-12T21:16:24.039-05:00Leaving the Quacks Behind<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sometimes swans swim around with ducks for a long time before they figure out who they really are. I was part of the duck crowd until May of 2009.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Insert dramatic pause.... </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I don't eat vegetables. I never have. I likely never will. It's mainly a texture thing. Also, I'm a primal carnivore. I've always said if George Burns could smoke and drink and live to be 307 years old, I believe I can live to at least half of than number by just eating meat, cheese, rice, potatoes, and bread. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For years I have been told I was a finicky eater. I have spent measurable hours of my life at social gatherings picking crap off of otherwise great pizza. I am the king of soup broth eating, where prior to bringing the main course, the waiter takes away a bowl half-filled with dried celery and carrots yet completely devoid of all meat, broth, and noodles. If you have a stubborn four year old carnivore, then you have experience with how I get my sustenance. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">During the first of my 15+ trips to Brazil (in May '09), just outside Sao Paulo, my friend Sundeep took me to my first Churrascaria, a Brazilian Steakhouse. Immediately, I found what I had been searching for my entire life. Endless supplies of delicious steak (sizzling hot and fresh) delivered continuously to my plate. There were comments about how much food I consumed, but no one had any concern about the lack of vegetables on my plate.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Late in the summer of 2009, I was informed by a friend in Brazil that the greatest of all Churrascarias (Fogo de Chao) has one of their restaurants in my home village of Indianapolis. Upon my return to the United States, I told Gail that I was going to show her the taste of Brazil, the steak-on-a-stick of true Churrasco, and we made our first visit to Fogo in August of 2009. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After convincing Gail to go easy on the most amazing salad bar she had ever seen, we began the dinner portion of our meal. We flipped our cards to green. The first Gaucho Chef who came by was carrying a large chunk of roasted meat. He approached Gail and said, "Lower Sirloin?" I gushed, "Oh, Gail, this is Fraldinha (frau-JEEEEEN-ya)... and it has an amazing flavor!!! This is one of the cuts of meat I have told you about." He cut a long, narrow piece and Gail guided it to her plate with the small silver tongs. Then, he came over to my side of the table, and he smiled at the gleam in my eyes as I said, "Fraldinha, Sim. Por Favor." And once the prize was on my plate I gave him a sincere thumbs up and said, "Obrigato."</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The next few moments were some of those that happen every now and then that we never expect or plan for. It was that moment that I first encountered a man who has become a very dear friend to me. It was that day at the end of August that I met the man we will call "Brunetto." He was the Gaucho serving Picanha, and he approached our table likely expecting we would be the typical Americans who agreed to try a little of what he offered as we awaited the guy with the Filet Migneon. However, he was instead greeted by me, an expressive babbler who cried out just a little too loudly, "Oh Gail! This is it! Behold... (hands waving like Doug Henning) Let there be Picanha!!!!!!" Brunetto's smile clearly showed I had made his day. As he began to slice the steak for Gail, I explained that Picanha is the best part of the Alcatra (the top sirloin). I summarized by saying this (one of my best quotes of 2009):</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">"In Heaven, the Entire cow is Picanha." </span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyHyrc8bpI/AAAAAAAABbc/Mo1VN6Ew2RQ/s1600/Picanha.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyHyrc8bpI/AAAAAAAABbc/Mo1VN6Ew2RQ/s320/Picanha.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As Brunetto moved to serve me, I immediately saw greatness. He shaved off a perfect, wispy thin slice of Picanha that was unlike anything I had ever seen in Brazil. Although there would be little compulsion for a Gaucho chef in Brazil to make perfect cuts for a visiting Gringo American like me, the reality is that there is no Gaucho in Brazil who is capable of cooking and cutting the way my friend does. Like Rob Cosman cutting dovetails, Brunetto has a gift. Mere mortals can try to recreate what Brunetto seems to effortlessly do, but just like woodworkers who watch Cosman's dovetail videos the results just never measure up to those produced by the gifted master.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now for my confession. Brunetto is not his real name. It is a family name that helps to provide some privacy. I'm really not kidding or exaggerating. There's a reason why Batman doesn't tell anyone where the Bat Cave is....because if he did, there would be people there all the time. And if I told you Brunetto's true name you would find him and bang on his door and make him cook for you. And just like Batman, it is Brunetto's place to decide when to reveal his true identity to the world. However, tomorrow I will write a short (I promise) blog entry that gives away a huge secret but also gives great insight into the talents of Brunetto.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Since we met, Brunetto and I have become true friends. Gail and I have been to his home many times. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyH65oTN3I/AAAAAAAABbg/lbuQwk-fjHs/s1600/2010-12-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyH65oTN3I/AAAAAAAABbg/lbuQwk-fjHs/s320/2010-12-23.jpg" width="179" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He has often been to my home, where he has attempted to teach me the ways of the Barbecue Jedi. The day that his lovely wife gave birth to his younger daughter, I smuggled a bottle of wine into the hospital and we toasted little Bianca, with no concern that the styrofoam cups did nothing to enhance the bouquet or color of the wine. But Brunetto's story must wait until tomorrow; today's entry is about ducks and swans.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">367 days ago, Gail and I visited Fogo on the day after my birthday. (We were a day late because I had been on a plane on the real day my age increased.) And as we ate, all of our Gaucho friends (Edson, the Rafael's, Luciano, Thales, Ronaldo, Carlos, JoseRobeto, Victor, and the others) took such good care of us, even though I told no one it was my birthday. As we left Fogo that day, my friend Joelcir (the General Manager) asked how our dinner was. I responded with, "Well, I've been a little down, because yesterday was my birthday, but it always makes me happy to be here." Joelcir comforted me that I was still so young that my life was just beginning, and I felt better as Gail and I walked toward the door. As we were putting our coats on our friend Sean came up and asked us to wait for a moment, and we then saw Joelcir sprinting from the back of the restaurant with the legs of his Gaucho pants fluttering. He pulled up next to me, handed me the black box shown below, and said, "Normally, we give a free dessert on someone's birthday." </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyIBx2O_kI/AAAAAAAABbk/waqpJBVLIng/s1600/P1115274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyIBx2O_kI/AAAAAAAABbk/waqpJBVLIng/s320/P1115274.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He paused and smiled. As I opened the box, Joelcir said, "But let's face it.... YOU'RE JEFF!!! Happy Birthday, my friend."</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyMLsyDBmI/AAAAAAAABbw/Izi6-Bx5HCg/s1600/P1293405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="126" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyMLsyDBmI/AAAAAAAABbw/Izi6-Bx5HCg/s320/P1293405.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyITZgRUpI/AAAAAAAABbo/sr7G6PM2M7k/s1600/P1115262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSyITZgRUpI/AAAAAAAABbo/sr7G6PM2M7k/s320/P1115262.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The gift overwhelmed me. It showed me that Joelcir recognized the same thing Brunetto had always seen. They recognized that a Gringo from middle America really could understand the Gaucho culture of Brazil. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And as I left Fogo that day and returned to world of ducks that surround me, I finally realized I am neither a duck nor a swan. I am Jeff, and I am Gaucho.</div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-82648638749588702602011-01-09T22:17:00.001-05:002011-01-09T22:21:07.496-05:00Peyton and I Remember Eureka<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A couple of weeks ago my dog Peyton got upset.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Early in the morning of December 30th, 2010 before going out to start my real day, I was sitting at the computer. It was a busy online experience as I divided my time between feeding my Webkinz and trying to convince folks in Farmville that they could afford to buy a $200,000+ combine from me because Willie Nelson and John Mellencamp would bail them out if they got in over their heads. Note: my pitch normally goes something like this, "Hey...are you just a farmer, or are you running a thriving AgriBusiness?!?!?" </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Anyway, just as I was in the throws of my online used farm equipment banter, I felt a shudder and heard a strange settling of the house and immediately knew we had experienced an earthquake here in the middle of Indiana.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After running to the library at the front of the house to verify my Granny Ann's snow globe was intact, I went to find my dog.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As I rounded the corner by the front staircase I was greeted by the little blonde guy who was giving me the full-blown "Whatchu Talkin About, Willis?" look. Peyton was clearly rattled. I used my best gushy baby talk, and tried to calm him with hugs and an ear rub. However, he wanted no part of it. For the first time ever, my dog Peyton refused to be comforted by me. It was obvious this disturbance in the force would require at least a few <i>Snausages</i>® to set things aright in Peyton's world.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The first official word I heard was that a 4.2 magnitude quake centered about 20 miles northeast of us had provide the morning rouse for Peyton and me.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Only 4.2, huh? The energy from that roughly equates to about 30 metric tons of TNT. By comparison I think the biggest USA earthquake in 2010 was the magnitude 6.5 that occurred one year ago today 33 miles west of Eureka off the coast of Humboldt County. At about 2800 times stronger than what Peyton and I felt, it's a wonder the goats even offered up the milk for the legendary Humboldt Fog. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ya know, I just realized that hardly anyone even knows that a 6.5 magnitude quake hit Eureka on January 9th of 2010 or that a 5.9M hit the same general area less than a month later, because it was all overshadowed by the 7.0 magnitude quake that rocked Haiti on January 12 of 2010. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, Peyton and I are not as easy going as the folks of Humboldt County!!!!! We will not let our three and a half seconds of hell (similar to driving over back to back speed bumps) be overshadowed by anyone else. I'm thinking since the folks here in Indianapolis donated thousands of dollars last year to Haiti at the request of Haitian-descendant Indianapolis Colts wide receiver Pierre Garçon, the only fitting thing is for Haiti to immediately provide some love back this way.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I still have some Rawlings baseballs from the 80's that were made in Haiti. Peyton and I have discussed it, and that's what we want. My 95 pound shortstop continues to have trouble sleeping. In the ten days since the quake he has only averaged 22 hours of sleep per day; down from his pre-quake average of 23. We believe Haitian-made baseballs will help him get back to normal.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Having seen how quickly the Humboldt County victims were forgotten a year ago in the wake of Haiti... Peyton and I refuse to forget the people of Eureka. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Peyton and I are expecting a shipment of Haitian baseballs in the very near future.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSp0WWRFWVI/AAAAAAAABbY/jJf8mtv2pbg/s1600/P1095258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TSp0WWRFWVI/AAAAAAAABbY/jJf8mtv2pbg/s320/P1095258.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">God's Honest Truth: That black smear on the ball on the right is where it hit the floor in the Right-Center Bleachers at Wrigley Field on the fly before being scooped up back in 1996. Somebody on the Cardinals hit it, but since it was only batting practice it didn't get thrown back.</span></div>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-36395202102693295452011-01-07T10:31:00.003-05:002011-01-07T11:18:58.076-05:00Missing My Friend<span style="font-family:arial;">It's been over a year and a half since we lost Wayman. It still doesn't even seem possible that he's gone. Wayman Tisdale was one of those amazing people who could be great (and I mean TRULY GREAT) at two or more things. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">While most of us spend our lives striving to rise above the level of mediocrity with just one gift, there are a rare few who can headline on more than one stage. Nike made sure we knew about Deion Sanders and Bo Jackson playing two professional sports. However, the average American doesn't know that the guy who won a gold medal in the '84 Olympics and was the number 2 overall pick in the 1985 NBA draft was arguably the greatest bass guitar player ever. I'll admit, I didn't know of his talent until 1996 when I picked up <span style="font-style: italic;">"In The Zone."</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In addition to that Gold Medal with Coach Knight, in 12 NBA seasons Wayman averaged over 15 points a game; so his talent on the court is understood.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">The shocking thing is that Wayman was a better bass guitarist than basketball player.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Paul McCartney and Peter Cetera made a lot more money with the bass. Leland Sklar appears on a LOT MORE tracks than Wayman. Stanley Clarke, Mark King, and Marcus Miller... well, they're the reason I said "arguably" up above. Yeah. For real... Wayman truly was <span style="font-style: italic;">THAT</span> good. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Wayman, I miss you. Although you and I never met, we shared at least one friend in common. Still, when I would listen to Channel 71 on Sirius and hear your immediately recognizable sound, I felt like we were friends, too. I'm sorry you're gone, Wayman. Nevertheless, I am just glad I was blessed to get to experience it when almost 15 years ago I heard you request, "Come and Watch Me Play."</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">(Note: The video below is included for any who have not yet<br />discovered Wayman's musical gift or his amazing smile.</span></span>)<br /></div><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uD4tDYRz_tA?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uD4tDYRz_tA?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"></embed></object>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-24771625333013078752010-09-20T19:35:00.017-04:002010-09-20T21:52:08.679-04:00M-WTCA Inspectors???<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><span>So what could pull me out of my cubby hole where I sit listening to the Bee Gees wondering why my blog attracts hecklers?</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><span>Well, Panther Saws, of course.</span></span> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" face="arial" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >Last week a homemade Panther Saw showed up on Ebay.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >There were two signs that immediately told me it was not genuine.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">However, I gladly made the opening bid of 99 cents because I would love to have this guy as a side by side comparison with my genuine Panther saw.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">However, a couple of days ago the seller canceled the auction and relisted it with a Buy It Now price of $349.99.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"> </p><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf64CjWWNI/AAAAAAAABao/qPoeAHcPn_4/s1600/Picture4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 217px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf64CjWWNI/AAAAAAAABao/qPoeAHcPn_4/s400/Picture4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519155709030586578" border="0" /></a></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Here are the three pictures that accompany the auction.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf385MoG5I/AAAAAAAABaY/nkRNYbqSXWg/s1600/Picture1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf385MoG5I/AAAAAAAABaY/nkRNYbqSXWg/s400/Picture1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519152493883825042" border="0" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="arial" style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="arial" style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="arial" style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf2K3l3ZYI/AAAAAAAABaA/EexpNwIR-kY/s1600/Picture3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf2K3l3ZYI/AAAAAAAABaA/EexpNwIR-kY/s400/Picture3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519150534947726722" border="0" /></a></span></p><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf3Tztp-mI/AAAAAAAABaI/RZTR-3qpPOU/s1600/Picture2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 347px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf3Tztp-mI/AAAAAAAABaI/RZTR-3qpPOU/s400/Picture2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519151788037110370" border="0" /></a></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Is it just me, or does this saw appear to only have a "panther" carved on one side of the handle?</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Wow, that is what we humans would refer to as a "RED FLAG."</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">(In other far, far away galaxies they would call that "A disturbance in THE FORCE.")</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Also, do you see that pointy area inside the opening of the handle (in the area where the ring finger knuckle would be)?</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">That shape (pointing toward the front of the saw) is normally seen on other saw brands (like Disston Saws).</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Woodrough & McParlin, the company that patented the Panther Saw, is often seen with a rounded opening inside the handle. I believe I've seen "pointy" areas on some Woodrough & McParlin handles, but I have never seen a Panther Saw with an outwardly pointy area.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Here, let's look at the opening on my Panther Saw as a comparison.</span></p><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf6BT5nNbI/AAAAAAAABag/duWdRk8ON78/s1600/P9204822.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf6BT5nNbI/AAAAAAAABag/duWdRk8ON78/s400/P9204822.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519154768794564018" border="0" /></a></span><p style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">So I realize that this much data would not carry any weight with OJ's jury, but to me, it more than implies that the saw on Ebay was an experimental carving by someone.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Nevertheless, I wanted to get additional information.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Also, I wanted to let this apparently genuine seller realize that she was most likely overstating the authenticity of this item.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">So I sent her the following question through Ebay's proper channel:</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> -------------------</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:100%;" >To: thegirls1220<br />Subject: jeff has sent a question about item #230528219160, ending on Sep-26-10 10:07:24 PDT - Unusual Old Carved Handle Lion's Head Saw (Panther?)<br />Sent Date: Sep-20-10 08:05:22 PDT</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"> <span style="font-size:100%;"><strong><span style="color:black;">Dear thegirls1220,</span></strong></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><br /><br />It appears you have a fake/home-made Panther Saw. Can you confirm the "panther head" is only on one side? Also, on a real panther saw the area of the handle was enlarged at the front to allow enough room for the head to be carved. From the photos you provided it appears a Boy Scout carved a tiny little panther head into the existing wooden handle (and only on one side).<br /><br />Do you have any Larger/Better Photos available?</span> <span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >-----------------------------------<br /></span><p style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Folks, I honestly thought I was being helpful. Then, a few hours later I receive this response:</span></p><p style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">-------------------------<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong><span style="color:black;">Dear jeff,</span></strong></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><br /><br />You don't have to be rude. If you don't like the saw don't bid. This saw was inspected by a Director of the Midwest Tool Collectors Association, and he set the value.</span></p> <p face="arial" style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color:black;">- thegirls1220</span></span></p> <p face="arial" style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> --------------------------</span></p> <p face="arial" style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I will admit her response triggered multiple WTF thoughts in my head.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">And after months of experiencing what TRUE internet rudeness is and just trying to avoid anonymous conflict, I made the decision that as the owner of a genuine Panther Saw I would defend the honor.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">(It's sort of like those websites where a genuine former Navy Seal goes through the effort of out'ing all of the Seal impostors who attempt to pick up chicks by saying they were Navy Seals during the Revolutionary War.)</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;" face="arial" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="arial"><span style="font-size:100%;">So, here is the latest email I sent to the seller of the "Carved Disston Saw":</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"> </p><p style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">---------------------------<br /></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="color:black;">Dear thegirls1220,</span></strong></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><br /><br />What part of asking if you have other (different) photos is rude?<br /><br />Also, I was trying to help you avoid the suffering in case you got a buyer who would immediately realize what you have is NOT a Woodrough and McParlin Panther saw.<br /><br />As for your statement that you had it inspected by someone with the Midwestern Tool Collectors Association, I don't know of any M-WTCA guys who would look at a saw with a Disston handle with a "panther" carved on one side and declare it to be a genuine Woodrough and McParlin panther saw.<br /><br />So, please, rather than incorrectly calling me rude, are you able to answer the questions I posed?<br /><br />1) Is the panther carved on only one side?<br />2) Do you have additional (better...more detailed) photos available?<br /><br />Thanks,<br /><br />Jeff</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic;font-family:courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" > ------------------------</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="arial"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color:black;">That's it.<span style=""> </span>That's where we stand.<span style=""> </span>I will let you know if we get a response to my questions. By the way, if you are inclined to jump over to Ebay and pay $350 for a home-made Panther Saw.... take a look at the Medallion, too.<br /></span></span></p><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf-2lv8QBI/AAAAAAAABaw/GtF0jEo2DDo/s1600/Picture5.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 347px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/TJf-2lv8QBI/AAAAAAAABaw/GtF0jEo2DDo/s400/Picture5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519160082165415954" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" face="arial"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color:black;">Gee, is that a Disston Keystone I see??? Oh yeah, I'm sure <span style="font-style: italic;">"</span></span></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">This saw was inspected by a Director of the Midwest Tool Collectors Association." </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color:black;">There is one other thought....perhaps in the early 1880's Disston paid Woodrough & McParlin for the rights to put a panther of their own on this very special saw. Holy Crap!!!!!!!!! Call Antiques Ro<span style="font-family:arial;">adshow!!! I just realized that what we have here is...... An American Treasure.</span></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">(Now if we could just figure out why the patina on the blade doesn't line up with the "panther" head. HMMMM....)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Note to self (and my father)...when I Google'd images of <a href="http://www.google.com/images?num=10&hl=en&safe=off&client=firefox-a&hs=IrW&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&q=woodrough+and+McParlin+handle&nfpr=1&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi&biw=1920&bih=913">"Woodrough and McParlin handle"</a> on the WorldWideWeb and was greeted with my own pictures of my adorable dog (Peyton), I got the best belly laugh I have had in weeks.</span></span></p><p face="arial" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p face="arial" class="MsoNormal"></p>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-45418604434966919032010-05-04T20:44:00.003-04:002010-05-04T21:20:08.779-04:00A Toast To Our Republic<span style="font-family: arial;">On the way home from work today, I stopped into a local church. <br /><br />There wasn't a prayer meeting; that church was my polling place to vote in the Primary Election.<br /><br />I have done a decent job of keeping Skiving Off non-political. Hell, for the last year or so I have done a decent job of keeping Skiving Off non-existent. However, today I want to talk about politics.<br /><br />When I was younger I was involved in politics. Sometimes I worked as a Poll Challenger, and other times I offered to drive the old, insane, left handed, or the disenfranchised to the polls.<br /><br />Then, I figured out that no matter who was elected, my life didn't really change. So I stopped wasting my time worrying about politicians. I still vote. I just don't expect to ever see a modern day Jeff Smith (not the Frugal Gourmet) go to Washington in Capra-esque form and filibuster on behalf of my needs.<br /><br />Which brings us to today. <br /><br />Rather than just show up at the poll and ignorantly cast my ballot for candidates with the most virile sounding names, I pulled up a website that allowed me to make side by side comparisons of the candidates' answers to a list of standard questions.<br /><br />The last question was, "Have you ever been arrested? If so, explain."<br /><br />It seemed everyone was answering, "NO."<br /><br />Then, I saw a guy running for Congress who said he was busted for DUI 15 years ago. He said it was the worst thing in his life. He said it changed him, and he is better because of it. <br /><br />That is who I chose to represent me in Washington.<br /><br />Fifteen years ago when I was a much younger fellow, I had some idealistic notions of what a politician should be. Back then I likely never would have considered voting for a guy who got busted for DUI when he was in his 20's.<br /><br />So it is interesting to me that today I chose this guy specifically because of his arrest. I didn't give a hoot about his kids. (George Carlin taught me a long time ago that Politicians always want us to know their reproductive organs work.) I didn't care what church he goes to. NOPE. For me, I just hoped that having been busted for DUI 15 years ago, this guy might be less likely to be a high and mighty, holier-than-thou, pompous prick than all the other guys on the ballot. So I decided to give him a shot.<br /><br />As I left the church, one little old lady was handing out cookies. I turned down the one she offered. Another lady had stickers that said, "I voted today." My first thought was to ask, "Are stickers the only thing you have, or is there a remote chance I am the lucky voter who has won a lap dance?" Nevertheless, I suppressed that urge, took my sticker, and walked to the car.<br /><br />It was only then that I realized that I may have just played a role in helping to kill the next Mary Jo Kopechne. <br /><br />Wow.<br /><br />Just when I was starting to think my vote doesn't matter...<br /><br /><br /></span>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-81525189602640724002010-04-22T07:28:00.002-04:002010-04-22T14:47:15.698-04:00Wanna Change The World? There's Nothing To It<span style="font-family:arial;">For a week and a half, I have been singing.<br /><br />It's been a while since I felt like singing, but Gene pulled it out of me.<br /><br />I don't want to say that "I'm Back" for fear of stirring up expectations in my former readers that I will fail to fulfill. However, I can admit that I have recently done some REAL woodworking.<br /><br />I think this is my first blog entry of 2010. Last year, I did about 26. The year before that I did 99.<br /><br />I got the new house in January of 2009, and although the movers carried thousands of pounds of equipment and lumber down to the 1800 square foot basement, that capacious space has remained much more a basement than a shop (<a href="http://jeffskiver.blogspot.com/2008/05/live-from-studio-b.html">or studio</a>) throughout 2009.<br /><br />During 2009, my only week-long class at Marc Adams School of Woodworking was Marquetry. So even though I learned an amazing craft during that week, that class didn't force me to run a 220V line or put together a dust collector pipe system at home.<br /><br />Last Fall, when the 2010 MASW schedule was produced, one class stood out to me. BUILDING A CURVED FRONT WRITING DESK WITH CHRIS GOCHNOUR. Chris is one of the best. I have <a href="http://jeffskiver.blogspot.com/2008/04/that-ch-is-actually-k.html">lauded him before</a>, but every compliment is truth. It is staggering how much work one can accomplish in 5 days with Chris, given how well prepared he is, along with his willingness to work as many hours as his students desire. Best of all, Chris Gochnour is one of the nicest guys on the planet.<br /><br />The week immediately after Easter was the 5 day class, and the students had received a cut list to guide the preparation of the surfaced material we were to bring to class. This cut list served as my incentive to assemble my jointer, tablesaw, chop saw, planer, and dust collector. Waiting until just days before the start of class, I began putting my shop together, and I successfully processed enough saw dust to have surfaced lumber for my class.<br /><br />Then, for five days, while my buddy (the class brown-nose) Joe Brumley and I sat at the back of the class telling jokes, Chris Gochnour guided the group through leg shaping, bent wood lamination, carcass assembly, table top glue-ups, drawer fitment, dovetailing, and final shaping.<br /><br />My drawers aren't done yet. I told a few too many jokes. I had a little too much fun talking to students in other classes. I informed Marc Adams which of his possessions I have dibs on should I somehow outlive him. I also rediscovered what woodworking means to me and why it was I first embraced this craft 6 years ago.<br /><br />My drawers aren't done, but I know how to make them. Also, I have the tools to make them down in my shop. Because as Easter commemorates the resurrection of the Messiah, the week after Easter 2010 saw the resurrection of my Passion for the Messiah's early (Earthly) vocation, woodworking.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/S9CSwiZonSI/AAAAAAAABZY/ye8oHw7R9lU/s1600/P4103713cr.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 354px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/S9CSwiZonSI/AAAAAAAABZY/ye8oHw7R9lU/s400/P4103713cr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463027710566112546" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My life outside the shop is unchanged. The job is still there, and I am glad. It provides joy, challenge, fulfillment, and CASH. Most of my problems are still there. Nevertheless, my smile is a little more sincere since I rediscovered that my life has room for both a Corporate Profit & Loss Statement and a Spoke Shave.<br /><br />Some might say that my week with Chris Gochnour wasn't very artistic since I was just copying his desk and not truly designing my own. My only response is that comebacks should be paced and orderly. I am ok with my choice to hang out with my friend Chris and simply remake his desk as my own.<br /><br />I am not always as tolerant of re-makes, though. I remember a few years ago when I heard Tim Burton was remaking Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory....I bristled. That movie didn't need another version. And when I eventually saw the Burton version with Johnny Depp, I felt even more strongly that Gene Wilder's performance in 1971 was strong enough to last at least a millennium or two before anyone else needed to make it their own. Then again, what do I know, I was originally opposed to the Squeakquel to Alvin and the Chipmunks.<br /><br />And so it was a couple of weeks ago, as my vacation wound down and I prepared to return to the office that I saw an AT&T commercial that started me singing.<br /><br /><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CEcvi9hzWXs&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CEcvi9hzWXs&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="640"></embed></object><br /><br />Gene's voice came through the speakers and reminded me of our magical world that is so often obscured by life.<br /><br />I still only have 168 hours a week. But along with work, yelling at the neighbor kids, feeding my Webkinz, and cutting the grass...I still have time to take responsibility for my own life. And I am making the choice to be who I have always been...the little 5 year old kid with the big blue eyes who would look adults squarely in the face and unblinkingly inform them that when he grew up, he was going to be the President of the United States.... or a Fire Fighter... or a Fighter Pilot... depending on what day of the week it was. I may have a strand or two of grey hair starting to pop up, but on the inside I am still 5 years old. I still have big blue eyes. And I choose to use those eyes to see the world....<br /><br />The World of Pure Imagination.<br /><br />I leave you (today) with a classic original.<br /><br /><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/q3nV6WqA4Y0&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/q3nV6WqA4Y0&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="640"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Pure Imagination<br />by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Hold your breath<br />Make a wish<br />Count to three<br /><br />Come with me<br />And you'll be<br />In a world of pure imagination<br />Take a look and you'll see<br />Into your imagination<br /><br />We'll begin with a spin<br />Traveling in the world of my creation<br />What we'll see will defy explanation<br /><br />If you want to view paradise<br />Simply look around and view it<br />Anything you want to, do it<br />Wanna change the world?<br />There's nothing to it<br /><br />There is no life I know<br />To compare with pure imagination<br />Living there you'll be free<br />If you truly wish to be<br /><br />If you want to view paradise<br />Simply look around and view it<br />Anything you want to, do it<br />Wanna change the world<br />There's nothing to it<br /><br />There is no life I know<br />To compare with pure imagination<br />Living there you'll be free<br />If you truly wish to be<br /></span>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-91086439925277285372009-12-09T23:03:00.004-05:002009-12-09T23:16:45.594-05:00Gimme the Ball!!!!!!!!!!!In life, the "Gamers" are the ones who want the ball in the closing seconds. "GIMME THE BALL!!!!!!!!"<br /><br />"Somebody's gotta win this for us, and that's MY job. So.... GIMME THE BALL!!!!!!!!!!"<br /><br />I wasn't always that guy.<br /><br />One Indiana afternoon in 1985, Hebron High School's Junior Varsity Baseball team was down by 3 runs with 2 outs in the bottom of the 7th (the last inning), and I came up to bat. Like Roy Hobbs I could have won the game with a walk-off grand slam. Instead, my brain just kept thinking, "If I can draw a walk I will get an RBI, and then the top of the order could win the game for us." Three CALLED strikes later, I watched everybody run off the field while I stood motionless in the batter's box, having never even swung.<br /><br />There was one person that year who came to every JV game (home or away) that we played.....my Dad. He gave me an amazing amount of support that season. And the words he had for me when I came out of the locker room for the trip home were simple but life changing, "Jeff, you will never hit the ball if you don't swing the bat."<br /><br />I have not spent the last 24 years always hitting home runs, but I have taken my cuts.<br /><br />A couple of years ago my accountant suggested I start an LLC for the woodworking/magazine writing side gig I had going. The best part of it was that I got to create a really cool name for my own private company. That is how I came to be the founder of Davidian Slingshots, LLC.<br /><br />Throughout my life, I have often been able to encourage myself to accomplish nearly any dream I could come up with. With my slingshot of courage and confidence, I have knocked down more than my share of giants.<br /><br />Yet, there are still some things out there that scare me.<br /><br />This week I decided to beat the crap out of one of the fears I have always had. For the first time ever, I committed to rid my body of some blood without using a bicycle, a woodworking tool, or someone else's hockey stick. This week I decide to face and defeat my fear of needles by donating blood.<br /><br />Yesterday, the Indianapolis Colts sponsored a blood drive at Lucas Oil Stadium. I scheduled an appointment for 12:15, and made my way down there just before lunch time. I filled out the paperwork and then met with the lady who would pre-screen me. I seemed to have all of the right answers to the questions regarding sharing needles and sexual contact with other guys and prostitutes.<br /><br />I was riding a wave of positive self talk that had me convinced I would overcome my lifelong needle fear and leave a pint of my O+ behind.<br /><br />Then, she asked for details about my recent travel outside of the USA.<br /><br />Up until the middle of May, I had not yet secured a single frequent flier mile (domestic or international) during 2009. By the end of October I had reached Gold Elite status with more than 50,000 miles on one airline alone. (It's been a busy second half of the year, people.)<br /><br />France didn't bother her. Apparently, Foie Gras doesn't taint one's blood.<br /><br />Brazil made her go to the chart. She produced a map of Brazil and asked where I have been. I pointed to Rio and Sao Paulo in the "green" area of her map, and she nodded approvingly. I pointed to Manaus in the red-shaded Amazon area of her map, and her face fell.<br /><br />She then told me that I was not able to donate blood until one year after my last visit to that area.<br /><br />I nearly cried. For real.... All of the energy that I had spent the day stirring into my recipe for courage instantly turned into the shoulder shaking agony of an unrealized goal.<br /><br />She gave me a brown paper that I was to show to another lady at the exit. This paper would apparently indicate to the "check out lady" why I was leaving with neither a bruise nor a Band-Aid.<br /><br />There were hundreds of people at the stadium waiting to donate. I held the tears in, and did the long walk of shame, giving no outward indication of whether or not I was gay..... whether or not I sleep with prostitutes.... or whether or not I share needles with my fellow junkies.<br /><br />I didn't mind the stares. I really didn't care what anyone thought. I just felt rejected. I felt like I dug deep and travelled way beyond my comfort zone in order to offer something to the world....only to be told I wasn't good enough.<br /> <br />I had excuses. I told myself that my company had needed me at our factory in the Amazon more than Central Indiana needed my blood. Yet, the reality was that I had failed in this attempt to donate my first pint of blood, and I am not a guy who handles failure very well.<br /><br />I made it through my walk of shame, and I showed the lady the brown paper. She said, "Thanks for volunteering. We appreciate your desire and your effort to come down here." Then, she handed me a football.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/SyBz4W_2DGI/AAAAAAAABZA/28WvyNNF34c/s1600-h/PC102962.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/SyBz4W_2DGI/AAAAAAAABZA/28WvyNNF34c/s400/PC102962.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413454164182568034" border="0" /></a><br />As part of the Colts sponsorship, donors were given a commemorative football with a facsimile autograph of Defensive Back, Marlin Jackson. It was a really nice football. It was not a cheap, plastic piece of junk. It was really nice.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/SyB0HaNYHBI/AAAAAAAABZI/B-iZrw5e22A/s1600-h/PC102967.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SAe8xoYvzMU/SyB0HaNYHBI/AAAAAAAABZI/B-iZrw5e22A/s400/PC102967.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413454422742670354" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I wasn't going to refuse my gift, so I let her give me the ball. Then, it all came back to me....<br /><br />You won't hit every ball you swing at. But you will certainly miss every ball you are too afraid to swing at.<br /><br />I am not yet a blood donor. However, I will be.<br /><br />Even if the battle has been postponed until a later date, I have already seen the Blood Donation Needle Giant standing there taunting me and my little slingshot. What he doesn't know is, I am Jeff Skiver, and I am not just calling for the ball.... HELL!!!! They already gave it to me.Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-2500370031365370922009-10-11T14:03:00.002-04:002009-10-11T14:47:05.882-04:00A Man of Principle, Too<span style="font-family: arial;">Sometimes life takes a turn that you just didn't see coming.<br /><br />Yesterday seemed like a normal day during the early part. Who would have thought it could spiral out of control to where I would end up spending the night in jail?!?!?!?<br /><br />Although my attorney has told me to keep my mouth shut, I feel I must let everyone know the truth about the event that led to me beating the living dog-S&%$# out of the guy at the Gas & Sip.<br /><br />I don't make it a habit to go around putting the smack down on people, but I believe that there are times when you are left with no option but to advance to fisticuffs.<br /><br />In this case I happened to encounter a guy who was so off his rocker and spewing stupidity that I felt justified in putting a stop to the lies he was spreading. Here is how it went down.<br /><br />As I pulled the Benz into the Gas & Sip next to USA (United Skates of America), I immediately saw Ron Cassletwin's Purple Vega. Let's face it, we all know that at any given roller disco tournament in the Eastern United States it's always going to come down to Ron Cassletwin or me. That's a given. So I expected Ron to be at the competition. What I did NOT expect was to have Ron start his trash talking in the parking lot of the Gas & Sip before we even got to the skating rink. Still that is exactly what he did.<br /><br />I was just trying to put 13 gallons of premium in my AMG SLK when that assclown in the purple sequin'ed jumpsuit rolled my way. Looking down I saw that Ron had raised the stakes, as he was sporting a new pair of Humphrey 600's...the Reidel 120R derivative that has l</span><span style="font-family: arial;" class="text colors_text">imited edition chrome plate & trucks, Humphrey ceramic bearings, and Bones elite wheels. Where Ron got $600 for new skates I will never know. Most likely he has been pimpin' his purple clad ass out teachin' lessons to Middle Age Mamas who want to relive the Shaun Cassidy glory days. Nevertheless, the fact he was rollin' on his Reidels on a gas station parking lot still confirmed that even with new wheels, Ron is still the biggest dumbass on the planet.<br /><br />With Ron rolling toward me, I embraced the tiger and returned to mountain and thought I was calm enough to handle whatever he was going to spew at me..... attacks on my equipment, my patented reverse roll scissor kick, or even my mother.<br /><br />Instead, Ron went the one place he shouldn't have gone....he went after THE MUSIC.<br /><br />The entire world knows that the single greatest song to Roller Disco to is Walter Murphey's Fifth of Beethoven. So when Ron got up in my face and began to preach that David Shire's Manhattan Skyline was better...I just sort of snapped.<br /><br />Even now as I replay it in my head it all seems to be in slow motion. I see my fist flying through the air. I see Ron's hair piece remain stationary in the air as I punched his face right out from under it. I see the waving flash of purple sequins and the sickening sound of Uethane wheels helplessly scrambling for traction on the diesel residue on the pavement. I still feel the cold steel of the cuffs as the Hamilton County Sheriff's department took me away. Worst of all I can still see my attorney telling me that Ron Casseltwin won the 2009 Roller Disco-Hoosier because I wasn't there to represent.<br /><br />I don't know....I suppose I should have been prepared for anything. But it's one thing to attack me....it's completely different to attack THE MUSIC.<br /></span>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8702992912065040751.post-55715079162535629482009-10-09T15:59:00.007-04:002009-10-09T19:48:10.781-04:00A Man of Amazing Potential...<span style="font-family:arial;">I am so deeply touched.<br /><br />I have been weeping all day. There is just such a strong wave of emotions.<br /><br />I just received word from Norway, that I have been given the 2009 Nobel Prize for Parenting.<br /><br />I am sure that there are some who will say that I do not deserve this award and the fact that I am not even a father makes a mockery of the entire Nobel process. However, I think it is important to remember that I have the potential to be a father. Therefore, based upon my great and almost limitless potential for parenting success, it is understandable that I should be honored with this prestigious new award from the legendary Nobel Committee.<br /><br />What makes it even more special is the fact that I have also been awarded the 2009 Nobel Prize for Physics. While it is noteworthy that I am not actually a Physicist (my undergraduate degree is Mechanical Engineering), the Norwegian Nobel Committee</span><i> </i><span style="font-family:arial;"> recognized that I am quite captivated by high tech gadgets like mobile phones and Blu-Ray players in awarding me the highest prize for Physics.<br /><br />Nevertheless, there is a tinge of sadness. Despite my obvious joy for the two Nobel Prizes I was given today, I am upset that the Committee overlooked the great work we have done here at Skiving Off when they snubbed me. Friends I regret to inform you that once again I was not awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.<br /><br /></span>Jeff Skiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05193511181361305951noreply@blogger.com1