Skiving Off

Remembering Roselle

2011-07-19T15:52:00.000-04:00

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.

Roselle was an alumna of Guide Dogs for the Blind. (www.guidedogs.com)

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).

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.

Roselle's story is told here: Saying “Goodbye” to a Hero

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."

Nights Are Forever Without You

2011-06-21T15:23:00.001-04:00

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.

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.

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.

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:

A revival of the hottest adult contemporary sound of the mid to late 70's....

England Dan & John Ford Coley featuring Little Jeffy Skiver

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.

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.

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."

Well, it may be about 30 years since we split, but I still love "us"... the way we were... when we were together.

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:

England Dan & John Ford Coley featuring Little Jeffy Skiver on the Dan Seals Memorial, Last Hurrah Concert Series.

My Galoot Card Has Expired

2011-04-05T11:09:00.000-04:00

My friend Ethan 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.

I'm not sure if the Panther Saw I mentioned in February 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.

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.

Patrick Leach's email 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.

Ultimately, I decided that, at the very least, I am still the Commander McBragg of Tool Collecting.

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.............

Recommending Ronnie Lott

2011-03-25T10:53:00.000-04:00

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.

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.)

Naturally, I pulled up Ronnie's page and there were two things that struck me.

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.

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.

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.

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:

"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."

Jeff Skiver recommends Ronnie Lott.

(This ESPN video is a strong recommendation, too.)

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.

Pick Me Out A Winner, Bobby

2011-03-24T10:08:00.001-04:00

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.

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.)

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.

In the movie version of The Natural, what is the name of the bat Roy Hobbs uses to hit the Pennant Winning home run?

When you ask this trivia question to someone you will get one of three possible responses:

a) 80% of the people will stare blankly with no clue

b) 18% will confidently blurt out the incorrect answer "WONDERBOY!!!!!"

c) 2% will smile and tell you that is a trick question and then correctly answer, "Savoy Special"

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."

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.

Gentlemen, that is my question for you today: What do you do, when Wonderboy is gone? 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Savoy Special
The Natural at MOVIECLIPS.com

(Clicking above will play the scene from the film.)

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.

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.

Interview With an Eagle

2011-03-02T10:58:00.000-05:00

(Warning... The following issue of Skiving Off contains a Motivational Speech. If you are overly cynical or jaded, it may be best to wait for the next update.)

Sometimes life is like Robot Chicken, where you see something that is truly wrong, but you struggle to quantify exactly what the issue is.

Last night Gail and I were driving home from dinner. Actually Gail was driving and I was staring out the passenger side window. 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!!!!!!!!!!!!" (There's a reason Mika Hakkinen asks me to race with him every year... I'm that good.)

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!!!!" I pointed to the field off to the right where there was a giant hawk poking at something on the ground. Then, it started running and flapping it's wings, and I said, "Well, that aint a hawk. It must be a huge...crow." My voice trailed off.

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. 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."

My brain was reeling. The bird ran, flapped, and took flight; and it was NOT a crow. It flew westward and crossed over Oak Ridge Road just as Gail piloted our TDi Jetta under it. Kids, it was a MASSIVE hawk, and he was beautiful. 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. Something seemed grossly wrong with the hawk's take-off. Then, it hit me. It was the flapping.

Hawks and eagles can be big, heavy birds. However, they are beautiful. They are birds that soar. They dive. They swoop. That's how we humans like to envision our birds of prey. Motivational posters show eagles soaring above majestic mountains, not running across muddy fields flapping their wings madly. 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. It is not as attractive to watch a hawk pecking at a dead rodent as its talons sink into the mud.

Yet the lesson is that even eagles hit bottom.

Intrigued by what I saw with the hawk last night I called an eagle friend this morning and asked him about it. His words were eye opening:

"Life is pretty sweet when you're soaring. It's effortless. It's both an adrenaline rush and an ego trip. 'Cause while 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. 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. However, we don't stay on the ground for long. 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. 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. Just because hunger can bring me to a place 'below' the humans does NOT mean I have to stay there. I am an eagle, and regardless of the reading on the altimeter, you can rest assured that I am ALWAYS soaring on the inside."

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).

Happy 3-0!!!!! Here's your Jeep.

2011-02-24T10:58:00.002-05:00

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!!!!!

NFL Safety Bob Sanders hits the big 3-0 today.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Here is a quick PARTIAL list of smacks, little Cool Hand Luke has gotten off of the deck from:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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????

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.

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...

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!!!!

2011-02-03T11:18:00.003-05:00

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.

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.

We Galoots hope that old tools make the short list of items that even the "Clean & Purge" crowd would keep.

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).

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.

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.

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.

Has Anyone Seen The Lambs?

2011-01-26T08:51:00.001-05:00

I have been pondering the ultimate woodworking project, the building of an ARK to carry a boatload of critters.

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.

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.

Let's begin.

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.)

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.

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.

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?

Buy What You Like

2011-01-15T11:04:00.001-05:00

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.

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 class 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.

(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.)

My friend Erin recently graduated from Art School. On December 22, 2010 she commented on MyFace about working with skateboards. She wrote, " I think I just realized how much I love designing skateboards.....how do I make this into my job?" Someone then suggested she call Tony Hawke.

Ever the capitalist and marketing whiz, I responded with, "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 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:

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 Mike and Wally that had been painted by Patrick Rapai, an artist in Zimbabwe.

It is called Bicycle 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 Bicycle is the first painting I ever purchased.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

The Chef is THE CHEFF!!!!!!!

2011-01-12T21:31:00.001-05:00

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?????

Yesterday, I promised to divulge a secret about my friend Brunetto. So today I am following through with that.

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.

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.

Cheff Brunetto recently started a blog where he shares some of his recipes. I encourage you to check out his blog and try these recipes.

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.

Brownie Royal

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.

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.

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.

Leaving the Quacks Behind

2011-01-11T12:05:00.001-05:00

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.

Insert dramatic pause....

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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):

"In Heaven, the Entire cow is Picanha."

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.

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.

Since we met, Brunetto and I have become true friends. Gail and I have been to his home many times.

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.

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."

He paused and smiled. As I opened the box, Joelcir said, "But let's face it.... YOU'RE JEFF!!! Happy Birthday, my friend."

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.

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.

Peyton and I Remember Eureka

2011-01-09T22:17:00.001-05:00

A couple of weeks ago my dog Peyton got upset.

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?!?!?"

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.

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.

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 Snausages® to set things aright in Peyton's world.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Peyton and I are expecting a shipment of Haitian baseballs in the very near future.

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.

Missing My Friend

2011-01-07T10:31:00.003-05:00

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.

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 "In The Zone."

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. The shocking thing is that Wayman was a better bass guitarist than basketball player.

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 THAT good.

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."

(Note: The video below is included for any who have not yet
discovered Wayman's musical gift or his amazing smile.)

M-WTCA Inspectors???

2010-09-20T19:35:00.017-04:00

So what could pull me out of my cubby hole where I sit listening to the Bee Gees wondering why my blog attracts hecklers? Well, Panther Saws, of course.

Last week a homemade Panther Saw showed up on Ebay. There were two signs that immediately told me it was not genuine. 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.

However, a couple of days ago the seller canceled the auction and relisted it with a Buy It Now price of $349.99.

Here are the three pictures that accompany the auction.

Is it just me, or does this saw appear to only have a "panther" carved on one side of the handle? Wow, that is what we humans would refer to as a "RED FLAG." (In other far, far away galaxies they would call that "A disturbance in THE FORCE.")

Also, do you see that pointy area inside the opening of the handle (in the area where the ring finger knuckle would be)? That shape (pointing toward the front of the saw) is normally seen on other saw brands (like Disston Saws). 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.

Here, let's look at the opening on my Panther Saw as a comparison.

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. Nevertheless, I wanted to get additional information. Also, I wanted to let this apparently genuine seller realize that she was most likely overstating the authenticity of this item. So I sent her the following question through Ebay's proper channel:

-------------------

To: thegirls1220
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?)
Sent Date: Sep-20-10 08:05:22 PDT

Dear thegirls1220,

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).

Do you have any Larger/Better Photos available?

-----------------------------------

Folks, I honestly thought I was being helpful. Then, a few hours later I receive this response:

-------------------------

Dear jeff,

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.

- thegirls1220

--------------------------

I will admit her response triggered multiple WTF thoughts in my head. 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. (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.)

So, here is the latest email I sent to the seller of the "Carved Disston Saw":

---------------------------

Dear thegirls1220,

What part of asking if you have other (different) photos is rude?

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.

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.

So, please, rather than incorrectly calling me rude, are you able to answer the questions I posed?

1) Is the panther carved on only one side?
2) Do you have additional (better...more detailed) photos available?

Thanks,

Jeff

------------------------

That's it. That's where we stand. 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.

Gee, is that a Disston Keystone I see??? Oh yeah, I'm sure "This saw was inspected by a Director of the Midwest Tool Collectors Association."

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 Roadshow!!! I just realized that what we have here is...... An American Treasure.

(Now if we could just figure out why the patina on the blade doesn't line up with the "panther" head. HMMMM....)

Note to self (and my father)...when I Google'd images of "Woodrough and McParlin handle" 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.

A Toast To Our Republic

2010-05-04T20:44:00.003-04:00

On the way home from work today, I stopped into a local church.

There wasn't a prayer meeting; that church was my polling place to vote in the Primary Election.

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.

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.

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.

Which brings us to today.

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.

The last question was, "Have you ever been arrested? If so, explain."

It seemed everyone was answering, "NO."

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.

That is who I chose to represent me in Washington.

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.

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.

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.

It was only then that I realized that I may have just played a role in helping to kill the next Mary Jo Kopechne.

Wow.

Just when I was starting to think my vote doesn't matter...

Wanna Change The World? There's Nothing To It

2010-04-22T07:28:00.002-04:00

For a week and a half, I have been singing.

It's been a while since I felt like singing, but Gene pulled it out of me.

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.

I think this is my first blog entry of 2010. Last year, I did about 26. The year before that I did 99.

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 (or studio) throughout 2009.

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.

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 lauded him before, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Gene's voice came through the speakers and reminded me of our magical world that is so often obscured by life.

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....

The World of Pure Imagination.

I leave you (today) with a classic original.

Pure Imagination
by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley

Hold your breath
Make a wish
Count to three

Come with me
And you'll be
In a world of pure imagination
Take a look and you'll see
Into your imagination

We'll begin with a spin
Traveling in the world of my creation
What we'll see will defy explanation

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Wanna change the world?
There's nothing to it

There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there you'll be free
If you truly wish to be

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Wanna change the world
There's nothing to it

There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there you'll be free
If you truly wish to be

Gimme the Ball!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-12-09T23:03:00.004-05:00

In life, the "Gamers" are the ones who want the ball in the closing seconds. "GIMME THE BALL!!!!!!!!"

"Somebody's gotta win this for us, and that's MY job. So.... GIMME THE BALL!!!!!!!!!!"

I wasn't always that guy.

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.

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."

I have not spent the last 24 years always hitting home runs, but I have taken my cuts.

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.

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.

Yet, there are still some things out there that scare me.

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.

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.

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.

Then, she asked for details about my recent travel outside of the USA.

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.)

France didn't bother her. Apparently, Foie Gras doesn't taint one's blood.

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.

She then told me that I was not able to donate blood until one year after my last visit to that area.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I wasn't going to refuse my gift, so I let her give me the ball. Then, it all came back to me....

You won't hit every ball you swing at. But you will certainly miss every ball you are too afraid to swing at.

I am not yet a blood donor. However, I will be.

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.

A Man of Principle, Too

2009-10-11T14:03:00.002-04:00

Sometimes life takes a turn that you just didn't see coming.

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?!?!?!?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 limited 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.

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.

Instead, Ron went the one place he shouldn't have gone....he went after THE MUSIC.

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.

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.

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.

A Man of Amazing Potential...

2009-10-09T15:59:00.007-04:00

I am so deeply touched.

I have been weeping all day. There is just such a strong wave of emotions.

I just received word from Norway, that I have been given the 2009 Nobel Prize for Parenting.

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.

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 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.

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.

Gimme Three Steps

2009-09-25T15:52:00.009-04:00

Note: This is not a sad, dead-dog entry…even though it is about a dog that is no longer alive.

A couple of years ago our dog Simon developed acute Pancreatitis and over the course of five days deteriorated so rapidly that we chose to end his suffering. An interesting point of his treatment was one morning when we arrived at the animal hospital and our veterinarian (Dr. Jill) said, “So tell me about his gunshot wound.” I remember I stared at her for a moment, and then while suppressing an incredulous tone, I calmly said, “Dr. Jill, we’re here to see Simon. He wasn't shot. He's the yellow lab that cannot keep any food down.” Dr. Jill said, “No!!! Not shot right now, Jeff. In the past he was shot. Simon's x-ray shows a couple of pellets still in his body.”

(Actual X-ray of Simon Skiver, Yellow Lab)

At that moment I was again reminded that one can never know the full history of a rescue dog. We got Simon from the West Michigan Chocolate Lab Rescue when he was about 2 years old. He was a fit little guy with an incredibly sweet disposition and a camouflage collar. I later figured out that the reason a perfect purebred Yellow Lab dressed in a camo collar would be at a rescue shelter was because he likely refused to be a hunter. I imagined his early puppyhood being trained to fetch ducks and geese and living the life of a working hunter. Then, one day he gets an injection of Remington pellets and refuses to ever again be a gun dog.

I picture his having a bad-ass hunter name like Rex, and after his scabs healed the great hunter (his first human) came along to the kennel and said, “Let’s go, boy. We need to repel a Mallard invasion.”

The dog (the former Rex) looks up and says, “Screw Off!!!!”

The hunter says, “Whatsa matter, fella. You LOVE to go hunting.”

Rex (the future Simon) replies, “Past tense, dumbass. I LOVE-D to go hunting. Perhaps you don’t remember that last trip where you shot my ass?!?!?! Now why don’t you be a good boy and you and that gun of yours go get me some kibble.”

I imagine that the hunter did take Rex for a trip…down a country road and left him where he ended up in the dog pound near South Bend, Indiana and eventually onto the WMCLR where they gave him the new name of Simon.

Another possibility is that Rex (Simon) played it real cool and acted like he wanted to go hunting. Then, as soon as he and the hunter reached the wetlands area, he hightailed it for the hills all the while looking over his head and screaming, “Shoot me again, Mother F(&^)&*(er!!!!!!!!!!! Shoot my ass again!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Regardless of how the facts played out, I just know that I ended up with an incredibly loving and sweet dog that worshiped the ground I walked on. Perhaps if a dog gets shot early in his life it makes him better appreciate a sedate life of lying around in an air conditioned house watching TV.

(We let him keep the camo collar for a few months before we got him a nice leather one.)

It seems we will never know how Simon got shot.

There is one other possibility I thought of, but I highly doubt it. Part of me believes that in the future I might find that before he was adopted by us, Simon may have been a Gansta Rapper. Maybe if you pull up that last known photo of Tupac taken on the Vegas strip and analyze it closely…perhaps there could be a little yellow lab puppy tail visible in the back seat?

And with that thought, we have come full circle on how my brain works. Because the only reason I have been pondering the early life of my former dog Simon is because of a realization I made last night while explaining to some friends why I believe Neil Young is the most annoying singer ever.

My quote of the night was:
Most people fail to remember that long before there was East Coast/West Coast and long before there was Tupac vs Biggie Smalls, there was Neil Young versus Lynyrd Skynyrd. The difference is that back then, guys didn’t just go around blasting each other with guns; they just waited for God to make the choice with a nice plane crash.

God, I realize that You love to use airplanes to cull the Rock and Roll herd (Bopper, Richie, Buddy, the irrepressible Ricky Nelson, etc). But what in the world would have ever possessed You to be on Neil Young’s side against Skynyrd?

Keeping it Fresh...

2009-08-19T13:33:00.005-04:00

Friends, I am back from Brazil and busily planning for a trip into the heart of the Amazon (Manaus) next week.

It would be so easy to just ignore the blog for a few weeks until things settle down, but I am not going to do that.

So even though this is short, I am tossing you a bone to keep it savory.

This is the best joke I have written in the last 3 days. Feel free to use it. (Hell, there's a chance one of my comedian buddies has already stolen it and used it on the radio or on stage.)

Here goes...

The next time someone launches into a story that is a complete waste of your time, here is what you do. Hold up a finger and say, "I hate to interrupt, I need to take a moment to download the 'GIVE A SHIT App' for my iPhone."

Absense Makes the Heart Grow Fonder...

2009-08-13T18:07:00.007-04:00

Wow!!!!

You just never know how popular you really are.

I did my normal Google search of my name today to see how things have changed after going 3 months without a blog entry.

Look what I found....

There are some who say they are fans of the blog, but look at Hannah Bradley. That chick went and changed her middle name to "Jeff Skiver."

DAMN!!!!!!!

Others have claimed to be my "Number 1 fan". One person was just non-committal enough to claim to be my "Number 2 fan."

But Hannah Bradley showed her allegiance without ever even emailing me to tell me how much she loved my work.

Folks, I am sorry for going away for so long. I just never realized how much everyone loves me.

If any other Skiving Off fan has enacted a name change, gotten a tattoo, or (in the case of a black fraternity member) gotten my name or image BRANDED on their body.... feel free to let me know.

You are the people who make all of the hard work and suffering worthwhile.

As Coach Dale said, "I love you guys."

Can You and YOUR Dog Please Fix My Car?

2009-08-12T15:51:00.003-04:00

Gail and I had a discussion last night to determine which of us appears more insane based upon the blog entry from yesterday.

The consensus is that I alone am insane since the validity of most of what I wrote about Gail is questionable.

Nevertheless, I went with the “I did it to protect you!!!!!!” defense.

Since it is evident to the whole world that I am out of the country, I had to throw something out there to put trepidation and fear in the heart and mind of anyone who might think of stopping by the Flying J Circle S Dude Ranch and Woodshop and making off with a Panther Saw, a Bridge City Foxtail, or a 25th Anniversary Lie-Nielsen 4 ½.

It seems the house is a somber, lonely place at the moment. Each day Gail sends me camera phone photos of Peyton camped out at the front door waiting for me to get home.

Then, late at night Gail goes down to the door and drags his furry butt up to bed where he apparently drifts off to sleep thinking of me and then wakes up the next morning still thinking of me. (It is sort of flattering to be loved like that, even by a dog.)

By comparison, calls to Gail while I am in Brazil do not find her moping around awaiting my return. Rather, calls to Gail find her at Vera Bradley shopping for hand bags.

Gentlemen, this is my bit of wisdom for the day….

Women say they love you, but manage to “move on” before your car is out of the driveway.

Dogs not only fail to sense you are leaving, but then struggle to even function without you.

The difference is: “Have you ever seen a dog in a bikini?”

Even if you get beyond the hair, the bumpy parts just aren’t in the right spots.

So we always come home to the ladies. And they show us their new hand bags, new shoes, and a flat tire on the SUV that needs IMMEDIATE attention.

Guys, if it weren’t for fixing flats and replacing wiper blades, we might just be completely unnecessary to women of this planet. Then, our lives will have gone to the dogs.

Latest Google Latitude Update Shows Skiver in Brazil

2009-08-11T13:47:00.004-04:00

Holy Shit....who are you people???

God as my witness, I was just sitting in a restaurant eating lunch in Rio when my Blackberry buzzed indicating yet another person was pissed at me and willing to tell me so.

Lo and behold, instead, it was an email letting me know someone named "Murphy" had commented on the Blog I used to have.

When I read the comment I got scared trying to think of all the people who might know I was in Rio this week....

In the last three months, I have traveled a lot. I keep meaning to add an update or two to inform the three people who still give two shits (that would be 6 total shits...) what all Peyton and I have been doing during our travels.

Nevertheless, I seem to never get around to updating the blog.

By the way, Peyton is not with me on this trip. Instead, he is home guarding the house this week, but it isn't really necessary given Gail is armed to the teeth and fully trained in how to deal with insurgents and trespassers based upon the time our government paid to send her to a very fancy debutante school located in an exciting place called Twentynine Palms, California. (Ooh-Rah!!!!)

When we bought the new house the first thing Gail did was disconnect the alarm system. When I asked her why, she replied, "On the off chance someone breaks in and I only manage to wound them....I don't want the authorities showing up and saving their ass. There's a lot better chance of their bleeding to death in the driveway if we just wait until the neighbors call in reporting the sound of my M1014...."

Original readers of this blog will well understand that I am married to a badass.

I once asked Gail why she alternates every other shell between buckshot and slugs. She replied, "Sometimes when you actively engage the opposition, one of the little shits loses his balls and wants to hide behind a door or a wall. You need the buckshot to ensure damage on multiple targets, but you need the slugs to penetrate solid cover...."

Original readers of this blog will well understand that I am married to a badass.

As I said, I am in Brazil. Peyton keeps texting me to ask when I will be home to order Gail and her Benelli to Stand Down.

You just keep me hangin' on...

2009-04-28T10:25:00.004-04:00

OK.

I don't have nearly enough time to explain where I have been the last three weeks.

However, as a public service to the four people who still follow the blog, I am going to at least toss you a bone by sharing the best joke I came up with yesterday. (Today's best joke is far too R-rated for this blog; but yesterday's was ok).

If a Jewish guy gets Swine Flu...in addition to his being sick, is it also a sin???

Finally, in case you are wondering there is a good chance that my 3 week absence involves my beating the living dog Sh^%$ out of a prostitute who tried to play Hannibal Lecter with my tongue during a night of partying in Miami. Isn't that crazy??? I shoot one Shamwow spoof, and the next thing you know my whole life starts mimicking Vince's.

You Gettin' This, Camera Guy?!?!?!?

2009-04-04T23:37:00.004-04:00

I need a haircut. It's about a week overdue to get chopped back.

I really like my hair. I am very happy it has decided to stick around as long as it has. I recently had to make a decision about my future with regard to the onesy-twosy strands of silver that are appearing at the temples. The shift to gray hair is not quite as bad as that seen during the first 100 days of those poor schmucks elected President of the USA, but the last few months have seen an increase in my silver. I plucked the first 20 or so that showed up, but I finally realized that after the age of 25, guys really shouldn't pluck perfectly good hair from the head.

So I am accepting the biologically-forced integration of my hair and allowing the silver ones to peacefully reside alongside the sorrel'ish ones.

Given how much I care about my hair, it's not like me to miss a haircut? However,I needed my top follicles long enough to put it into a nasty, spiky doo.

Regular readers know what Skiving Off is about: Dogs, cars, and Music...with a dash of woodworking that focuses on collecting tools and visiting Marc Adams School of Woodworking.

This year's primary goal is to make the 2010 Lie-Nielsen Calendar. I told Tom a couple of years ago that I want to be one of the pair of hands in his annual calendar. I believe his dead pan response was, "Ya do, huh????" And then he just took the check I handed him and said with genuine enthusiasm, "Thanks. This order will be entered and shipped as soon as I return to Maine."

I decided to boost my case for making the calendar. Therefore, I recently enlisted the help of a "LIfe Coach." I couldn't afford any of the best life coach candidates on my list, so I ultimately settled for Vince (the Sham Wow guy).

In a very short time, Vince has changed my life. He has me dressing differently, talking louder, using bigger gestures, and generally grabbing life by the tail.

So, the video below is just the first step of my public quest to get included the Lie-Nielsen calendar. Let's see how it works out.

Helping Audrey Hepburn Fix Her Stutter

2009-03-30T21:23:00.004-04:00

Time for a real Woodworking-ish post.

I'll admit that I have turned a few pens in the last couple of years. I haven't turned anything in 8 months, but way back when (last summer) it was nice because turning allowed me to complete projects in minutes as opposed to months.

As part of my pen turning supplies I have the Micro-Mesh kit that goes from 1500 to 12000 grit.

Over the weekend, an incident occurred that made me dig through the boxes of woodshop stuff that are still packed from our move from Michigan and found the Micro-Mesh kit.

As Gail and I were approaching the critical ending of one of our Netflix features (Breakfast at Tiffany's), the DVD started stuttering in the player. Finally the feature froze. Channeling my alter ego, the problem solving Winston Wolfe from Pulp Fiction, I simply Googled and found the last five minutes of the film on YouTube, and Gail and I watched it on my laptop.

However, it bugged me that the Netflix DVD was too scratched to be viewable.

Somewhere in my brain I recalled the story of Micro-Mesh being invented to polish scratches out of plastic aircraft canopies. So I hustled to the shop, found my Mesh, and came back to the living room to experiment on the Netflix DVD that I was only "renting."

The DVD had some serious scratches and the last 5 minutes of it was not playable. However, a little burnishing with 6000 grit, followed by 8000 and 12000 grit created a polished surface that was as good as new.

For real... the DVD scratches polished right out, and we re-inserted the DVD and watched the previously frozen ending of the film on our big LCD TV (to verify it was the same as what we had seen on YouTube). We then returned the DVD to Netflix in better shape than what it had arrived in.

I was so happy with the plastic polishing performance of Micro-Mesh that this morning I used it to restore an audio CD with more scratches than the "shackle wall" in Rick James' basement. My home-made Barry Manilow mix CD was so beat up from years of abuse that it was skipping horribly. But after a little Micro-Mesh love, I commuted to work singing Weekend in New England, Mandy, Can't Smile Without You, and Somewhere in the Night.

Bruce Johnston may write the songs that make the whole world sing, but thanks to Micro-Mesh, Barry and I are once again rockin' them out as a duet.

FYI... add this as a data point... apparently it is possible for a straight guy to be a big fan of both Audrey Hepburn and Barry Manilow. At least I THINK I'm straight. Wait. What does it mean when we add in the fact I prefer Truman Capote's novel of Breakfast at Tiffany's to the movie version????

GAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

God as my witness I have always thought I was straight. Who knew????

Peyton Manifests Himself as a Lap Dog

2009-03-29T11:09:00.010-04:00

We started the year (or at least closed out 2008) here at Skiving Off by talking about The Art of Racing in the Rain, Garth Stein’s novel about a dog that loves Formula 1 racing. Along with discussions of racing, Enzo (the narrating dog) also lays out the concept that life can be whatever you choose to make of it as he reminds us “that which you manifest is before you.”

My dog, Peyton, is similar to Enzo.

Last week, we needed to have our diesel Jetta shod with some summer rubber, so we took off to South Bend to visit The Tire Rack. I have been shopping at The Tire Rack for years, way back when they were on Chippewa Avenue and far less known. Now they have a massive facility with a really neat test track and they stand alone as the number one supplier of tires for performance cars in America. (They also supply boat loads of minivan tires, too).

Anyway, there were no driving events on the test track last Friday as we waited for the new tires to be installed on the Jetta. So Peyton and I passed the time playing fetch.

It is still shocking to Peyton to find pop bottles and cans just laying in the grass here in Indiana. (Say what you want, but Michigan’s 10 cent bottle deposit law keeps that state virtually free of discarded beverage containers). So when Peyton found a Sunkist bottle near the test track he insisted I start throwing it so he could chase after it and return it to me.

Being at a track with my dog couldn’t help but fill my head with memories of Garth Stein’s book. However, as positive as that book was for me, I think Peyton has found less realistic success from it. No matter how much Peyton manifests his “mindset”… it will NEVER change his reality. You see, Peyton still believes he is an 8 pound puppy. When Peyton looks in the mirror today, he continues to see this image.

The reality is that during his annual physical last week, the 24 month old Peyton weighed in at 95 pounds. However, Dr. Bader said that given his height and muscle tone, he is very close (within 2 or 3 pounds) to being at the correct/ideal weight. Unlike the sometimes chunky Abby and Simon who preceded him, Peyton is a big dog that is PURE muscle. Yet, given he lives in a world where he has to look UP to see every other human, he still believes he is that tiny 8 pound puppy we first brought home.

Combine his size delusion with the fact that Peyton is also a dog that CRAVES physical contact/snuggling and one can see the potential problem.

Last night (1:30 am this morning, really) I settled onto the couch to watch the start of the 2009 Formula 1 season in 1080i High-Def clarity, when the “little” racing dog decided to watch it with me.

(No one is allowed to comment on the fashions I display at 1:30 am...)

I suppose I need to get back to the workshop, where I can stand at the bench and Peyton can lay at my feet. Because the more time I spend watching TV while holding my little lap dog, the more likely I am to be suffocated.

I would be remiss, however, if I didn’t share Peyton’s comment following the end of the race. (A race that at this moment in time has Mercedes-powered cars in the top 3 finishing spots.) As they began playing “God Save the Queen” in honor of Jenson Button’s victory, Peyton looked up at me and said, “It is a rather curious case, but it seems like Jenson Button gets younger and younger as time goes by…”

The Price of Having a Trophy Boyfriend

2009-03-26T18:15:00.003-04:00

I have to apologize to someone.

I realize this is not the purpose of this blog but I am in a hurry.... so deal with it.

I failed to call my goomar yesterday to wish her a happy birthday.

She and I knew that we weren't going to see each other yesterday, but I suppose I still should have called... or at least given her a shout out from the blog. It was very insensitive of me. So here is my public apology.

Danica,

Hey, Baby, I know I should have called yesterday. Ya know what.... the truth is that I got so carried away with my highly competitive badminton league that I forgot about calling you. I was wrong, and I am sorry.

In my defense, we weren't supposed to see each other anyway. Remember? I wasn't able to be with you yesterday, but we are supposed to go out this Saturday night to celebrate your birthday.

However, I just realized that this Saturday night I have to take a nap so I can get up at 1:30 am Sunday morning to watch the live broadcast of the Australian Grand Prix.

Honey, it doesn't look like I am going to get to do anything for your big day this year, but you're young. As long as you can continue to keep it out of the wall, you still have a whole bunch of birthdays in your future.

One other thing, Babygirl. Now that Gail and I are living in Indianapolis, she wants to actually go to the race with me. So I will be needing an extra ticket to the Motorola Luxury Suite. Don't get me wrong, if you can score me a golf cart and a fire suit I will still try to make it down to Gasoline Alley and pit road to see you while you're doing your thing, but I really need to stay with Gail.

Besides, this is just the price you pay for having me as your "trophy boyfriend." (And we know I'm worth it....)

Who are You? Who? Who?

2009-03-25T17:57:00.002-04:00

I don't know if it'll make a difference, but I figured it's time for me to start playing ball. -- 1986 Jimmy Chitwood, Hoosiers (the movie)

Well, boys and girls, I figured it’s time for me to start writing. -- 2009 Jeff Skiver, Hoosier (the birth-state classification)

Perhaps the relocation from Michigan to Indiana dragged me too far away from my muse. Maybe the new job is just too busy to allow my mind to wander to the far off places where my “What the @#%$@#“ thoughts dwell. I don’t know why I have found it so easy to go without updating the blog these past few weeks.

I must admit that most of the new material I have come up with recently is decidedly PG13 or stronger. Whether that is attributable to the rougher posse of cub scouts I have started hanging with or rather simply the fruit of my rapid journey toward secular humanism, I am not sure. I just know that everything I have come up with recently that has been funny enough to make those around me shoot beverages out of their nostrils is far too hard core for a blog that gets linked to by Woodworking Magazine.

My mind appears to be sharp. My wit is still Mach 5 fast. However, all of my punchlines are decidedly naughty. Here’s an example. (And this is the God’s honest truth.) Last week Gail and I were talking about 16 French cuff shirts that needed to go to the cleaners. I said we would be well served to find a Tuchman Cleaners closer to home, because I have an endless supply of Tuchman $1.79 coupons for Business Shirt Laundering. She replied that the last time when she left shirts at Beaver’s Cleaners the cost was $2.39 each. I asked, “Where did you take them last time?” She responded, “Beaver’s Cleaners.” I naturally said, “Well, I wasn’t questioning the name. I am just shocked to hear that Beaver’s Cleaners does full service dry cleaning. You see, Gail, I thought they only did Vinegar and Water rinsing.”

As you can see, it is a cute line, but it will likely drive away most of my remaining readers.

The real scary thing is that the timing of my blogging absence cost me some golden opportunities. For example, yesterday was the 20th Anniversary of the Exxon Valdez spill. Do I wait another 5 years for the 25th Anniversary to put out my list of Top 10 Drunken Woodworking Mistakes? We’ll see.

I’ll tell you what. I have been gone so long, that I want to re-introduce myself to you. So below I am including the full text of my 2007 email to Chris Schwarz where I provided my autobiography. For my first appearance in Popular Woodworking, Chris asked me to provide some information about myself that could be written up into a paragraph that would make all of my former school chums and/or lovers go, “YEP!!!! That really is Skiver in that thar’ magazine.”

So friends, as I re-enter the blogging world, let me share with you who I really am:

Chris,

Since the inclusion of my profile on the Contributors Page will likely double Pop Wood's circulation, I know how important it is for me to provide this information. I apologize for the delay, but I was not sure if you preferred my bio information written in first person or third person.

So instead of writing an eloquent autobiography, I am sending some facts that can be knitted together to form something of interest. I know it is possible to make it interesting, because 11 years ago I managed to come off as interesting enough to convince my wife to marry me. However, I am struggling at the moment to rise above the level of mediocrity.

I was born in Indianapolis, and I lived in various spots across the Hoosier state for the first 26 years of my life.

I received my Mechanical Engineering degree from Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology in Terre Haute, Indiana in 1992. (Rose-Hulman has been ranked by US News & World Report as the top undergraduate engineering school in the country for over 10 consecutive years.)

I moved to Holland, Michigan in 1996 and met and married my wife (Gail) that same year. I work in the automotive industry designing car parts. Although for a couple of years I dabbled in the Engineering side of office furniture and household appliances.

Always a car guy, who thought all spare time should be spent with a wrench in one's hand, I unexpectedly stumbled into woodworking in 2004 when I built a sauna in our basement and found that I really liked it. Woodworking...not the sauna. (Actually, I love the sauna, too, but that is a different story I could write for Midwest Sauna Times Monthly...a bi-annual publication dedicated to the sedentary pursuit of naked pleasure in a dry heat environment.)

I am still experimenting with various forms of fine furniture (Modern, Arts & Crafts, and Shaker...so far.) I am steadily working my way chronologically back the furniture path. Eventually, I plan to get to Roman Crosses that I can supply to Stigmata groups and Passion Play Performers. I desperately need to finish building a workbench and tool cabinet for my shop, but everything I build seems to be for someone else. It should be noted I am not afraid to make my furniture pieces ugly as sin if that is what my "client" wants. I refer specifically to a Pink and Purple Arts & Crafts desk that I made for my niece Hannah. It is a colossus of Purpleheart and dyed Poplar that the mere sight of can induce seizures in infants and the elderly.

I read books, watch videos, and attend classes to learn how to do basic woodworking techniques that most people learned in shop class. I am a member of the West Michigan Woodworking Guild.

In the last year and a half I have become a fanatic of hand tools. What I lack in throughput of projects I make up for in collecting tools and lumber.

I am obsessive compulsive about saw dust, so I have a dust collection system suitable for a shop 400 times the size of mine.

I am desperately searching for a venture capitalist to be the silent partner in opening my own Woodcraft Franchise.

I am a disease-free, non-smoker with no visible tattoos or piercings. I received my last tetanus shot on 31JUL07. (Last Week)

Hopefully you still have that great digital photo I sent a couple of weeks ago. If not, just let me know, and Gail and I will shoot some more. I was thinking about doing a Senior Picture style shoot where I lay on my side in front of my Unisaw with my chin resting on the knuckles of my fist....very 1986....

By the way the part about the pink and purple desk is the God's-honest truth. The most highly crafted piece of furniture I have made so far is so intensely ugly that I am ashamed to show it to people. However, it is EXACTLY what Hannah wanted, so I daily wrestle with the fear that I compromised my art for the sake of making a little girl happy.

Thank you,

Jeff Skiver

What Friends Do...

2009-03-09T12:34:00.004-04:00

Drivel. It’s what I spew. However, some folks find it entertaining; so I am generally not too ashamed of the goofy thoughts I share with the world through the blog.

When I started my new job back in October, one of the first people I met was Fran Kandrac. I tend to have a keen eye for humans and dogs, and it was immediately apparent to me that Fran is one of those people who knows everything and could effortlessly help me with any job related tasks I did. I quickly made friends with Fran.

One day Fran and I were talking about non-work stuff, and it came out that I spew drivel out onto the World Wide Web. When I was done describing the blog and my magazine articles, Fran told me about her website.

What followed was my realization that some of us use the internet for self promotion as they tell goofy little jokes, and others use the internet to help the people around them. Fran is a genuinely funny woman, but her website isn't a silly little blog full of one liners. Fran's provides help for people who need a friend.

I wasn’t thinking about websites when I got an instant message from Fran this morning. My first thought was, “Oh God, tell me I didn’t actually hit “SEND” on that little spoof email to the North American Vice President…”

Instead, Fran’s instant message was telling me that Daryn Kagan was going to have her own show on Oprah Radio. Admittedly, my next thought was to head toward Fran’s office and tell her she had mistaken me for someone who cared about Oprah Radio. However, before I did that I thought I would click on the link Fran had attached. So I clicked, www.darynkagan.com and after I got past my initial guy reaction… “I’ve never heard of Daryn Kagan, but she is fairly hot”… I realized that she (Daryn) was talking about my friend Fran.

How cool is it that on the very day where Daryn Kagan makes her debut on Oprah Radio, she uses her personal website to highlight the work that Fran Kandrac and her daughters, Aimee and Stephanie, are doing through their website: www.whatfriendsdo.com

Plagerized (or quoted) from the website, the purpose of What Friends Do is:

“When a life-changing event happens, friends and family want to help! The WhatFriendsDo.com webtool is a FREE website that can help family and friends form a "Team" and respond in an organized and helpful way. Helping a friend through a life-changing event involves lending a hand with meals, transportation and other tasks. These events also call for understanding, love and uplifting support.”

I seldom ask my drivel fans of Skiving Off to do anything for me, but this one is special. So, today I am encouraging you to do two things for me. Check out the video at www.darynkagan.com that describes the work of the Kandracs. Then, I ask you to visit www.whatfriendsdo.com and imagine the possible ways that you can use this tool to positively impact someone.

One idea... I suppose we could start a “Team” for someone we know who recently relocated back to his hometown (Indianapolis) from Michigan. Ya know… it’s a lot of work getting settled into a new house…

Fran: Congratulations. I am glad to see your good work get the national exposure it deserves. Also, Accounting crapped all over my last expense report... can you take care of that for me???? Don't kill anyone... just scare them. (You're the best.)

Jeffy-san... Touching Lives at Toyota

2009-03-04T06:33:00.001-05:00

Folks, we really are changing lives with this blog.

Well, perhaps we are affecting/annoying lives more than changing them. I was reminded of this when I checked the blog hits Monday morning. I know I have mentioned how shocked I am at the variety of international visitors we get to Skiving Off, and through MapLoco, I am able to get a visual representation of our international guests.

Here is the MapLoco screen I was greeted with on Monday. I have masked off most of it to reveal the one I want to call out....

TOYOTA!!!!!!!!!

You might think, "Big deal, Jeffy. You were in the auto industry for over 15 years, surely you have friends at Toyota who are following your BS rants?!?!?!" The reality is that I never worked on any Toyota stuff. I had Honda/Acura projects. I even had a Mazda program, but I never dealt with Toyota.

(Footnote up in the middle of the text: I was taught everything I know about Lean Manufacturing and TPS from Russ Scaffede and Art Smalley...so I am to Toyota what 99% of American black people are to Africa...it's sort of in my DNA, even if I have never been there.) CRAP!!!!! I'm digressing.

Anyway, I have to believe that our visitor from Toyota's world headquarters in Japan was here because of our Fat Tuesday blog entry. If you remember you will see that on February 24th we jump started a couple new Urban Legends right here on the blog. One of those involved a complete fabrication about Toyota fuel tank fires. It seems that in less than one week, some poor sap at Toyota's world headquarters was having to log onto my blog to find out what was being put out there to the general public.

How cool is that?

Now I realize there is no way our new "Burning Toyota" urban legend made it around the globe in less than a week. Instead, he was probably put onto it through a normal Google search for recalls and fires and what not. There are folks in the OEM safety offices who do nothing but monitor the news for the tiniest occurances in order to head off problems before they become big, nasty class action things.

Still, with the auto industry imploding, our little blog pulled at least one salaried employee in Japan away from productive work for at least a couple of minutes.

I can almost hear Clarence Odbody (AS2) whispering in my ear, "Each man's life touches so many others..."

Diane Lane Makes Another Play For My Affections

2009-03-01T19:32:00.003-05:00

Alright, I now have confirmation that Diane Lane is messin’ with me.

Let’s face it, she had me back at Lonesome Dove. She really doesn’t need to keep doin’ these things to keep making me prove over and over that I’m still crazy about her.

Then again, it could likely be Netflix’s fault.

Netflix knows that Gail is the action car-chase half of our marriage, and I am the emotional crier. Netflix somehow knows my true feelings for Nicholas Sparks…even if there are more deaths than an episode of the Sopranos, his books suck in the emotional crying girl in me.

The Skiver Netflix queue belongs to me… not Gail. So the last three that arrived were an eclectic mix: Anatomy of a Murder, How to Lose Friends & Alienate People, and one other.

This afternoon Gail and I watched the film adaptation of Nicholas Sparks’ “Nights in Rodanthe.”

It is in Rodanthe that Diane Lane did her latest little thing for me. In fact, it may have been the absolute HOTTEST thing I have ever seen on film (or upconverted DVD). Diane Lane was hand cutting joinery. A Hollywood vision of physical beauty was dovetailing. Diane truly raised the bar as she made this latest move to win me.

The last time she made a blatant play for me was a couple of years ago in “Must Love Dogs.” In that, she not only chose a movie with a dog theme, but there was also a woodworking connection. (Her character was hooking up with a John Cusack character that was a boat builder). Gail can tell you the horror of my constant pausing and zooming during Must Love Dogs to see if John Cusack was using a Lie-Nielsen block plane, verifying the clamps were Besseys, etc.

Still, in Rodanthe Diane Lane takes our relationship to a whole different league. It has her sharpening chisels and plane irons. Then she moves on to cutting half blind dovetails. She climaxes by using her plane shavings to burnish the surface of the smoothed wood.

Diane, I told you… you had me at Lonesome Dove, honey. I am very flattered that you keep trying to prove to yourself that I really am into you, but wouldn’t it be more efficient to just give me a call instead of making your moves through the movie roles you choose.

In closing, let this be the proof of the sincerity of my feelings about Diane. Diane Honey, it didn’t even matter to me that you cut the tails first. With the way you look, I can overlook what would normally be a show stopper. I won't give up my pins-first philosophy, but I'll tolerate you and your tail(s).

The Legends of Fat Tuesday

2009-02-24T01:02:00.000-05:00

I have decided to make a confession to everyone… I am the sick and twisted mind behind some of the most famous urban legends of all time.

That whole thing about the gang members in the car with no headlights, just waiting to gun down the first person who flashes their brights at them… that was me.

The goofy idea that the Great Wall of China is the only manmade object you can see from space…again….all me.

Most everything you have ever read about Skull and Bones and Templar Knights is just stuff I make up to try to mess with the people of this planet. It’s something I have been doing since I was a kid, and I was reminded today of where it all started.

I happened to look at a website describing the events of “This Day in History” and realized that on February 24, 1981, Buckingham Palace announced the engagement of Prince Charles and Lady Diana. At that moment, I had just moved from Elida, Ohio to Beech Grove, Indiana and I chose this momentous day in history to mess with all of my new classmates. I told a couple of kids that I was the one who hooked up Chuck and Di. (Please note… phonetically speaking I just said, “Upchuck and Die”.) I came up with a whole story about my family having recently lived in England where Diana Spencer was my nanny. I explained that my parents knew Charles, and the rest was going to be the stuff of fairy tale romance. And when these classmates were dumb enough to believe it, I was off to the races with this little mind game experiment that continues to this day.

So with this confession behind me, I am now going to share with you some of my upcoming seeds that I have yet to plant. However, when you hear these Urban Legends in your own neighborhood in the coming weeks, you will realize that you read it here first.

1) There is a bicyclist in West Michigan who is carrying a Sig Sauer 9mm, and the first person this year who honks at him, while screaming for him to get off the road and onto the sidewalk is going to get a cap busted off in him. (Obviously this is very similar to my headlight flashing one, but the repeats of the classics are the ones that always get the most attention and make it the farthest along the email chains)

2) The Toyota Camry production for late 2005 was compromised and there was at least one day’s production where the fuel filler hose may not be properly clamped to the fuel tank. Even though 54 fires have resulted from this, Toyota has managed to kill all of NHTSA’s efforts to force a recall. Please pass along this important note to everyone you know that has a Toyota Camry. Actually, it may be best to pass this scary information along to everyone in your list of email contacts who may own a Toyota, Honda, Mitsubishi, or ANY car that carries an Asian name. (We can’t be too safe where there are fires concerned.)

3) There is new information to suggest that Barack Obama, Sr did not die in a car crash in Nairobi back in 1982. Instead, he has been running black ops for the Kenyan government since then, and the death was staged as a means of providing his deep cover. With his son being the President of the USA, his role in the intelligence community now calls into question the safety of all US government secrets.

4) All applications that iPhone owners have purchased are scheduled to permanently expire on Steve Job’s birthday due to a fault with the digital rights management.

5) Tom Brady’s recent knee injury was unknowingly treated with cadaver meniscus that was infected with HIV. Tom has not yet tested positive for AIDS…yet.

See how it works? The beauty of the internet is that any crap you can make up and say (or type) with a straight face can now be spread around the globe in a manner of minutes. Unless, of course, you are emailing with your iPhone, in which case you will only be able to share these bits of knowledge until Mr. Jobs’ NeXT birthday. Quick!!!! Somebody find out when that is.

My God Complex

2009-02-23T21:18:00.008-05:00

My first nickname for my new shop was Mammoth Cave. It was an obvious choice given when we moved in the 1800 square feet of basement space was lit by 5 overhead lightbulbs. It was dark enough that with the addition of a little water and some fish eggs, within a generation or two the scaly descendants would have devolved to be born without eyes.

There was a time years ago when I was tasked with packaging map lamps and reading lamps in mini-vans and SUVs. So I seem to remember nightmares of Footcandles and Lux as I strove to focus light on areas that passengers would want illuminated, all the while blocking stray light that would disturb the driver’s view. Yep, automotive interior lighting paid the bills for a few years back then.

Now I have the task of illuminating something I care about.

Ideally, I could come up with about 100 lumens per square foot, but when I look at throwing up 180,000 lumens of fluorescent shop lamps in my basement…it’s a fairly big task.

Nevertheless, I went ahead and did a temporary addition of some 4 foot long T8 shop lamps to at least shed enough light for me to take the first photos of my new shop that many of you have asked for.

There will be more to come in the blog, but on the Creationist model, we are at Day One:

In the beginning was Jeff and his shop. And the shop was void and without form. And Jeff said, “Let there be light.” And Jeff saw that the light was good. So he shot a couple digital photos and promised to add some more to the blog when he had time.

Then, he went out and had a Guinness.

Below are some pictures of the new shop along with descriptions...

My wood pile. It's mostly airdried cherry, but it also has bubinga, hard maple, purpleheart, quartersawn white oak, birdseye maple, etc. It is unstickered and measures 11 feet 8 feet by 4 feet. It's 300+ cubic feet of amazing collection of lumber.
Who doesn't have 10 ft long pieces of Birdseye Maple just randomly thrown into their woodpile?

Looking down the "machine" side of the shop: past the jointer, Unisaw, planer, drill press, chopsaw, etc... all the way down to the massive woodpile.
Looking from the "Bench Area" toward the Cyclone in the corner. 18" Bandsaw is on the right and a boatload of 6" PVC ductwork on the left.

The "Bench Area" is about 3 times bigger than my entire shop in Michigan. Here you can see my Holtzapfel Bench, my tiny little Soberg bench, and the Metal Tool Cabinet that is actually the base of the biggest Router Table known to man, courtesy of Woodpeckers, Inc.

There will be better photos and much better descriptions to come. I promise.

An Intervention for THE LAW

2009-02-16T20:33:00.006-05:00

Whether it was the Buddy Holly-less Crickets, The Clash, or even the Bobby Fuller Four… whole hoards of folks have lined up to take on The Law, only to slink away with their tails between their legs when The Law opened up a can of whoop ass on them.

The Law's reputation as an undefeated badass was fairly well established, until Judas Priest started bragging. I cannot help but feel that singular act started the downward spiral that we have seen in The Law.

I think Judas Priest's "Breakin the Law" planted a seed that has manifested itself into self-doubt that has all but crippled The Law.

Recently I ran into The Law and found the carefree character committed to justice that we all knew from our youth was now just a broken down neurotic hermit obsessed with his arms.

Years ago it was recognized that The Law had arms of unequal length. However, it was understood that the Long Arm of the Law was sort of an overly powerful, bionic arm, as opposed to being a case of the short arm being a handicap. Yet the last time I saw The Law, it was favoring the short arm like a useless, little, floppy appendage. To those who hadn't seen the law in its more vigorous, youthful days, they would have thought the short arm was the remains of a non-viable parasitic twin.

I realize now I should have intervened at that moment, but I didn't think it was my place.

I wish now I had confronted The Law. Had I done that, here is what I would have said:

"Stop it. Stop it right now. I'm getting really sick of your complaining about your short arm. You have a fully functioning arm that is just slightly shorter than your long arm, yet you are going around like some kind of freak. It's not like you're a T-Rex, for crying out loud. Is that what you want? You want to be treated like a Tyrannosaurus Rex… like both arms are so short you can't brush your teeth or scratch your ass? You need to snap out of this victim mentality. You are STILL The Law. Don't you remember when you fought Bobby Fuller and his band of street toughs? You not only won; you kicked their butts. So Judas Priest broke you??? So what??? You gotta get back up, fella. If you don't start taking care of yourself, you are going to end up rotting away. I didn't want to tell you this, but your Uncle Torah was having identity problems, and Exodus told me that he heard Leviticus and Deuteronomy were talking of seceding. You know if they go, anarchy will start to reign. Why it wouldn't be long before the second and third parts will leave your cousin Thermodynamics, too. Then, once they're gone, everyone will start to question all of the Newtonian family of laws.

You have to be the stop gap. You're The Law!!!!!!!!

Listen, Buddy, you've been through too much to give up now. Think back to your days sitting there on Capitol Hill. Remember when you were just a Bill? Back then, you didn't care about arm length, and you weren't worried about being broken by Judas Priest. Back then you were ready to do whatever you had to do to climb above being just a Bill and to rise above all of the unproven theorems and the sea of postulates.

You're still The Law, and we need you, Buddy. Without you, we wouldn't have Kinematics, Physics, or a host of restrictions as to where and when we can buy alcohol.

Here's what you do…

Put together a Rube Goldberg weight lifting machine in the cab of your big rig, and start flexing that long arm the way Sylvester Stallone did in "Over The Top." You can come back even stronger than you were before. In fact, you should do that.

Start pumping iron now, and do not stop until you are stronger than you ever were. For only when you are an overbearing, omnipotent, oppressive force like your cousin Sharia, can free men everywhere get back to being the mindless hamsters that Big Brother wants them to be.

We need you, Law…for only you have the power to overextend yourself and impose your will on man in a way that cripples creativity, compassion, and free thinking.

The New Shop (an Icelandic Hot Spot)

2009-02-03T14:12:00.004-05:00

I am alive.

The reason for the two weeks without communication is that I have FINALLY moved out of my parents house. Also, I have (just today) re-established a connection on the Information Superhighway.

Last week Gail and I finally closed on the purchase of our McMansion after weeks of underwriting delays caused by all of the refinancing geeks who wanted to lock in the sub-five percent rates.

Last Friday the movers started unloading the first semi trailer of stuff, and they finished it yesterday. It is interesting how things were divided between the two moving trucks. The top of my Holtzapfel bench arrived Friday. The base was delivered yesterday. I can only imagine how the time apart will affect their long term relationship.

I now have the daunting task of setting up the new shop. The basement of the new house is just over 1800 square feet, so I finally have a massive space to fit all of my crap (tablesaw, jointer, planer, band saw, chop saw, router table, work benches, sharpening station, tool cabinets, lumber, etc). However, I have to do everything from scratch with regard to things like running the 220V lines, and piping the dust collection for the cyclone. It's weird that what was sort of fun when I set up my first shop is now just rattling around in my brain as being a big pain in the ass.

Setting up the tablesaw the day I bought it was sort of fun. I relived everything I had learned from Kelly Mehler's book and video. Now, I just see it as a source of tension that it was necessary to remove the perfectly square fence and cast iron table top in order to move the Unisaw to its new home.

On a bright note, the movers somehow moved my jointer from the old basement shop to the new basement shop without having to disassemble it. So there are no gib screws to tinker with.

I suppose I shouldn't complain. This is probably a good problem to have. Perhaps this is akin to some guy complaining about how rough it is to change the oil in his Ferrari 250GTO or go shopping for lingerie for his supermodel wife. Oh woe is me for having to do so much work to reassemble my dream shop. Still, I needed to vent to someone.

Let me leave you with one assurance, though.... this blog will continue to be the same smartass stuff you have come to love. I promise to not turn this into a 3 month documentary of setting up the new shop.

Let me leave you with something else. (Really this is just something for myself). I have noticed that I get almost NO blog hits from Iceland, and this was even before the country went bankrupt. So in an effort to get a big rush of hits from Iceland, I want to do a little bit of keyword spamming... just to stir up the traffic from Iceland. Here goes: Reykjavic Escort Services, Iceland Sex Tours, Iceland Gilrs for Dating, Keflavik Asian Massage, Samantha Brown Iceland Vacation Pictures....

THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can see my Icelandic hits increasing already.

Gott kvöld

The Meaning of Life... Cellos???

2009-01-21T07:27:00.002-05:00

I have discovered the meaning of life. It happened during the inauguration yesterday, yet it has nothing to do with politics.

I have seen it before, but I didn’t really understand its significance until yesterday.

It became even more powerful to me when I was forced to try to explain it in spoken words to Gail this morning.

YO-YO MA provided my epiphany yesterday. He is the cellist who performed with the quartet immediately before Obama took the oath of office. The sight of Yo-Yo Ma playing the cello was a vision of joy and perfection.

This morning Gail asked why I was so moved by it. The answer is:

Watching Yo-Yo Ma play cello was exactly like watching Big Brown run at the Preakness.

There are key moments in life where we get to see someone doing on a world stage what he was born to do. Yesterday, Yo-Yo Ma played cello before the largest audience of his life, and his face radiated the look of passion and joy that showed for that moment, he owned the world. His face said, “Regardless of what has come before…regardless of what the future holds…at this moment in time I am experiencing the performance of my life, and I am loving every minute of it.”

Loosely paraphrasing author Terry Davis, it is a glorious thing to watch another creature achieve perfection. For these rare moments allow mere humans to share the sight of one of our own, basking in joy as they do on a very big stage the one thing they were born to do. And our witness of their achieving perfection manages to pick us all up a little and propels us to a better place.

The meaning of life is achieving your moment of perfection that makes the entire world, if only for a blink, a better place to be.

Are You Ready To Soft Rock????

2009-01-18T09:44:00.003-05:00

As my whiny-ass ranting in the comments area pointed out this week, everything I own has been trapped on the back of a couple of semi trucks since the second week of December. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it appears that Barack and Michelle will not be the only couple moving into a new sprawling estate this week.

We thought our stuff would only be on the truck for 5 days, but back in December the deal on our new house fell apart the day before closing, and so we had to go out and find a bigger and better home to buy while our stuff sits on a truck. By the way… I didn’t coat any of my cast iron equipment because it was only going to be 5 days on the semi… as the calendar clicks past 40 days of my stuff living on the back of a truck in Indianapolis, I have to assume my Unisaw, Jointer, Bandsaw, etc are now a lovely shade of red (we’ll see).

Luckily Gail and I are not living in a semi. I have been living with my parents since the middle of October, when I left Michigan to take the new job in my hometown. Gail and Peyton have been staying here since December 1st. Being a full blown adult with a family and moving back with Mom and Dad is interesting. It’s almost like Southfork around here (only without the cowboy hats and piles of Oil Money).

So to keep from losing my mind as I suffer woodworking withdrawal, I have embraced a new hobby. I have become a karaoke singer. (This is completely different than the Karaoke I experienced in Asia…) However, just like all of my hobbies and passions I have managed to Skiver-up karaoke, too.

You see, I do karaoke of INSTRUMENTAL songs. While others get up and belt out lyrics that sound like a lost calf bleating for its momma, I stand in front of crowds and “perform” during songs like "Axel F," Herb Alpert’s "Rise," and Chuck Mangione’s "Feels So Good." Needless to say, my karaoke gift is very, very special.

Still, there are some people who just don’t “get it” and I often face the torment of hecklers as I try to perform "The Theme from The Bridge On the River Kwai." It hurts. So I am thinking about eventually getting into the more traditional form of Karaoke singing… ya know… the kind where you actually sing. I don’t know if I have what it takes or not. We’ll just have to wait and see.

I suppose if it did work out I could eventually become a wedding singer. That would be pretty interesting. Can’t you just imagine what it would be like to hire Jeff Skiver to be your wedding singer???? I would gladly Skiver-up a wedding by going deep into the songbook and singing anything… regardless of the social stigma. Mark it down now, when I become a professional wedding singer, I will gladly sing ANYTHING, including the Top 10 songs you hardly ever hear sung at weddings:

1) "The Stroke" by Billy Squier
2) "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" by U2 (which, by the way, was a much bigger hit than their follow up, “Monday, Scabby Monday”)
3) "Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benetar
4) "Father Figure" by George Michael
5) "Black Betty" by Ram Jam
6) "Love Hurts" by Nazareth
7) "Silent Night, Holy Night"
8) "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard
9) "I’m On Fire" by Bruce Springsteen
10) "Like a Virgin" by Madonna

Honey, Is Andrew's Easel Still in Our Bedroom?

2009-01-16T12:51:00.005-05:00

Andrew Wyeth died today.

I suppose it is “nice” that he lived to be 91, but I am saddened by his passing.

For me it wasn’t “Christina’s World” or any of the paintings of Helga Testorf that endeared him to me. In the case of Andrew Wyeth's portfolio, I am just not going to be a deep thinker. Even though Andrew Wyeth may be my favorite American artist of all time, I don’t look at his work and attempt to church it up. I really don't care about the torment of Christina.

Instead, Andrew Wyeth spoke to me when I came across a painting that was painted in 1965 but could just as easily have been a photograph taken in my home on any given day since 1998. I refer to Master Bedroom.

The beauty of art is that it is personal. Some see a sleeping dog. Many could not care less and would relegate this painting to flea market campiness. But this painting touches my soul, and it doesn't matter to me if you like it or not.

Today America lost an amazing artist.

The Airbus 320... Now with Cockpit Big Enough for the Biggest Balls on the Planet

2009-01-16T11:41:00.003-05:00

Autonomous power is seldom seen in America. Most things fall under committees. Checks and balances necessitate one group confirming (either approving or vetoing) the decisions of another. My woodworking is one of the few autonomous things left in our nation.

In my studio, I am the king. In my shop, I am the Lord.

Last night I discussed the power of airline pilots with my wife. I told how two weeks ago a couple of families were removed from a flight because the pilot didn’t like what they were talking about. That was it… game over… no discussion…. the decision of the pilot was law on that flight, and those folks were escorted off.

Likewise yesterday when Captain Chesley Sullenberger III, apparently faced the failure of both engines of his Airbus 320, he made the autonomous decision to put the plane into the Hudson River. There was no blue ribbon task force assembled. There were no focus groups consulted. Captain Sullenberger observed his situation, processed his alternatives, and had the cojones to follow the course he deemed appropriate. When I see that everyone walked away, I sit in judgment believing Captain Sullenberger did the right thing.

Leadership isn’t about pleasing people. Leadership is doing what has to be done, at the moment it needs to be done, and accepting responsibility for the decisions you make.

It’s easy to be a leader in my shop. The Monday morning quarterbacking from my dog Peyton isn’t all that nasty. It is a far more difficult position to be the leader of 150 folks on a plane. It is an unfairly brutal job to have the courage to lead 304 million Americans.

Regardless of the race, sex, or political affiliation of the person who sits in the Oval Office, he (and eventually she) deserves the respect of US citizens for having to call the ball daily on decisions that would make most of us curl up in a fetal position and cry for our Mommies.

That Which You Manifest is Before You

2009-01-02T12:25:00.004-05:00

I seemed to have closed out the year with dog stories. Yet, I neglected to tell you about the dog that symbolizes the most recent changes in my life. No matter how much I love Peyton and Simon… regardless of the memories that Marley stirs in me… the dog that has most recently reminded me of the beauty of life is a dog named Enzo.

I’ve told you before that Amazon is spooky. As well as I thought Tivo knew me based upon the input of the up and down thumbs I provided, I have to admit that Amazon.com seems to have an even more keen insight into who I really am.

A few months back I was busy purchasing Sir Jackie Stewart’s autobiography at Amazon, when they tossed out a little blurb that went something like this: “Hey!!!!!!!! Yeah, you, Jeff!!!!!!!!!! Hey, Dogboy!!!!!!!!! We have a book you need to look at. Really. If you are truly the dog lover you say you are, and if you are the Walter Middy Formula 1 racer you think you are… then you need to click on the purchase button for The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein.”

Two days later, a dog named Enzo started changing my life.

Let me verify for everyone that I realize I am blessed. It seems like God’s favor has been pelting me from on high since the moment of my birth.

Still, there are principles that are laid out in Garth Stein’s piece of fiction that are the very things I have used to live my life. Specifically, I am the human embodiment of Stein’s seminal phrase from this book, “That which you manifest is before you.”

Am I in the right place at the right time…sometimes.

Am I blessed with a superior education…US News and World Report says so.

Mainly, I understand that I am responsible for my own life. Like everyone, since my earliest moments of childhood, I have encountered the naysayers who are there to tell me what I cannot do. These are the same folks who are always too quick to hit the brakes, run for the storm shelter, or cry to the referees. My vision of life is different.

That which I manifest is before me.

In 1996, I left Indiana and headed for Michigan to design car parts. Now, I am sad that the auto industry is falling apart. However, this summer I chose to take responsibility for my life and take control of my destiny.

But Jeff, you’re an automotive engineer. Your degree is Mechanical Engineering. There is no way you can go into consumer electronics!!!!!!!!! Really? Enzo says, “That which you manifest is before you.”

“You were downsized, Jeff. You need to try to hang on and avoid foreclosure and wait for the government to bail you out…” Really? Perhaps I could use this opportunity to get away from a job that was rotting my soul and find something that is more rewarding to my mind, my body, and my balance sheet.

Jeff, you can’t just become a writer. You have to struggle and face rejection. Really? What if I find a magazine that has a need and find a way to fit my quirky personality into that slot?

It seems like every time we find someone telling us that they are experiencing success, their reason for talking is to sell us a scam. “Hey, everybody…look at all of the money I made in real estate. Pay me $50 and I’ll share those secrets with you.” So, friends, here is what I leave you with today (and it is not a commercial for “my system”).

I recognize the world is in a recession. Like everyone, I wish I had greater assurance that my job would always be here. However, the one thing I know is that I control my own destiny, and since I am in control… I can make my life ANYTHING I want it to be.

The other racing truth that Garth Stein shares is: “The car goes where the eyes go.” Let my 2008 be proof that our lives go where our visions are focused. Dream Big, but don’t stop at dreaming. With your dream in place, create a plan to get there. And develop the mindset that opportunities for success are ALWAYS present. Even if the world starts burning around you, it can serve as your notice that you need to be supplying the world with fire fighting equipment.

The Art of Racing in the Rain reminds us that a wet racetrack separates the field. Rain causes some to complain about the conditions. Rain makes others fight the car in a death-gripped panic. Yet, rain also permits others to move ahead, because they are prepared to deal with everything the world throws at them. 2008 rained on us all. Many spun out. Many slowed to a crawl. As a testament to Enzo, I made some great passes as I moved up the field on the rain-soaked 2008 track.

2009 begins with the rain still falling. Find the life you long for and choose to make it happen. “That which you manifest is before you.”

Don't Sign Anything Without Reviewing It With Your Attorney

2008-12-31T11:24:00.007-05:00

I am sure this is some kind of crime, and I know I shouldn’t admit to it. However, it is such a classic Skiver moment, that it seems like a good way to close out the year, here on the blog.

Last Saturday, we looked at 13 different houses in our attempt to finally move out of my parents’ house here in Indianapolis. (Luckily we have an empty house in Michigan, so we are not missing out on the thrill of sending in a mortgage check each month… we just long to send in two mortgage checks per month.)

Anyway, one of the first houses we visited on Saturday appeared to be owned by someone with similar interests to me. I first noticed the artwork in the entryway that highlighted famous spots in Dublin. When I went to the garage, I found he was a Formula 1 fan, but it looks like he is a Ferrari fan as compared to my McLaren/Mercedes loyalty. Also, in the garage I saw a radial arm saw and a table saw.

From there the story gets Skiver’ish. On the way to visit this house, Gail and I were talking dogs with our realtor. We told her about seeing Marley and Me on Christmas and then I quickly told her about Peyton and Simon, before arriving at this Ireland/Ferrari/Woodworking home.

Minutes later, in the closet of one of the upstairs bedrooms, I looked down and saw a scattered pile of woodworking magazines. I wasn’t too shocked, since my trip to the garage had shown me he was a woodworker. What I found intriguing was a particular issue of Popular Woodworking that I immediately recognized.

I called for my realtor who came in from the other room, and I flipped the April 2008 issue of PopWood open to the back page. Then, I showed off the photos of the two dogs I had been talking about in the car just 10 minutes earlier.

To fully Skiver-ize this event, there was one last thing I did. When Gail and the realtor left me and the magazines to continue looking at the rest of the house, I whipped out my official Mobil 1 Carbon Fiber Formula 1 pen, and decided to autograph the story of My New Apprentice.

In the words of Al Parrish, "This shot is a little soft..."

(That's how he describes EVERY photo I shoot.)

Then, I stuck the magazine back in the stack and continued searching for houses.

Although it would make a great story to say that house was the home of our dreams, the reality is that a different house was the one that struck a chord.

Did I mention that the home we have ultimately put an offer on has 1800 square feet of basement to serve as my new wood shop? It has 1800 square feet of unfinished basement with a 9 foot high ceiling. That is a little bit larger than the 325 square foot space I had in the basement in Michigan.

Hopefully it isn’t a crime to have autographed my article without permission. If you currently have a home for sale in Carmel, Indiana and you find that a stranger has “defaced” one of your issues of Popular Woodworking, perhaps you could sue me. The odds are you could win in court and be awarded a cute little house in Holland, Michigan with a 13’ x 25’ woodshop in the basement.

Running Puppies

2008-12-26T12:44:00.008-05:00

I didn't really mean for yesterday's entry to be such a downer.

Then again, for about 50% of the folks who celebrate Christmas, the holiday tends to stir up more sadness over those missing than happiness over Santa's visit.

So, as a way to help get the blog back onto the Pollyanna way... let me tell with 100% certainty, that yesterday I saw the cutest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

Drumroll, please......... it was a scene from Marley and Me. Yes, kids, the same movie that made me cry also contained a vision of cuteness unlike anything I can recall ever seeing. It showed a puppy (around 10 weeks old) running down the beach.

It was a truly brilliant piece of movie making. It was filmed at puppy level, which gave us the ability to see the the puppy's spirit. The look on the puppy's face seems to indicate that he thinks he is the fastest creature who has ever lived. One can just see his thoughts as he says to himself, "Gee.... I'm like a frickin' Greyhound here. Oh yeah, look at me go. Holy crap, I bet my ears are straight back. If I didn't know better I would think I was actually flying. In fact I am sure that I am getting air. I don't even feel the sand under my right rear paw anymore. I am the fastest dog in the world....."

I was so impressed with the running puppy that yesterday afternoon I went looking for the video (on YouTube, of course) to share with my mother. However, all of the bootleg video clips appear to have been taken down. Then, I suddenly found a copy of the sprinting pup in a very obvious spot. There is a trailer for the movie on the official website that shows the little yellow fuzzball haulin' ass down the beach.

If you go to the website, and click on HOME MOVIES, it is the second trailer. Just click on the thumbnail of the little running puppy, and prepare yourself for an overdose of adorable cuteness. (Sorry, folks, there is no direct link to the video, but if you take the time to visit the website and find the movie trailer that plays "Chariots of Fire", you will be rewarded. Also, the vision of Jennifer Aniston in a tank top chasing the running puppy is not completely horrible either....)

So, I have a thing for puppies running on the beach. Then again, it could be that it just reminds me of when Peyton was a puppy and we would take him to the beaches of Lake Michigan so he could run and swim.

Of course, Peyton was cute, even when he was just swimming in his little pool in the backyard.

and notice the running technique when he finished his swim...

But when it was all said and done, 18 months later he has grown up to be a good runner/diver/swimmer.

Simon and Me

2008-12-25T13:25:00.004-05:00

Dogs are a big part of my life. Unless this is your first time reading this blog, you would have to know that. Also, there are at least four (or four hundred) regular readers who are dog people too, based upon how the hits increased after my dog story was published in the April 2008 issue of Popular Woodworking.

Well, this morning at 10:20 am, Gail and I were at the opening of the movie Marley and Me here in Indianapolis. It was a little weird to realize that on Christmas Day while little kids in California were still in bed, I was at a theater watching a movie. Somehow…good or bad… that is a testament to our country.

I read Marley and Me years ago. I think I was at Amazon.com looking for the biography of Marco Pantani when the scary, scary computer deep within Amazon said, “Here is a new book (Marley and Me) that we think is right up your alley, Jeff Skiver…” The next thing you know I was reading the first edition and relating to life as the owner of yellow Labrador Retrievers.

Both of the dogs we owned when I first read Marley have since gone. Abby and Simon have been replaced by Peyton, and he is a beautiful, wonderful, and very loving dog.

When we lost Abby earlier this year, I recorded it here in the blog. And I know my words affected some of you. There was one new reader who later told me, “You had me at Three Carries.”

The loss of Simon almost two years ago was a great tragedy in my life. He was what I describe as, “The Dog of a Lifetime.” As I mentioned in the blog back in September, the PopWood article was the tribute to Simon that I had struggled with for a long time. It still serves as one of my great personal trophies that I found a fitting way to pay tribute to my lost buddy. Let’s face it, I could only have dreamed of buying the back page of a national magazine as a memorial, but instead, I got paid to do it. Somehow… good or bad… that is a testament to our country.

Today is Christmas. It’s the day chosen to represent God sending His Son from Heaven to Earth. So I am going to give you all the text I used to send my boy from Earth to Heaven. Below is the mass email I sent to all of my family and friends back on Monday, January 15, 2007. I was sitting at my desk at work and I had just made the decision to let Simon go. Before I drove to the vet, I opened my heart and shared the pain of my situation with everyone in my life who either loved Simon or knew how much I loved him.

I believe that when it is time for us to let our dogs go, we owe it to them to be with them. You can choose to disagree with me, but if you do… then you are wrong. Below is the unedited text of the email you received two years ago if you were a friend of Simon. I now think of all of you as Friends of Simon. So in honor of Marley, Simon, and Abby… here is the rawest thing I have ever written.

DATE: January 15, 2007 11:25 am
SUBJECT: Simon Skiver

Simon has been at the Animal Hospital since Friday. Gail took him in Friday morning. She and I visited him Friday afternoon, Saturday, and yesterday (Sunday).

Gail and I ran by the Animal Hospital this morning when they opened at 7:30 to visit Simon. He made it through the night, and I decided that rather than waiting around for 45 minutes for the vet to arrive at 8:30, we would just go onto work and decide tonight what we should do with Simon's treatment. Well, after I got to work I called the vet and talked to her about the boy.

His liver is starting to shut down, so there is almost no way he is going to make it.

They are giving him a cortisone injection today, which is the only chance he has (1 in a million). And I am going to go by there after work and be with him as we put him down. He is about two weeks short of being 6 1/2 years old, so it is completely baffling that something so horrible can so quickly take down a dog that is the picture of health and vitality. 7 days ago he was perfect. However, my limited research shows that Acute Pancreatitis is one of the most mysterious, yet deadly things that can befall an otherwise healthy dog. There are two kinds of Pancreatitis…one is a bad little nagging ailment…the other is more of a rapid and sure death sentence, he has the latter.

I can honestly say there is no dog I have ever heard of who is as loved as my boy, Simon. We have given him a wonderful home and a wonderful life. Still, he is a very special dog. At times he can be brilliant. At times he can be crazy. However, he is always loving and lovable….100% of the time. We originally went to the West Michigan Chocolate Lab Rescue (they handle black and yellow labs, too) to look into being foster parents to another dog for a few weeks. The first moment I saw Simon, he strolled right up to me, sat his butt down on my feet (with his back up against my shins), and he looked straight up at me and basically said, "If you take me home, I will love you completely and unconditionally until the day I die."

For four and a half years, that has been the case. Everything that I have worked on around the house since the day he arrived in the late summer of 2002 has been under the sleepy supervision of my boy.

In February 2003, when he and I had only been together for 6 months, I left Donnelly and started staying home with him and Abby all day long. Abby didn't really care. Simon let me know that he thought this was how it should always be; I should spend every minute of every day with him. Digging sprinklers in the back yard... he would be right there with me. For the front yard sprinklers I had to leave the door open so he could watch me out the screen door.

Whenever Gail and I go somewhere, as we back out of the driveway we can look up at the front window and see his face pressed against the glass verifying that we really had decided to go somewhere without him. Then, when we come home he is at the front window looking out to see our return. Sometimes it was scary how he would do that. I have seen him stir out of a sleep and run to the front window and sit looking out, only to see Gail pull into the driveway about 45 seconds later. I don't know how he manages that little piece of magic, but I have seen it so many times, I cannot call it a coincidence.

Whenever one of us gets into the shower, "Safety Dog Simon" parks himself right outside the shower curtain, and even occasionally pops his head in…just to make sure we are ok. There have been only a few times, where he was too lazy to get out of bed to do his Safety Dog job for me while I was showering. And on at least one of those occasions, I grabbed tight to the shower rail and intentionally made slip-sliding noises, and he came FLYING into the bathroom, stuck his head through the curtain, and gave me a look like, "HOLY CRAP!!!!!!!!!!!!! One time I try to sleep in and you can't even take a shower without me?!?!?!?!?" Likewise, every night when Gail and I get into the sauna, Simon sits there watching us through the glass to make sure we are ok.

Three weeks ago when I was home for 15 days over the holiday shutdown, he and I got to again share our "full time" buddy relationship…just like after I left Donnelly. Well, during that time I was staying up into the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes I didn't even go to bed until about 6 or 7 am. Even then, I would only sleep for a couple of hours before I would get up and get back to work on all of my projects. One of the great things about officially "going to bed" at weird times, is that Simon will spoon with you. So on one of those days between Christmas and New Year's Day when I was home and Gail had to work, I stayed up all night and then went to bed at about 7:30 am. From 7:30am to 10:00am I lay there in bed with my 105 pound buddy Simon snuggled up against me. His head was on my bicep and his whiskers were right in my face. And he would grunt and snore and without saying a word, he would make his thoughts 0bvious…. "You know, Dad….it doesn't get any better than this." And you know what…given Simon never slobbered one time in his life…his dry mouth did make face to face snuggling one of life's greatest pleasures.

My mistake is that I assigned one role to Simon that he isn't going to be able to follow through on. Simon was supposed to be the key to my getting through Abby's eventual death. Abby turned 10 last September, and I realize with her lessening mobility that she probably only has 3 more years with us, at best. Thinking of that crushes me heart. However, I have always known that Abby's death will also destroy Simon. So, my plan for grief with Abby is to snuggle up with Simon and talk to him about all of the great things we used to do with Abby. I was planning to hold him close and tell him how fun it was to take him and Abby to the beach and watch them race each other as they swam out to fetch the retrieval duck that I would throw out into the waves. I planned to get over the loss of Abby by letting him know that even though I was going to miss her, at least I still have him…my black hole of emotional need that requires constant attention: MY Dog…Simon.

I would still have the dog that would lay at my feet in my woodshop while the noisy dust collector and table saw blared eardrum shattering decibels. It is neat that the same noise that would send Abby running upstairs for cover would signal Simon to come strolling into the woodshop….plop down at my feet with his HUGE, exhaling sigh….and look up at me and use his beautiful brown eyes to ask, "What ya gonna work on today? If you need anything, just let me know…otherwise, I am just going to lay here on the floor at your feet because it is a tough job lying around the house 20 hours a day, and I am tired. However, I will do my best to be in your way as often as possible."

Everybody who loves animals may be blessed during their life to get one pet that takes on a role that transcends the normal human/animal relationship. Timmy had Lassie. Grizzly Adams had Ben. Roy Rogers had Trigger. I have Simon. He knows me, and he loves me with every fiber of his being. He can never get enough of me. If we are in the same building, he wants to be next to me. If I have a free hand, he wants it to be stroking his soft ears. And whenever my day is over and I finally decide to go to bed, he wants to root himself in between Gail and me so that he can get snuggled from both sides and be reassured that we love him too.

So today, I am going to watch Simon go to sleep for the last time. And since he tried his best to make sure I was never alone whenever I fell asleep…I owe it to him to make sure he isn't alone either.

I am going to rub his soft ears, and tell him how blessed I was to have him in my life for four and half years. I am going to softly tell him how much I love him and how thankful I am that he loved me so truly and so strongly. I will stay with him until the end, and I will forever know that I suffered a little bit (watching him go) in order be assured that the last thing he sees and the last thing he feels will be his buddy, his "Dad", his snuggle buddy. I will be there for him, because I know that he would have done ANYTHING for me.

Jeff Skiver

Removing the Scales From My Eyes

2008-12-22T15:51:00.003-05:00

Growth is a funny thing…outside of time-lapse photography and the rare biological process (Pupil dilation, of course…), there are few things in our world where we humans can “see” growth.

Most of the time we recognize growth after it has happened.

SHAZAMMMMMMMM!!!!!!! When did our River Birch get to be taller than the Power Lines?

HEY!!!!!!!!!! Who the hell has been shrinking the waistband on my pants?????

I think something similar has happened in my woodworking education. I base this upon the 2009 classes I signed up for at Marc Adams School of Woodworking.

As many of you know, I first discovered and attended Marc’s school back in 2006 because I wanted to spend a week studying with my “TV Mentor” David Marks. Everything about that initial class was based upon personality: David’s personality. I wanted to study with David Marks, and I found that David is a great communicator and an amazing artist.

2007 was the Joinery year. I spent two weeks at MASW learning Joinery and Advanced Joinery, and I came away with a rock solid foundation of furniture construction.

2008 was the year I studied Hand Tool Techniques with Chris Gochnour. I knew how to make joints, but I wanted to meet Chris and have an opportunity to make a project using just hand tools.

2009 is another leap for me. I just realized I have signed up for a series of classes that will focus on “the little things.” I am moving past construction and looking at embellishment. During the 2009 season at MASW, I am scheduled to learn Marquetry. In addition to that week-long class, I am signed up for weekend classes on Inlaying with Steve Latta and “Finishes that Pop”with Glen Huey.

I have spent years trying to learn design through osmosis as I leveraged the talents of coworkers who were graduates of places like Art Center in Pasadena, College for Creative Studies in Detroit, Kendall College of Art and Design, University of Cincinnati’s Industrial Design program, etc. However, I finally decided I should take a weekend to ease into my own study of design. So I am also taking a Design class with Garrett Hack.

I am happy with my joinery. I like my dovetails, and I especially like how well I can fix (hide) my mistakes. I suppose once we master the pins and tails, the next step is to try to be like Rob Cosman or Frank Klausz and see how fast we can cut them. But I don’t have the time to dedicate to creating the muscle memory necessary to dovetail an entire drawer in less than 20 minutes. Also, I don’t have a need for that kind of production speed.

A year from now my furniture projects will probably look exactly the same as they do now… if we compare them in the bottom of a cave where the blind fish swim. However, the classes I am taking in 2009 will hopefully take me from furniture of solid construction to well made furniture that also catches the eye.

I am not the same woodworker I was in 2006. I am still on the heavily sloped section of the learning curve, where the new techniques are presented often and learned fairly quickly. (Note I said LEARNED… not MASTERED). In 2009, I plan to continue with my woodworking education, and I am looking forward to this valuable growth opportunity.

Holiday Stress Can Be Hell

2008-12-17T16:21:00.003-05:00

It's the most wonderful time of the year….

It is????

I mean, it is SUPPOSED to be the most wonderful time of the year, but in reality, that area of the calendar immediately following the Northern Hemishpere's Winter Solstice can be a tense, high pressure time. It can be hell.

However, rest assured Christmas is a lot worse in hell. If you don't believe me, then just take a moment to look at the some of the stressful situations currently faced by our former life neighbors who have since relocated to hell.

Whose Christmas Party to go to this Saturday...Idi Amin's or Josef Stalin's?

Should your gift for Satan be politically motivated (try to score a cooler homesite) or based purely on the spirit of the holidays?

Will you get caught if you try to re-gift that lava lamp you got from Pol Pot?

If you give Mohammad Atta a Prayer Rug, will he get the joke?

Should you let people know that it creeps you out that Gacey is still dressing up as Santa at the party?

What do you do with that fruitcake you received from Jeff Dahmer?

How do get out of going caroling with John Gotti and Vlad the Impaler?

Where in the hell do you get a Christmas Tree around here….literally?

What do you do if Mary Ann Cotton offers you a Christmas cookie?

Should you say a big "Screw You!!!!" to your neighborhood's Home Owners Association and their stupid "White Lights Only Rule" and just put up the multi-color strands anyway. I mean...what are they gonna do? Throw you out of hell?????

Human Rights Must Be Stopped

2008-12-10T08:51:00.003-05:00

Will we ever escape prejudice?

A couple of days ago I happened to notice that a friend of mine had signed The Universal Declaration for Human Rights. I was floored. I honestly felt like someone punched me in the stomach. You think you know some people. This woman had always appeared to be a peace-lovin’, left wing votin’, rainbow flag wavin’, gun hatin’ soul. Then, I find out she’s one of them. So, I wrote her a note. I have copied it below in the hopes that the readers of this blog will see that hate mongers are among us. They may disguise themselves, but eventually the hate comes out.

Wanda, I saw where you signed the Universal Declaration for Human Rights on Facebook. What are you thinking? This isn’t you. I wish I could just look the other way, but I have to let you know this makes me sick. How can you jump up on a soapbox and start waving a flag of superiority just because you are predisposed to do things with your right hand?

This is ponderous, and it is wrong. Don’t give me any of your crap or spout any of your dogma about it either. I’ve heard all of the tired old lines. “It’s not about hatin’ on the Lefties…this is just celebrating those of us who are right handed.” That’s BUNK, and you know it. Why should it matter whether a person is right handed or left handed? What is so sick and twisted in your world that you can judge people like that? Do you hate the little Left Handed kids, too? Where do the ambidextrous fall on your hate list?

Despite what you right handed Nazis think, all human beings are equal and deserve the same access and opportunity to achieve love, success, and happiness….regardless of which hand they use.

So as you take the pen in your hand to sign this Universal Declaration of Human Rights, I want you to understand that I am taking my pen in hand to fight you and the people like you. I will not stand by and watch as you try to suppress left handed people.

Finally, let me say one thing. If anyone questions my motives or feels I am fighting this particular hatred with too much zeal, let me confirm one fact… I (Jeff Skiver) am Right Handed. However, I will NEVER be like you and your kind.

Edmund Burke said, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

Ebony...With a Cream Colored Accent

2008-12-03T09:10:00.006-05:00

Well, this has only happened at most once or twice before.

I started responding to someone’s comments from a previous post and instead decided to turn it into a standalone blog post of its own. So here goes…

The discussion of the Rocky Top post has jumped to a subject I didn't ever really plan to address in this blog.

See, I have made the mistake in the past of showing off too many of my prize tools and creating a spirit of jealousy (among a small minority of readers) that was not good for the overall "friendliness" of the blog.

So I didn't want to come right out and let everyone know that my obsession with hand tools really started just about the time that I bought Gail that new stainless French Door refrigerator back in 2005. I had to get her a new fridge because I took the old one down to the basement, cut a couple of holes in the side of it and became the only boy I know with his own Guinness keg system at home.

Yes, I have the huge Nitrogen tank. Yes, I have the special "u" tap that fits Irish kegs. Do I bypass the chance to buy a 15 gallon barrel of Bud for $45 in order to spend $150+ for a mere 13.5 gallons of keg-wrapped Guinness???? You bet.

And just so you know, more than once I have ruled out using a photo on the blog because I didn't want to offend anyone. I worried someone could be offended at the sight of a workbench that looked like mine...where right next to the shavings on the bench was a previously room temperature, beer clean Imperial Pint tulip glass full of a two part pour of the black stuff with a perfectly domed creamy top showing off a custom Skiver shamrock.

My favorite picture from the Ireland vacation...Matthew (my best friend in the world) and me posing with "our van" near Galway.

And all of this helps answer the question, "Jeff, why is it Wood Magazine says Americans LOVE their routers and you hate them with every fiber of your soul?" Well, mainly I hate the noise. But it's also because I prefer the full sensory experience of hand tools...the feel of the plane in your hands, the smell of the wood shavings, the sound of the "SWOOOOOK" as the perfectly honed blade slices through the fibers, and the lingering taste of the bitterness of the Guinness hops that you get from combining a pint of Guinness with hand tool woodworking.

Coincidently, it is interesting how much those beloved ebony boards of mine look just like Guinness (see the "Et Tu, Brute" article in PopWood's October 2008 Out of the Woodwork or just look in the background of my profile photo over at the right side of this webpage). The heartwood is as black as can be, and the sapwood is the perfect shade of creamy tan. It’s no wonder those ebony planks speak to me on a primal level.

Tossin' the Tannenbaum

2008-11-29T08:51:00.003-05:00

We humans do not have a great track record of "Thinking Green."

I am as guilty as anyone. In the years I have spent as an engineer designing stuff, the eventual retirement and disposal of the product was at most an afterthought. I just wanted the widget to look fabulous and perform flawlessly. I seldom cared how my brainchild spent the eventual eternity of its days in the landfill.

Well, folks, let's stop the insanity here....today. Since this is the time when so many of our readers start to think about giving the tree the trim, I want to talk about Christmas trees. However, as you go out to pick out that blue spruce or Fraser, Douglas, or Balsam fir this year think ahead to what you will do with it after baby new year has spent the night in your bathroom puking up that last round of vodka shots that seemed at the time to be just the right nightcap.

Let me offer my suggestion for Christmas tree disposal. I have been using this technique for years, and it has never let me down. It takes just a tiny bit of extra work, but I think we can all agree that proper recycling is worth the effort.

To begin, simply tie the dead tree to the top of the your car or truck. That's it. That is the full extent of the physical labor involved in the tree recycling process. However, there are several little steps you'll need to get right. In this recycling system, the failure of any minor step will likely result in the failure of the overall mission.

Selection of the string is key. The tree should be tied to the top of the vehicle with the lightest string one can find. I have some particularly light kite string that has a tensile test rating of about eight ounces (just over two Newtons). Sewing thread can also be used, but I caution against using Nylon or Polyester.... they're just too strong.

With the proper thread/string selected you loosely tie the tree to the top of the car and head out for the open road. At this stage of the recycling process, the efforts switch from physical to more of a mental exercise. It helps to become a "method actor" and fixate on the belief that you are just out for a nice highway drive. Ignore the sounds coming from the top of the car. Ignore the pointing from other motorists who pull alongside you. Get into "The Zone." Set the cruise control for about 60mph and think about how good that coffee is going to taste when you arrive at the targeted Starbucks 12 miles from home.

The next step of the Christmas tree recycling is without a doubt the most important one of the entire process. This is the time when you really have to sell it. Your look of surprise will make or break the success of your recycling activity. When you hear the "WHOOOOOOOSH!!!!!!!!!!!" you have to resist the urge to giggle and, instead, try to look just as shocked and surprised as all of the people around you.

I have been doing this for years, and I have gotten to a point where I can make it through the launch sequence without showing any emotion at all. It took years of training to attain the ability to not crack a smile while watching cars in the rear view mirror swerve and scatter...but I am there. However, you should not expect this type of stoic, fixed focus to duty during your first few attempts. Remember, I am an experienced recycler.

Enjoy the Christmas season and throw yourself into making this year's Christmas tree the best ever. However, plan ahead so that you aren't left with a rotting tree carcass at the foot of the driveway. With a proper recycling plan you can see to it that your Christmas tree is properly returned to nature.

I'm Cute Too, Frank

2008-11-28T22:13:00.003-05:00

During the entire course of the Woodworking in America conference I never engaged steel to wood. I never pushed a plane, stroked a saw, or picked up a chisel.

The only tools I wielded were cameras. On Saturday morning, before I became Roy Underhill's personal photographer and cleaning assistant, I had wanted to get my photo taken with Frank Klausz. So after his class was over, I approached him and asked if he would mind posing with me.

I assumed I needed to get Frank's permission before I went snapping pictures. Ya know... what if he was in the Witness Protection Program, or something? I mean he does live in the same state as The Soprano's.

So I requested a photo, but I was a little shocked at the response I got. Frank said, "Sure, I'll be a nice guy and pose for a picture with you. But why is it that I am always getting my picture taken with guys like you, and I hardly ever to pose with girls like the lady in green over there?"

It just so happened I knew the chick he referred to. So I yelled, "HEY, GAIL!!!!!!!!!!! COME GET YOUR PICTURE TAKEN WITH FRANK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Gail, when you're done mucking it up with your buddy Frank would you mind snapping a picture of Frank and ME?

I Wish I Could Hang Out With Roy...

2008-11-27T15:54:00.006-05:00

Having missed the entire first day of the Woodworking in America conference as I flew home from France, I arrived in Indianapolis late Friday, picked up Gail, and zoomed down to Berea, Kentucky where we arrived in the wee small hours of the morning on November 15th.

Dripping in the effects of sleep deprivation, I didn't expect to get a lot out of Saturday's classes, but I ended up with a distinctive Skiver experience. Following a standing room only lecture by Frank Klausz, Michael Dunbar, and Roy Underhill on techniques of making mortise and tenon joints, I was supposed to go to a class on Old School Chisel use taught by Adam Cherubini and Roy Underhill. I was, however, a little tired, and I was not in a great hurry to immediately go running across the campus to that class. So I stayed in the lecture hall and watched as Roy Underhill scampered about cleaning up his stuff.

Then it hit me…Roy was supposed to teach that next class of mine. No one would care that I was choosing to arrive late. Roy's tardiness would garner more attention. So I strolled up to the stage and politely asked Roy if he needed some help cleaning up. The first task I was given was to take a photo of Roy and Frank together. (Roy wanted the photo for a souvenir.)

(I snapped this picture with my camera as Roy was attempting to get his fired up.)

With the photography task completed I engaged in a more strenuous line of work, helping Roy move his tools and work benches over against a wall. Then, I helped Roy carry some of his tools for the next class down to his van, and the next thing I know, I am sitting in the passenger seat of Roy Underhill's van as the two of us cruise across campus toward his next class.

There is a chance I dreamed the whole thing given how sleepy I was, but in reality I managed to grab a little one on one time with St. Roy. I would like to tell you that I engaged in all manner of hip/"cool cat" conversation, but the reality is that I jabbered incoherently while helping to point directions to our destination.

A few hours later I again took the opportunity to chat with Roy as I happened to be sitting next to him at dinner.

(Last minute speech editing)

The neatest part of this experience is that on the floor between Roy and me sat his case full of props. Roy was scheduled to deliver the talk during dinner, and he had brought along several items from past episodes of The Woodwright's Shop to use as visual aids. As I looked into the case I saw Barley Twists, impossible dovetails, wooden threads, and bookstands.

As I stared into that case I began to recognize the role that PBS has played in my life. Somewhere in the jumble of my brain I thought of Mr. Fred Rogers, Ernie and Bert, the Keno Twins, and Jeff Smith (the Frugal Gourmet). Yet for me, the clear king among my PBS educators is Roy Underhill. And on a November day in 2008, with the cold Kentucky rain falling in Berea, I had the pleasure of finding out that St. Roy is a normal guy (who is as nice as can be) but is anything but ordinary.

The Gales of November on Rocky Top

2008-11-25T23:49:00.000-05:00

The Woodworking in America Conference gave me the opportunity to finally meet several of my email/phone friends and acquaintances face to face. I met Glen Huey who had refused to clear his schedule to meet with me when I visited the offices of Popular Woodworking two months ago. (Glen how dare you do real work when I am boondoggling to Cincinnati to score a free lunch????)

I finally met Dave Jeske from Blue Spruce. I reminded him that I gave him a shout out in the April 2008 Out of the Woodwork article in PopWood (hoping he would say that entitled me to a free set of chisels...NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!).

I met fellow Rose-Hulman alumnus Dave McDonnel, whom I had spoken to and exchanged email with but never met.

Kelly from Chattanooga told me how much he likes the blog and specifically mentioned the heart-wrenching saga of the missing chisel. (I am always shocked to see which blog entries register with different folks).

I met Mike Holden who had previously recognized my tribute to Eddy Merckx in my article on Tillers International in the June 2008 issue of Popular Woodworking.

Still the most interesting connection Gail and I made that weekend was with the town of Richmond, Kentucky. On Saturday night I told Gail I wanted to go out and celebrate a day where I had met my idol, Roy Underhill. So after making some calls, Gail determined that Hooters had Guinness on tap. (I practice beer monogamy. If there isn't Guinness…I stick with iced tea or Diet Coke). Arriving at Hooters we had to park 100 yards away, and as we approached the door we saw we couldn't even get inside. We found out that it was a pay per view Ultimate Fight Night, and it seems the locals are heavily into watching a couple of muscly guys in tight little shorts grab onto each other, roll around in the ring, and pummel each other senseless. We punted and went back to the car.

I began driving around Richmond, Kentucky hoping my highly trained nose would pick up on a hint of the scent of Guinness. Suddenly we saw something thoroughly out of place….an Irish pub in downtown Richmond. We parked and went inside. They first collected $4 from each of us to cover the cost of the band. I was hoping for something like these fellas we had been with at the Boxty House in Dublin….no such luck.

The actual band was far closer to:

As Gail and I sat down at the bar, my Guinness and her Strongbow appeared to be the only Irish/British liquids that had flowed in years. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying a Silver Bullet or something with "Drinkability."

However, thoughts about beverages were forgotten when we caught sight of him…a local man whose fashion sense was extremely special. I am not sure why he needed to wear a camouflage trucker cap along with an (HONEST TO GOD) Realtree Camo Button-Down Oxford Dress Shirt….but all of the stealth factor of that fabric was canceled out by the gleam of his silver belt buckle that appeared to be larger than the smallest three New England States. He should have been wearing a weight lifting belt to support his lower back as he carried that Sterling Behemoth around.

Our admiration of Richmond fashion was interrupted, however, when the non-Irish band broke into playing ROCKY TOP, and everyone in the place (with the exception of Gail and me) went into spasms of hooting and yee haw'ing. My jaw dropped, and I sat on my stool dumbfounded. Gail asked why I was reacting so noticeably. I explained that Rocky Top is the college song of the Tennessee Volunteers and that given our location in Kentucky, I would not have expected a favorable reaction. I told Gail that I would have thought playing Rocky Top in Kentucky would be the equivalent of a band firing up the Ohio Buckeye fight song in the middle of a bar in Michigan. However, in Richmond, Kentucky...folks just completely love Rocky Top.

Don't get me wrong, though. People in Michigan do go crazy for at least one song I know of, but it is pretty rare. The only time one sees a Michigan bar react this positively to a song is when a band strikes the opening chords of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

MERCY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-11-13T03:21:00.004-05:00

So I am over in France this week. Previously I had been to Normandy, but this is my first trip to Brittany. I have known a few girls named Brittany, and I have known a few dogs who were Brittanies. I have even known of a Brittany named Brittany, but this is my first trip to the region that inspired all of those creatures.

On my flight to Paris I sat two rows behind Jesus Christ. However, now that I think about it I am pretty sure it wasn’t Him. This would-be Messiah was wearing John Lennon glasses, and I am 99% sure that given Jesus’ experience with healing the blind, He would have taken care of His own myopia.

Somewhere over Greenland, my mind wandered off to one of those places, and I happened upon my latest deep thought question: Why is it that Kool and the Gang never made it beyond the Tier 2? It seems they just never could quite make it to the Big Leagues with the likes of the Crips, the Blood, the Latin Kings, etc.

As far as my trying to fit in over here, I have hearkened back to the days in my high school German class. There we each adopted a German name that we used as we spoke in class. So for the entire week over here I am telling everyone my name is Charles Darnay. I cannot help but think I would get more responses if I were working with folks who weren’t engineers. (Most Engineers just don’t ever get around to reading the classics.)

So far, though, I have learned a lot about the French language. I now realize that to say “Thank you” one says merci with a very gentle lilt of the voice. God as my witness I always thought the word was pronounced exactly the same way (with the same tone, inflection, and volume) that Roy Orbison says, MERCY!!!!!!!!!! in the song Pretty Woman.

Well, I suppose this trip is going to drive a further wedge between my yellow Retriever dog (Peyton) and me. This means that since June I have visited the lands of the Irish Setters, the Butler Bulldogs, the University of Indianapolis Greyhounds, the Washington Huskies, and the Brittany Spaniel and still have not made it to his native land of Labrador.

Paris...Ain't That Right Outside Lexington???

2008-11-04T07:48:00.001-05:00

When I went searching for the new career position, there was only one thing on the next sixteen months of my calendar…the Woodworking In America Conference in Berea, Kentucky that begins next Friday.

Living in Michigan I knew if I landed a position up there it would be no problem to get off work on Friday the 14th of November because the entire state will be shutting down that weekend for the beginning of firearm deer season.

When I moved from Indiana to Michigan in 1996 I thought I understood passion. I thought we Hoosiers had a passion for basketball. I thought Brazilians had a passion for soccer. I thought John Gacy had a passion for young boys. However, nothing prepared me for the way Michiganders love to sit at deer camp drinking beer and shooting at stuff. Still, that is not what today’s entry is about.

During my first week on the job here in Indianapolis, my Director came to me and told me I would be in Paris next week. It would have been nice if he had meant Paris, Kentucky given its proximity to I-75. A week in Paris, Kentucky would have worked out well to get me headed toward Berea. It can’t be that easy.

Gail and I were scheduled to be at the welcoming reception in Berea next Thursday night, so I called and switched us over to the Friday night reception. It doesn’t matter…when that reception starts on Friday, my jet will just be putting its wheels on the ground in Indianapolis. (And that is assuming no other delays catch me.)

Earlier in the day, when my Woodworking in America schedule says I should be in a class with Roy Underhill and Frank Klausz discussing whether dovetails should be cut pins first or tails first, I will be over the Atlantic, likely listening to some guy named Sal tell me about his son's high school baseball coach who won’t let Sal, Jr. be the future 20+ game winner he is destined to be. In the afternoon, when I am supposed to be listening to Roy Underhill and Adam Cherubini talk about Vintage tools, I will be boarding the flight from Newark to Indianapolis.

Then, when I get home to Indianapolis, Gail will get me at the airport and we’ll scoot down to Berea with my jet lag telling me it’s 5 or 6 hours later than it really is. Nevertheless, on Saturday morning, I will arise in Berea and jump into the Saturday session.

I don’t want to sound whiny, though. Given the offer we put on a new house on Saturday, I have to come back to the words I told my Director when I explained the conflict of this trip with my personal schedule…. “As long as the direct deposit keeps getting made, you’ll ALWAYS know where my loyalties lie.”

On the upside, after my week in France, perhaps the fine folks running the conference will let me do an impromptu lecture on Marquetry or French Polish?

I Got The Shaft

2008-11-03T07:47:00.002-05:00

I’ve been called a lot of things, but “Boring” is not one of them.

You may not like my style, but rest assured…I have style. And I like to do things to spice up life. For example, no one on my team knows this yet, but today is going to be Shaft Monday.

What in the world is Shaft Monday, you ask???? (Don’t think about mines or projecting power between the transmission and the differential…instead, think of Isaac Hays singing about Richard Roundtree…)

This afternoon I have to meet with a couple of people to get updates for an upcoming prototype event.

Those brief meetings are going to go like this:

Jeff Skiver(in the role of Program Manager): Who’s the Asian Cat who’s finalizing the software updates?
Mike (the Project Leader): You mean Tom Kim?
Skiver: DAMN RIGHT!!!!!!!

Skiver: What’s our confidence that we will be logistically ready to pull the trigger on 10NOV08?
Jennifer (Operations Lead): At least 98%
Skiver: Can you dig it?!?!?!?

Skiver: And who’s the cat with his finger on the P&L to make sure Management is happy with this thing and let’s us keep our jobs?
The entire team (looking scared and confused): That would be you, Skiver….
Skiver: RIGHT ON!!!!!!!!!!

Meetings really can be fun, especially if you decide to Shaft ‘em Up. Another bonus is when you decide to implement Shaft Monday, your meetings become another talking point for your teammates to use in their discussions with HR. Can you dig it?

Bugs, Harvey, and Me

2008-10-30T07:52:00.003-04:00

Do most people have high opinions of bunnies?

Because I am starting my workday covered in bunny fur.

It all goes back to Ireland. During my vacation in Ireland in June, I bought at least four sweaters that my wife refers to as “old man sweaters.” There is a cardigan with a full zipper that is especially Fred Rogers’ish when I don it to fight off the nip. However, last week I tossed it into the tiny trunk of the Benz and managed to bust out two zipper teeth when the trunk latch came down on it. It is off at Lucy Tailor (that can’t be her real last name) having the zipper replaced this week.

During my transition from Michigan to Indianapolis I am living with my parents while diligently looking for a new home. (Do you have any idea how tough it is to find a house that provides at least 1000 square feet of woodshop area in addition to at least 3 stalls of garage space in a neighborhood that would be willing to accept ME?????) So during this time of living with my folks, most of my clothing is still in Michigan. All of my coats and jackets are in Michigan. I just brought two old man sweaters to Indianapolis. The cardigan is at the tailor for repair, so this morning I ran back into the house and pulled on my Bunny Hair (Angora) Commando Sweater. I pulled it on over my lovely oxford dress shirt. My cufflinks dug into the sleeves as I wrestled the sweater over the upper half of my body, but eventually I got it on. I drove to work with the outside temperature digitally indicated at 31 degrees. Even with the seat heaters in the VW I am glad I had the sweater on.

I arrived at work, walked to my office, and pulled the sweater off. My lovely dress shirt is COVERED in blue fuzz. It is angelically soft blue fuzz. It is the blue fuzz of the softest bunnies on the planet, but I am covered in blue fuzz.

Something else…since I am the owner of the most famous dog in Woodworking (the yellow lab Peyton), my world contains countless sticky lint rollers. And even though my entire career has seen one of these in my desk drawer, I have not yet brought one in for my new office. So I am sitting here... FUZZY... with no tape roller available.

I have to wonder about the style factor. When judging pieces of flair, can the bunny hair be considered an accessory since its navy color accents nicely with the various blues in the pattern of my shirt? Perhaps I am at the forefront of a new look. If Bunny Fuzz become THE look of the fall season, remember you saw it here first.

Don't Forget to Vote...

2008-10-27T17:12:00.002-04:00

Well, between my new employer wanting me to actually work, and the quest to find a new house to live in, last week saw no update to the blog.

However, during my my 3 ½ hour drive from Holland, Michigan to Indianapolis this morning I managed to let my brain achieve that higher stage of consciousness that so often leads to my random deep thoughts and/or arrest for creating an unlawful disturbance.

Obviously, most of these relate to music or driving, given I scribbled them out while cruising down the highway. Let's jump right in and see what new and insightful life lessons I have for you today:

Somewhere there is a Saab driver who knows what the hell they are doing, but I still haven't met her yet.

Despite what the group America says, Oz also gave the Tin Man directions to a very good seafood restaurant.

Why don't CHEATING and CREATING rhyme? I mean look at them…they're practically twins!!!!

Did Manfred Mann have bands on other planets in our solar system?

Am I the only one who thinks Paul Young's voice is about 400 times better than Neil Young's?

Ya know, John Waite's English really isn't all that "Bad" for someone born in the UK.

Given their name, I think MODERN ENGLISH should have been a BAD ENGLISH tribute band.

Pound for pound, Karen Carpenter had the prettiest voice of all time. Which reminds me:

It is worth noting that there are just two months left to vote for the best Skiving Off one-liner of 2008. At this time the polls indicate our leader is:

"Somewhere between Karen Carpenter and Mama Cass there is a happy middle ground."

followed closely by:

"I'd give my left arm to be ambidextrous."

Herefords, Holsteins, and Angus

2008-10-17T12:45:00.002-04:00

Today was my first “Casual Friday” at my new gig. I think I erred on the side of comfort.

Looking back now I can see how silly it was to arrive wearing my version of “casual” without doing a proper reconnaissance. However, I thought I understood the concept.

There seems to be a lot of denim here; jeans are everywhere.

So, I am obviously not fitting in.

You see I wore shorts. It wasn’t that as a former velodrome sprint racer I wanted to show off my legs…. it just seemed like it would be ok.

Above the waist I am out of touch as well. Polo shirts are rampant, and I have even seen a couple of Tshirts. However, I am wearing a jacket and tie.

I don’t know how I missed the target so badly. Everyone is wearing jeans and polo shirts, and I am wearing an Official Angus Young Schoolboy Uniform.

I suppose I am like a meteor that is too big to burn up in the atmosphere. Even if it isn’t always the right impression… I ALWAYS manage to make an impact.

I didn't ask for EVAN

2008-10-15T12:13:00.001-04:00

Lunchtime Wednesday… halfway through my first week at my new job.

I have a very lonely office. It’s the biggest office I have ever had, but it is lonely. Besides the Herman Miller chair I sit in at the moment, my office has 4 “visitor” chairs. I have not yet had a visitor. There are a lot of small holes in the wall where the previous occupant had items mounted. He either had a very extensive collection of ego photos, or perhaps he used his down time to conduct seminars on rock climbing techniques.

The facilities manager said they would patch the holes and paint the office during the night sometime next week. I was told they have to paint it eggshell color, but I am hoping to slip him ten bucks and see if they will go with a different color that will complement the black light and associated posters I am bringing in.

This place is huge. The footprint is about 12 feet by 16 feet, but the ceiling is 12 feet high. So as I sit here typing, I feel like I am alone in a racquetball court.

In addition to the black light posters, I think I am going to put up a couple of FATHEADS. I was hoping to go with a woodworking theme. However, I just got off the phone with Highland Hardware and it seems that neither the Frank Klausz nor the Roy Underhill FATHEADS are available yet. How stupid is that? We can get three different poses of Warren Sapp, but we cannot get a single woodworking celebrity in FATHEAD form.

It doesn’t really matter anyway. At the moment, I am pretty ticked off at the FATHEAD company. They completely screwed up my last order. I thought I was getting a bigger than life wall image of my favorite Desperate Housewife hottie… well apparently there is a GUY named Evan Longoria. Who the hell knew that? If you are a DevilRays fan, I can make you a good deal.

We Will Bury You....

2008-10-10T11:13:00.004-04:00

Roy Underhill came out with a new book…. Laaadie Frickin’ Daaa.

I am going to review Roy’s book in the blog today. However, I am not going to spew on about the latest Roy Underhill book the way everyone else is. I am going to give a quick review on the “forgotten” Roy Underhill book:

Khrushchev’s Shoe
and other ways to captivate an audience of 1 to 1000

People who say Roy Underhill’s latest book is his first in 12 years seem to be glossing over “Shoe.”

For most of my life I have been watching Roy Underhill tell stories, and the fact is clear that he is one of the most talented communicators on the planet.

Each time I fire up an episode of The Woodwright’s Shop on Tivo, I am blown away by how quickly 22 minutes can pass. And to me it often seems as if he does the entire show in one take.

Friends, if you were to assign values to Roy Underhill’s abilities, his communication skill would rate higher than his knowledge of wood and tools. (And I think we know where he stands on those).

Most woodworkers know all about Roy’s knowledge of woodworking, but very few I have met realize that he wrote the Bible on public speaking and communicating with an audience. Back in 2000, Roy Underhill wrote Khrushchev’s Shoe, and it is effectively the most entertaining text book I have ever read.

Khrushchev’s Shoe is written in Roy’s inimitable style, and the examples, quotes, and illustrations are humorous yet perfectly on point. (It is probably a good thing that a book on communication does at least a fair job of communicating its message.)

Yet buried under the humor is a complete scientific analysis of the five phases of human communication: Getting Attention, Maintaining Interest, Making an Impression, Creating a Conviction, and Directing Action.

The great beauty of this book is that it addresses the science of communication in a way that holds the readers interest. (Roy, you managed to maintain my interest while making an impression.) An example of Roy’s use of scientific detail is a comparison of verbal spectrograms of speakers to visually accentuate the differences in the tonal qualities of their voices. Roy’s point is easily understood when the reader compares the spectrogram of Ben Stein as the teacher in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off with that of the Rev. Dr. Martin L. King, Jr.’s Promised Land speech.

I believe that nearly everyone who can read and understand English should take the time to study and apply the principles outlined in Roy Underhill’s book Khrushchev’s Shoe. Certainly teachers and sales professionals can gain immediate benefit. However, I like to imagine the impact the book could have on the world of lab rat techies that I have so often worked with over the years. It is my belief that the GDP of the United States would quadruple over dinner if we could get our scientists and engineers to a place where they could explain to the person next to them, the things they so clearly see on the white board inside their brains. As an engineer who did equally well on the both the Math and Verbal part of the SAT, I can assure you that my ability to communicate has been a bigger key to a successful career than my ability to manipulate a calculator or slide rule.

In Khrushchev’s Shoe, Roy Underhill has provided us with an entertaining gem. However, this gem can be used to turn blank stares into what the author describes as a “’minds-on’ state of pleasurable cognition.” And when you can create that experience for your audience, your child, your boss, or the cop standing there with the ticket book… life is going to be as good as it can get.

The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance

2008-10-09T11:48:00.003-04:00

She was short. It was 1996, and I still remember holding her in the Steak ‘n Shake parking lot and telling her that I wouldn’t be gone long. I was only moving to Michigan for 6 months at the most and I would come back to Indianapolis.

I just had to take the job up north to increase my salary and responsibilities before I could come back to Indianapolis as a “player.”

I believe our relationship was officially dead about two weeks later.

Then, I met Gail who had spent nearly her entire life in Holland, Michigan, and as the weather warmed and the frozen waves melted to reveal the beautiful white sand beaches of Lake Michigan, I fell in love not only with Gail but with this cute little town that cheers its Dutch Heritage.

Gail let me know from the moment I proposed to her that she would follow me anywhere in the world. (She apparently sees something in me that the vast majority of women never did…). Gail’s chance to follow through on that promise is just days away.

This weekend Gail and I are heading up to Traverse City for our annual color tour with the West Michigan section of the Mercedes Benz Club of America. We’ll scoot out of there on Sunday morning so we can make it back to Holland in time to watch the Colts play. Then, when the game is over, I’ll jump back in the car to complete the plan I started twelve and half years ago. To quote Tito, Jermaine, Jackie, Marlon, and Michael….”I’m going back to Indiana.”

On Monday morning, I officially exit the auto industry and jump into the most exciting challenge of my adult life. On Monday morning, I’ll wake up in Indianapolis and drive to my first day with what can likely be the last company I’ll ever work for.

There are lots of things to worry about. I don’t mean the part about finding a new house or debating with the movers just how big a jointer has to be before it becomes “excessive.” No, being me, my worries now shift to what to listen to while driving to that first day at my new office…

As Bernie Casey’s character John Slade said while takin’ it to The Man in I’m Gonna Git You Sucka, “This is my theme music. Every good hero should have some.” So it’s important that I roll into my new place on Monday with just the right riff pulsating through the woofers and tweeters.

Right now I am leaning toward EWF. Even in the 21st Century, nothing backs up a hero like Earth, Wind, and Fire. However, I still cannot decide whether I want to set the tone for my career move with September, Let’s Groove Tonight, Got To Get You Into My Life, or Shining Star…. I have 3 days to decide.

FYI… just in case someone thinks I am kidding about this whole theme music thing…. feel free to verify with Gail what happened when I dropped her off for her class at church last night….

Imagine a silver Mercedes roadster with Earth, Wind, and Fire at 120 dB in a four wheel drift as it turns onto the church driveway at about 70 miles per hour…..

Baa Dee Yaa
Say do you remember
Baa Dee Yaa
Dancing in September...

That’s how I roll. And the scary part is… they want ME to be their latex salesman.

Back....and to the Left!!!!!!

2008-10-06T14:04:00.003-04:00

When I wrote my first published column for Popular Woodworking, “The Boys in the Guild,” the character Video Bob was autobiographical. It sometimes seems I own nearly every woodworking video ever made. Before I started attending classes at Marc Adams School of Woodworking, my instruction came from David Marks on Woodworks and a massive stack of woodworking videos.

Today is one of those rare days around here when I offer you a posting that relates to woodworking. This entry is about SmartFlix dot com.

SmartFlix can most easily be described as the online video rental source for How-To videos. (Imagine if Netflix only carried instructional and how-to videos…. and then only charged you for the movies you wanted to rent as opposed to a monthly fee.)

The founder of SmartFlix (Travis Corcoran) is one of our regular Skiving Off readers, and his company has an amazing collection of videos available for rental. Their catalog has everything from Airbrushing to gunsmithing. SmartFlix has videos on rebuilding a Ford 9” to overhauling a C4 Tranny. Videos from all areas of woodworking are available. They have everything from Snowboard Instruction to Disaster Preparation. Their collection of approximately 6000 videos covers an amazing array of topics. (Please note, about the only obscure videos I was unable to find were the Zapruder home movies. Most of us have seen Abraham Zapruder’s Presidential snuff film, but very few people realize that he could shoot a kid’s birthday party like Fellini.)

So if you ever desire to spend a week learning the intricacies of intarsia or tie flying, but don’t want to drop a ton of coin to buy a video you’ll likely only watch one time… consider renting it from SmartFlix.

Finally, SmartFlix has a woodworking contest currently going on that is scheduled to end this week. If you have a few moments of web surfing time available, I encourage you to see what it is all about…you might still have time to win a prize.

Bury My Bursa Sac at Broken Heart

2008-10-04T10:55:00.005-04:00

I have been caught up in those moments of deep thinking again. I know, I know… the medication was supposed to squelch that. The truth is that the kids at the local middle school give me so much money for my prescriptions that the economics leave me little choice but to sell. So with my mind unaltered by the healing gift of the pharmaceutical industry, I again share with my faithful blog readers the random thoughts and questions that occupy my beautiful mind.

I often wake up at night with the same nagging question… If I could trade my voice with anyone else, would I choose Sam Elliot, Alec Baldwin, or the Allstate guy from The Unit?

Was the four bulb rotating cube the last big development in the flash bulb industry, or did I miss any? That is a technology that continues to move so fast it is sometimes difficult to stay up.

Friends, I cannot stress this enough. Remember to roll in a ball whenever you jump from a moving car. Don’t get so caught up in the moment you forget to “ball up.”

All my life I have heard some silly expression about a million dollar smile. “She’s got a million dollar smile.” So, yesterday it occurred to me that perhaps there is some truth to that. Specifically I am wondering if she can use that smile to get chips at a casino. How would the dealer/pit boss exchange go? “Smile changing a million….” “Change a million.” Does she have to give up the smile when she receives the chips? Does she have to get the full million dollars in chips, or can she just change a portion of the smile for a lesser amount? Perhaps she can just use the incisors for $10,000 at the baccarat table.

Did Debra Gibson go back to Debbie or not? Ricky Schroeder went full circle, passing through Rick, and is back to being Ricky… maybe Deb’ can do the same.

I was thinking about The Great Space Coaster. Did anybody ever get onboard? I never got onboard? Surely somebody had to pay attention to the song and follow the instructions to get onboard, but I just never met any of those folks.

I keep meaning to ask one of my Indian friends… what exactly was the injury at Wounded Knee? Was it an ACL or a meniscus problem, or what?

Doppelgängers Among Us

2008-10-02T08:18:00.004-04:00

Yesterday Gail and I were out in public when I happened to look over at a giant tv that was showing the opening credits to the Disney Channel show, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody. Without hesitation I told Gail, “Ya know…Zack is ok, but that Cody is a little Jerk!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

From there it spewed out of me…..

Friends, it is not commonly known that I differentiate between twins and find reasons for loving one while hating the other. It’s a personality quirk of mine.

For example, with the “group” NELSON, I clearly prefer Ricky Nelson’s one son over the other because Nelson #2 has a troubled credit history.

I cannot even stand to look at the Barbi Twins anymore since I found out that one of them had breast implants. Now each time I seem them, all I can think about is what a big phony the one girl is as she stands there with her hard working sister who didn’t jump on the surgical fast track to fame.

Even Ashley and Mary Kate are not above my scrutiny. Ashley is clearly superior because she is not only a better knitter than Mary Kate, but she also embodies that spirit that Aerosmith described as a “Missy who is ready to play.”

It is not just twins I do this with….I can give you 43 reasons why Richard Thomas’ middle triplet is superior to the other two.

And if people are honest with themselves, they will find that I am not the only person who discriminates between twins and other multiple birth siblings.

Who among us hasn’t mentally gone through the checklist of reasons why Jack B. Nimble is twice the man that Jack B. Quick will ever be?

I have always felt among the Bunker Twins, Eng was far superior to Cheng, especially at track and field events. Also, although I don’t have facts to prove it, my gut tells me Eng was a significantly better long distance runner than Cheng.

Romulus and Remus are quite easy to decide between. Remus was a great fellow. He is like your kind old uncle. And every year on Mothers Day, Remus would send a gift out to the Wolfpack. Romulus on the other hand was a selfish, evil man. It should have come as a surprise to no one when his jealousy overwhelmed him and he killed Uncle Remus.

Among the Pepper Twins, I have always preferred Sgt. Pepper to his pompous brother, Dr. Pepper. Sergeant Pepper dedicated his life to protecting the freedoms of the civilized world. Dr. Pepper only concerned himself with the bottom line profits and the ongoing struggle of his selfish plan to crush Mr. Pibb.

Finally, I arrive at my twin nephews Harrison and Jackson. Boys, so far it’s a dead heat. My love for you is still completely equal. However, since you turned 6 years old yesterday it is time that you start looking at the long term ramifications of your actions. I need to know which of you is more likely to visit me in “a home” 60 or 70 years from now. As soon as I know which of you is going to provide financial and emotional support for me in my declining years, I will be able to finally start discriminating between the two of you. Alright, Boys, let’s start competing for my love… GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (And happy birthday to you both.)

Cooperstown Lost???

2008-09-30T00:06:00.003-04:00

This week Marc Adams is teaching Joinery II at his School of Woodworking in Indiana, and that means I am on the bubble. It is possible that next week I may no longer be in the Joinery II Hall of Fame.

If you are wondering what the MASW Joinery II Hall of Fame is, I would direct you to the placard located in the Hall of Fame display. That sign on the Joinery II Hall of Fame provides the following description:

Each year in the Joinery II class, students are paired up and given a special daily challenge. These joints are the results of the BEST of those joints. From year to year each group of two students are given identical joints to those that were cut the year before. The staff of MASW then decides whose joints are better. The best cut joints are signed by each student and then displayed here at the JOINERY II HALL OF FAME.

A little over a year ago I reached for the brass ring, grabbed a firm hold, and then used that as means of swinging through the air and kicking in the gate of the MASW Joinery II Hall of Fame. I stopped short of buying Hall of Fame business cards or putting it on my résumé, but having my hand cut bridled miter joint in the MASW Joinery II Hall of Fame is something I am quite proud of.

(How cool that my Hall of Fame Joint resides just inches away from a hollow vessel turned, gilded, and finished by my "TV Mentor" David Marks with his signature Patina.)

It should also be noted that my being in the Hall of Fame became yet another way for my friend Marc Adams to mess with me. For example, back in April when I attended a class during the opening week of the school year, I saw that Marc had decided to direct special attention to my presence in the Hall of Fame. However, the photo below points out what Marc so sadly lamented to me at that time. “Oh wow, Jeff, look at that. There is that nice sign pointing out the fact that you are in the Hall of Fame, but not only does that sign block your name/signature on the joint you cut, but the bottom of the sign got cut off so that almost no one will recognize your name. No one will ever know you are in the Hall of Fame, Mr. Skiver. Gee, that has to be a real bummer to an attention-loving guy like you.”

(Marc seemed to not hear me when I reminded him that he had the keys to the Hall of Fame display and could just move the sign.)

A quick note to Susie, Don, Zane, Doug, Jeff, and anyone else that Marc asks to vote on this year's Joinery II Hall of Fame entries. If you make sure my joint survives this year's challenger, then I will personally provide you with Ice Cream during lunchtime of all of the classes I attend next year.

In the Den of The Bear

2008-09-29T15:43:00.005-04:00

One of the best parts of visiting the home of Popular Woodworking last week is that I was able to assure Chris Schwarz and Megan Fitzpatrick that I was just messin' with them about their contest to write Out of the Woodwork features.

I have to admit that Megan knows how to take a joke, and just to show there were no hard feelings, she let me pose for a photo with the Leigh Jig that they are giving away to the person who submits the winning article.

Nice, Megan. I think you were saying that my being disqualified from the contest for submitting articles under Gail's name isn't so unpardonable a sin as to preclude my ever appearing in the magazine again. It's just that the photo below is the closest I will get to winning a prize.

Megan has been assessed a 15 yard Unsportsmanlike Conduct penalty for "Taunting." The penalty will be assessed on the kickoff.

Lunch With a Miracle Worker

2008-09-28T08:38:00.009-04:00

Last week I finally got an opportunity to visit the Popular Woodworking shop over at F+W Publications in Cincinnati. On Wednesday, I popped in for a quick tour and Managing Editor Megan Fitzpatrick was the consummate host. (Megan, it will probably never be noticed but when I signed in upon arrival, I wrote down that I was with the Department of Corrections Work Release Program.)

During my visit, Megan took me to lunch along with Senior Editor Bob Lang and Art Director Linda Watts. (As a quick aside to the unknown scantily clad 19/20ish year old girl with the WiFi laptop who was singlehandedly taking up an entire 4+ person booth at Panera during the height of the lunchtime rush… it’s ok, Missy…. it’s all about you.)

Most folks who venture onto my blog know who Bob Lang is. Not only do his books make him the undisputed guru of measured drawings for seemingly everything related to Arts & Crafts…his own work is excellent (like the Sapele bookcase on the cover of the August 2008 issue of Popular Woodworking).

Today, however, I want everyone to learn about the work of a different master, so I am providing a bit of insight into the talent of Linda Watts. To be honest, I do not know everything Linda does. I only know that she did an amazing job on a project that meant the world to me.

Linda worked on the photo that was used on the back page feature I wrote for the April 2008 issue, but few people know the effort that went into creating that photo. We needed an image of Simon to use with the article, but in the years before he unexpectedly died, I had only taken one or two photos of Simon in the shop. And in each of these photos Simon was surrounded by mountains of junk. There were no stellar shots of Simon in the shop that screamed out for inclusion as the centerpiece of a feature for a national magazine.

I remember lamenting the situation with Megan over the phone last year when she told me that if that was the best photo we had, we would just throw it to Linda and see what she could come up with. I didn’t know what to expect, and a couple of days later when Megan emailed me the proof of the article and I saw what Linda had done I was overjoyed.

You see, when Simon died in January of 2007 I struggled to find a way to honor him properly. I sent a donation to Guide Dogs For The Blind. However, I wanted something bigger. He was that kind of dog. He deserved a statue like the "dog that saved Charlestown in the 1938 flood" in the movie Slapshot. Then, one day I came upstairs from the shop, sat down at my computer, and while looking through a stream of tears I wrote My New Apprentice as a testament to the dog that meant so much to me and died way too young.

Thinking of Simon and speaking of him still stirs up the strongest emotions in me. It would have been very easy to just include a photo of the beautiful little puppy Peyton in My New Apprentice, and at one point I suggested that. However, Megan said the column was about Simon, and she wanted it to have his photo.

Linda, I thank you so much for seeing to it that Simon’s photo was included. I am sure most of your work goes unnoticed by the vast majority of the readers, but I know firsthand that not all of the amazing craftsmanship that appears in the magazine comes from the sawdust clouded shop that sits just a few feet away from you.

The most important thing I have ever personally seen in Popular Woodworking was photographed in Holland, Michigan but tweaked and perfected on Linda Watts' computer screen.

Thank you, Linda.

Sheddin' a Tear Here, Boss

2008-09-27T11:16:00.004-04:00

I just found out Paul Newman died.

I have mentioned Cool Hand Luke more than once during the history of this blog, so regular readers probably know that I was one Paul Newman’s biggest fans.

I suppose Paul Newman was what I always wanted to be when I grew up. Somewhere between racing cars or shooting pool or getting away to South America against the backdrop of a Burt Bacharach score… Paul Newman embodied everything that was considered to be cool by a kid like me. Then, just when you thought he was great… he started selling his favorites recipes and giving the money away.

In the world of baby blue eyed hero types, some people lean more toward Steve McQueen, and I was a huge fan of his, too. However, what always pulled me over to Paul Newman was that smile. When I was a little younger I discovered for myself the power of a good smile, and I learned it from watching Paul Newman. He has helped me defuse many hostile situations in my career, when I strolled into a conference room where the table was surrounded with angry people filled with a “sense of urgency” and rather than launching into a defensive speech about why my company wasn’t at fault…I took a couple of moments to make eye contact and let the angry folks get to know me.

Paul Newman taught me that it is hard to hate someone when he shows you the gleam in his blue eyes and flashes you “’dat ol' Luke Smile.”

Money for Nothin'....

2008-09-21T21:54:00.007-04:00

I was hit with some pretty deep thinking tonight at dinner. As Gail and I sat down at the table, Chuck Berry was emanating from the speakers in the ceiling. This caused me to start pondering. So, as the questions began to hit me, I borrowed a pen from Gail, flipped over my paper place mat, and started scribbling out my deep thoughts. Mr. Berry was followed by The Beach Boys and the Beatles (it must have been the "B" Muzak tape), and by the time the Beatles finished, there was no more room on the place mat for note taking. (Between the paper place mat and the 50s/60s music, you should have a pretty good idea of my taste in fine dining).

Nevertheless, tonight's blog entry is not about the food....it's about the questions I am pondering based upon the music from the restaurant....

His mother told him "Someday you will be a man,
And you will be the leader of a big old band."

What if Johnny B. Goode didn't really want to lead a "Big Ol' Band?" What if his real ambition was to just have a little Boy Band where the focus was more on the choreography and no one even played his own instrument? Was this a case of too much parental pressure? Was this a case of Mrs. Goode trying to live out her own failed dreams of stardom through Johnny?

If Johnny's mother had put the same attention on his education, would he have been able to read and write better?

If everybody had an ocean
Across the U.S.A.
Then everybody'd be surfin
Like Californi-a

In order for everyone in the United States to have an ocean, what would the geography of the country look like? I mean, Australia is surrounded by water, and it is still far from a place where "Everyone has an ocean." I believe the United States would have to be an extremely long, narrow island that wound around the planet a couple of times like an apple peeling for all of its hundreds of thousands of inhabitants to have the ocean access The Beach Boys are referring to.

Then, how might this alternate shape of the USA have impacted the history of the nation? Might the teams have been different in the American Civil War? Would our Manifest Destiny concept have applied to the 750,000 mile East/West dimension of the nation's helix length or to the 10 mile North/South dimension? (The answer of that question would have dramatically impacted our relationships with quite a few Indian tribes.) Why do you think the Beach Boys even brought up this idea without digging into the deeper questions it so obviously arouses?

Ya know, I also have to wonder if the Beach Boys know what the heck they are talking about with regard to Californi-a. Have they seen Death Valley? It's not exactly a surfer's paradise. Also, earlier this year it was reported that Mt. Shasta in Northern California is the one place on the planet where glaciers have been increasing in recent history. Again, I have to wonder how the growing glaciers of Mt. Shasta is a surf spot.

Help, I need Somebody
Help, Not just Anybody

Are the Fab Four really refusing to accept Help from just anyone? How can they do that? How does one randomly cry out for assistance, but then pass judgment upon the qualifications of strangers who go out of their way to provide aid?

HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, hang on...Let's take a look at you. Ooooops. Sorry, Mate, I don't think you are going to be exactly what we are looking for.

You see, we want someone with a really nice smile, and your teeth are somewhat spotty, at best.

Also, look at your clothes, man. See that... you're certainly not a very smart dresser, now are you? No.....surely you can see where you just aren't up to snuff with regard to being good enough to help us, right?

I mean, we are the Beatles, ya know.

Granted, we do need help, but we can't be so low as to accept Help from just anybody, can we? Thanks for understanding, old man.

(I am Jeff Skiver, and I approved this message.)

Don’t Poke the Bear

2008-09-18T00:01:00.003-04:00

It appears I brought a knife to a gun fight. I wanted to poke at the straight laced sensibilities of the editors of my favorite magazine, and they returned fire with a disproportionate response.

Many of us received the Popular Woodworking eNEWS email earlier today where Chris Schwarz put out an open call for Out of the Woodwork features.

----------- My desperate appeal to Chris ------------------

Chris, with regard to that whole thing about your not running the Christmas article...I didn’t mean anything by it. Hey, I kid you… I’m a kidder.

You're right; that Christmas thing I wrote was horrible. There is no way it was worthy of publication. Publishing it would have brought back Polio and most of mankind’s other plagues.

I'm sorry, man.

Don’t do this, Chris.

Give me another chance, Buddy.

Dude, are you breaking up with me?

Don’t make me go back to only writing for Railroad Model Craftsman. I can’t live like that.

---------- My attempt to reason with Megan -----------

Megan, that story I sent you last week that you are planning to run in December was actually written by Gail, and Gail wants to use that as her submission for the Leigh Jig Contest.

"I am Jeff Skiver, and I approve this message." (Jeff Skiver)

No Singlet Required

2008-09-17T09:33:00.004-04:00

I am a Pack Rat. It's one of my 17,329 (non-criminal) vices.

However, what separates me from the vast legions of Pack Rats out there is the fact I still find a way to use all of the crap that I keep in piles down in the basement.

I realize most hoarders of collectibles (keepers of junk) are neither able to use their stuff nor find the strength to sell it on Ebay, so I want to help them. Today is our first installment of Pack Rat Self Help.

With this blog entry I imagine hundreds of guys going to the basement, digging through a pile of collectible stuff, and emerging with a revitalized part of a dapper wardrobe. Because today, I give you:

The Top 5 places to wear your
20 year old wrestling headgear:

1) During all stages of commercial air travel.

2) While playing slow pitch softball.

3) At very large gatherings (20,000+ people) like the Boat, Sport, and Travel Show held at the State Fairgrounds.

4) During Job Interviews.

5) Any funeral where you serve as a Pallbearer.

The other fun possibility is to choose one store that (at least in your mind) requires you to wear wresting headgear in order to visit. In my case it's Barnes and Noble's. Everything looks quite normal as I park the car, get out, and head toward the front door. However, there is nothing I like more than to have some guy standing at the front door, courteously delaying his entrance so he can hold the door for me, while I say, "Just a minute, Friend" and reach into my front pants pocket for the old headgear that I put on before setting foot into that store.

It stays there as I look at the books. The headgear is clearly in place as I peruse the music and movies at the back. I even ignore its presence on my head as I point out my published articles to uninterested strangers in the magazine area.

I keep it in place while paying for my purchase. I act as normal as can be as I ask the clerk what is my anniversary date for renewing the stupid B&N Membership.

However, the moment my foot touches the sidewalk outside the store, I scramble to remove that headgear like it is a giant cobweb I just unwittingly walked into.

That's what my life is all about, folks. I don't just come up with ways to use the stuff I have stored away....I find ways to do it with a grace and style that makes other people hold onto their children's hands just a little bit tighter when they see me out in public.

"I am Jeff Skiver, and I approve of this message." (Jeff Skiver)

Rankine 911

2008-09-15T21:33:00.004-04:00

Art is Individualism, and Individualism is a disturbing and disintegrating force. Therein lies its immense value. For what it seeks to disturb is monotony of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of man to the level of a machine.
Oscar Wilde
The Soul of Man Under Socialism

There’s no better snack than nibbling on the hand of one’s feeder.
Jeff Skiver

Last week I emailed Popular Woodworking’s Managing Editor Megan Fitzpatrick a couple more Out of the Woodwork Features for calendar year 2009. She responded by saying she would pull one of them ahead to December 2008.

That confused me because just over a year ago I wrote a very special Christmas story specifically for Popular Woodworking, and it has been my assumption that they were saving it for the December 2008 issue.

So I asked Megan why she needed to run one of the new ones in December when we had the special Christmas story. Hesitantly, Megan confessed that the magazine's editing staff had decided to not publish my Christmas story in Popular Woodworking.

Therefore, I want all of my faithful blog readers to realize that the legacy of Jeff Skiver has now grown to include a Christmas story that is apparently too controversial for Popular Woodworking. In reality, as a professional (and a Capitalist) I am not too concerned because they paid me for it a long time ago. (Actually they purchased the First Rights to Publish, but I was paid whether they ever run it or not.) However, the strange thing is that I didn’t even think of this story as edgy when I wrote it.

This one page feature is just the normal Skiver attitude applied to a Woodworking Christmas theme.

So even though it doesn’t bother me that they are running a different Skiver piece in the December issue, I am still going to try to milk this out for all it’s worth and try to make the “Missing” Back Page Feature the stuff of legend.

If I have my way, the Canceled Skiver Christmas Feature will someday be as highly regarded by collectors of literary antiquities as the Dead Sea Scrolls. (I have a pretty high opinion of my work, don’t I?)

Despite my chosen title for this blog post, I am not going to do a Censorship Soap Box Rant. Popular Woodworking choosing to not run that feature isn't nearly as bad as when I was still writing for Highlights and suffered the ongoing torment of having Management cancel my best ideas for the monthly Goofus and Gallant cartoons.

In fact, as a way of finally achieving some healing for the Censorship I faced from Highlights, I now provide you (my faithful blog readers) with my top 5 Rejected Goofus and Gallant ideas:

1) Gallant always treats his dates with respect.

Goofus understands that “NO!!!!” means she is just being playful.

2) Goofus shoots up with anything he can find.

Gallant would rather forego a hit than use a dirty spike.

3) Gallant maintains a career so he can finance his own addition.

Goofus knows that his mom wouldn’t leave her purse out if she didn’t want him to borrow from her.

4) Gallant adorns his car with a bumper sticker that says, “COEXIST.”

Goofus’ car sports the old classic, “Ass, Gas, or Grass…nobody rides for free.”

5) Gallant includes Broadband Internet access in his monthly budget.

Goofus just downloads tons of illegal porn and copyrighted material over his neighbor’s unsecured WiFi. (As Goofus always says, “Do the models have to be 18 if you are downloading through someone else’s IP Address?”)

Through the Pixelation I see Tina Turner...

2008-09-14T11:15:00.003-04:00

Damn You, Hurricane IKE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Don’t ever let it be said I am not a highly compassionate person.

I feel the pain of all of those in The Gulf who just suffered tragic losses from Hurricane Ike.

You see, Ike has stirred up a weather system that is now causing very heavy rain here in the Midwest, and as a result I am dealing with my own minor tragedy.

I don’t have any High Definition Satellite signals for my local stations, and the Indianapolis Colts game is less than 2 hours away.

Sure, I have High Def on all of the “premium” and normal channels one would associate with cable/satellite. However, Directv broadcasts their market-specific local channels through a Spot Beam Signal (for me its satellite 99s) and at the moment the rain is strong enough to be choking that signal out. Yes, I still have the standard definition signal that I will be able to watch the game on, but do you know how grainy standard definition football looks on a 47 inch 1080P LCD television???? It’s almost unbearable. Woe is me.

To a techno-junkie like me there are few things worse than being separated from technology. It's been that way for a long time. Nine or ten years ago, while others were showing off the early Palm Pilots, I was showing off a first generation Pocket PC that allowed me to accomplish REAL work in Excel and Word without having to drag a laptop around.

Nowadays, I am secretly bugged that I cannot access a free wireless signal in church. (Pastor, that’s the King James version of the Bible I am looking at on my PocketPC during your sermon. What do you think I am doing? Checking my blog hits?)

My cell phone obsession is worse than the WiFi one. I not only cannot live without my mobile phone…I now have to have a quad band phone so that I am ensured of coverage on the most remote outward parts of Papua New Guinea.

If you want me to have a full blown breakdown…just keep me away from my email account for more than 16 hours.

If you want me to do my impersonation of David Foster Wallace, just take away my cell phone and all internet access for only one hour.

Let me clarify one thing…I do go hours at a time without being either on the phone or on the internet. However, the mere thought of not having available access to those forms of communication causes me severe emotional distress.

I don’t constantly use high tech communications…I just need to know it’s available.

At the moment, I am starting to feel a little bit of that same TSA (techno-separation-anxiety) each time I switch from the grainy standard version of CBS to the high def version of that channel where I find a black screen with an update from Directv that says, “Looking for Signal In on Satellite 2… (771).”

Thanks to you, Ike, I have to watch Peyton, Joseph, Marvin, Reggie, Dwight, and Bob on a grainy big screen.

Ike, it wasn’t enough for you to just batter the coast, but you had to reach up here into the Midwest and put the smack down on me, too.

Apparently Tina Turner wasn’t exaggerating about your evil ways.

A Trip to the Spa

2008-09-10T21:55:00.002-04:00

I don’t want to start a big Hand Tool/Power Tool debate. I believe each has its place in the shop. However, this blog post isn’t even about woodworking…it’s about a trip to the Spa.

See, I slept in Sunday morning and I forgot to watch the Belgian Grand Prix. Then, because I missed it, my friend Terry told me to not even read anything about the race until I was able to watch the replay (that I finally recorded this afternoon on Speed Channel).

So tonight I watched the Belgian Grand Prix that was run this past Sunday at Spa (a mere 35 miles from Genk, where I used to work on occasions). The race was the normal excitement, but with 3 laps to go it went CRAZY when the rain began to fall.

With almost none of the cars on wet tires, the finish of that race came down to which driver could feather the throttle and get around the track while only using about 25% of the car’s available horsepower.

Sometimes it’s not a matter of how much power you have…it comes down to the skills of the one wielding that power. None of the guys on the podium at Spa finished that race with his engine pushed anywhere close to 19,000 rpms.

Hmmmm….I started out writing this thinking the Belgian Grand Prix might be a great metaphor for the using hand tools, but now that I think about it, the race at Spa wasn’t about the tools. It makes a better argument for the importance of always monitoring the moisture content.

FYI…we’re not going to get into the whole thing about McLaren/Mercedes getting
cheated out of the win by the corrupt Ferrari team.

Bait and Switch

2008-09-08T21:01:00.008-04:00

Blog reader Jason was asking about the door frame construction on the Shaker clock I showed a few days ago. In the comments of yesterday's blog entry, Jason asked:

"I just noticed the door on your shaker clock. Are you using the plans from Woodcraft to build it? I'm just asking because I thought one of the most difficult joints to make on that project was the through tennons on the doors. I spent a lot of time getting those right and was pretty proud of them when I did. When I was at Woodcraft, buying the mechanism and face for the fourth clock I made, I decided to check out their sample clock to see how theirs looked. Guess what... the doors were half-lapped together. I felt cheated. And now, I look at your door, and I don't see the through tennons. Did I do all that extra work for nothing!!!???"

I responded to Jason explaining this clock is one that I started in my class with Chris Gochnour back in April/May. With the exception of planing the rough lumber and squaring the stock it is built entirely with hand tools. Also the door frame utilizes hand cut mortise and tenon joints. However, my door frame uses "normal" M&T's as opposed to through tenons. (I just built the clock that Mr. Gochnour showed us.)

Below are some photos showing the details of the construction. Please note I have not tweaked the joints yet, so there are still some minor gaps that have to be closed up.

Wow... a blog post ENTIRELY about woodworking. You just never know what you are going to get here.

I also hope this blog entry effectively counters a fan of the blog who informed me that I was guilty of doing a "bait and switch" when they found out I was not a woodworker who did actual work. (This person suggested I limited myself to only buying tools and lumber, without putting the tools to use.)

Every time that tired old argument comes up, I have to console the inhabitants of my tool cabinet by reminding them I have had life insurance policies for YEARS that I still haven't put to use.

Who Needs the Dakotas???

2008-09-07T09:40:00.002-04:00

Here is an image showing the Earthly location of this past week's blog readers.

(You can click the photo for a larger picture.)

As I've said before, I realize we have something of an international following. Although our penetration into the Middle East is still lagging behind, that is to be expected given most entries are written in English. (Wir koennten auch auf Deutsch schreiben, aber meine deutsche Freunde sprechen Englisch besser als ich Deutsch spreche.)

For me, the shocking thing about the map is the lack of blog visits from the Dakotas. I am left wondering if there is a vast Dakotian conspiracy in place to suppress my efforts, or at the very least to ignore me. Is it not understood that I am a black hole of emotional need who requires an endless spate of encouragement and edifying comments?

If you have family, friends, or loved ones currently residing in (or incarcerated in) North Dakota or South Dakota, I encourage you to write them, call them, or use the phone thing to talk through the glass to them and ask them to hit the blog during the next week. We need red dots on the Dakotas.

Let's face it, people...how can I start pressuring the Skiving Off Regional Market Managers in Europe and Asia to improve their market penetration numbers for next quarter when we haven't even secured the Dakotas that sit a mere three states away from me?

I realize that Alaska is lagging behind also, but most of my mates from Dutch Harbor are busy fishing right now. So soon enough they'll be back home drinking and surfing the net and "Representing" with their own red dot.

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2008-09-05T11:01:00.004-04:00

Ladies and Gentlemen….Children of All Ages….Football is back. The real NFL season started last night, and that makes me happy. I am claiming the start of the NFL season as a birthday present to my big brother that he is letting me share. (Thanks, Edward...and have a Happy Birthday.)

Years ago I was like a lot of American men, wasting away the pre-work morning watching SportsCenter. It didn’t matter if ESPN’s only highlights were from a Kiwana’s Donkey Basketball Game in Muscle Shoals, sports was the glue that held together the X and Y chromosomes that made me a man.

However, with the passage of time I just started caring less and less. Millionaires on strike…. one brawl after another… corrupt officiating… the firing and retirement of my true heroes…. somehow I eventually gave up on all spectator sports except the Indianapolis Colts and Notre Dame Football. Believe it or not, I haven’t missed any of it.

My life went from one where Coach Bob Knight and the Indiana Hoosiers were a significant priority to one where I haven’t watched a college basketball game in several years. Even the dogs have enjoyed the mellower atmosphere associated with the reprioritization of my life. (Abby did not always like dressing up for games.)

Still, all of the energy that in the past was divided among the Cubs, Pacers, Hoosiers, and Maple Leafs was added to the love I have had for the Colts for the last 20+ years.

And last night officially started another season of the only professional sport I care about. Still, I am a very snobbish fan. I won’t watch the NFL just for the sake of watching football. I am a Colts fan. I watched part of last night’s game only because it featured Eli Manning, and most of us Colts fans have adopted Peyton’s little brother and his Giants as our NFC team of choice.

It has been a long wait since February, but “next year” is finally here. Part of me hates the off season. I hate having to wait for September to watch the team that means so much to me. Yet, sometimes it helps to have a pause or separation. Seven months away from the Colts is enough to make me eager for the start of the season. I cannot imagine what it would be like if I felt this way about the America’s Cup or Olympic Bobsledding. It would be hell to wait years for the return of my favorite sport.

On a personal note, I am glad school breaks are only for the summer. If my scholastic breaks had been 4 years instead of 3 months I don’t think I would have ever gone back for my sophomore year…let alone graduate. Perhaps that summarizes the difference between how we humans sometimes incorrectly view sports versus education. FIFA World Cup can get by with a tournament every four years, and the passion will always be fever pitched. However, it is a very rare student who could take 4+ years off and return to complete what they had started. Also, students typically get paid a lot less (with very few product endorsement deals), but that is a different rant.

I Wasn't Just Showing Off The Tools...

2008-09-03T15:29:00.003-04:00

I think the followers of this blog know me too well.

Yesterday, Matt said the blog update was just a chance to show off a bunch of Lie-Nielsen prizes. Please note this is not the Matthew I went to Ireland with…that Matt has far too much going on making the world safe by producing Humulin, Prozac, and Cialis than to follow my blog.

Well, there is a bit of truth to what blog-reader Matt said. However, there was also a bunch of Bridge City stuff (and a 100+ year old Maydole hammer in those photos that did not get publically recognized.)

The photos were included there for resume purposes, though. You see I have received more than a few notes asking me if I ever actually make anything, or if I do really just buy tools and lumber. So I decided to throw in some pictures of the Shaker Clock that is in the works. However, my selection of this piece for inclusion in the blog may also have something to do with one of the most brilliantly insightful things I have read recently. In the Out On A Limb (Editors Page) of the October 2008 issue of Popular Woodworking, Chris Schwarz speaking of the lack of fair artistic criticism among woodworkers says, “Stuff that looks like it should be hauled away in a dumpster usually gets kudos along the lines of: ‘That’s some nice red oak!’”

By the way, my blog buddy Ethan had a great entry in his blog on this very subject back in May. I encourage you to check it out. Reaching Critical Masses…

However, it seems that I am a feedback wuss. Because on the off chance anyone would have negative thoughts about the joinery and construction of my photographed project, I chose the Shaker Clock so that I would have the “beautiful curly cherry” line to fall back on.

Kill the Fatted Calf

2008-09-02T17:01:00.005-04:00

It’s times like this you find out who your real friends are.

There have been many kind words and comments that have come in regarding the missing skew chisel. (There have also been many harsh emails come in telling me to stop being such a whiny ass wanker….). I have focused on the more encouraging correspondence.

Well, this morning I faced the fear of the arachnids that inhabit the dark corners of the shop and went digging around in the corners to find the missing chisel.

As this photo shows…I did locate the chisel.

See that….I use the cocobolo handles to differentiate the two skew chisels from the other socket chisels in the tool roll. (And it is a beautiful wood for a handle that won’t see striking blows.)

The missing chisel wasn’t in the dark corner. It had not fallen off of the bench and rolled under the lumber rack. Instead, it was in the first (and last) place I looked. She was over at my sharpening station. Somehow she had snuggled up to a plastic tube of Herb’s “Yellow Stone”, and just rested there for a few days. (By the way…given that there are millions of recipes for honing compounds, mustards, and barbeque sauces…has anyone tried Herb’s Yellow Stone on Bratwurst??? Sorry, I digress.)

Again I appreciate everyone’s concern. I agree with all of those who said that one missing skew chisel is too many. But relax everybody….it just got lost in the shuffle as I became distracted from my sharpening duties last week.

Now if I could just find my Indianapolis Racers Hockey Puck that went missing in 1977….a black hole is still the only possible reason for that rubber cylinder to have disappeared from the top of my dresser… I think the hockey puck is truly gone for good.

That's the Name of the Game

2008-09-01T11:46:00.007-04:00

“Honestly, we just need to find a little spot to unload The Mayflower, and then we won’t bother you kind folks again.…”

I’ve always had divided thoughts about Paul Newman’s character Cool Hand Luke. At what point does continuing to get up from knockdown blows go from being the resilient reaction of a guy refusing to quit to the pure stupidity of a guy who just cannot learn what the heck is going on around him?

Yesterday I encountered an example of a group of folks who took a punch, stayed on the ground, and developed a game plan to achieve victory many years down the road. I refer, of course, to the Potawatomi Indians.

Last year, the Potawatomi opened the Four Winds Casino in New Buffalo, Michigan, and it has been a lucrative venture for them.

I am personally in favor of Indian Casinos. To me it seems like a very fair payback for that Manifest Destiny idea we white guys put out there a couple of hundred years ago. The other thing I like is it simply provides the tribes with the opportunity to make money. The government doesn’t “repay” the tribe for past sins and transgressions…it simply says, “Y’all can do whatever y'all want…and if folks is dumb enuff to drive all the way over thar and then stand in line to give you's thar money…so be it.”

The thing that touches my heart is how well the Potawatomi learned the lesson of the white man. I refer to their gaming brochure shown below. It’s a simple little pamphlet that explains how the casino games are played.

The cover says, “The game has changed. But the rules are still the same.”

When one flips the pamphlet over, however, he encounters a different statement on the back, “Rules Subject to Change.”

Now where would they have learned that move?

“Guys thanks for your help unloading our ship. Ya know, I probably should have asked…have your people all been immunized?”

Update on The Chisel

2008-08-28T13:22:00.006-04:00

Good News….Bad News….

Why must it always be so damn difficult????

I think I found my chisel. A comment this morning by faithful reader Ethan put me onto the possibility that my missing chisel has something to do with Bad Karma over the differing opinions of John and me regarding drawer sides or possibly Bad Karma over my differing plans for the use of lumber. Either way I think the drawer side controversy is perhaps why she went missing. So following this revelation, I just needed to figure out how to get her back.

Somehow today I was able to find a different John…John Smith. More specifically, I found Col. John "Hannibal" Smith. Also, I not only found him, but I was able to successfully hire The A-Team to find my chisel.

The good news is they found it.

The bad news is that she is currently located in The Worst Toilet in Scotland.

So if I can now locate Ewan McGregor and get some Trainspotting instruction on how to make it through the trap of the toilet and swim down to where the chisel resides…everything should work out just fine.

(Note to self: it’s always interesting how some of my favorite blog posts garner NO feedback… so I am not sure if anyone will understand this one…and if they do…if there will be anything to add.)

Amber Alert for the Shop

2008-08-27T10:49:00.004-04:00

Where is she? Or is she a he? Where is it?

I’m missing a chisel, and it has me worried. There is a big empty slot in my chisel roll, and the void seems to consume the entire shop.

How does a chisel just disappear? Was it kidnapped? Did it wander off and lose its way during its trip back?

Am I responsible? Did I misplace it? Did I drive it away with a mallet whack that was just too harsh, applied at the wrong spot, or struck at the wrong time?

It’s not a big, tough Mortise Chisel that can chop through anything the world throws at it. It’s a more delicate socket chisel. It is a lovely Cocobolo handled skew chisel. It’s a delicate, beautiful, and viciously sharp tool that feels amazingly balanced. It’s a chisel that feels perfectly at home when I reach for it and hold it in my hands. My missing chisel is a tool that helps me to do my highest level of work.

Now that I think about it, I know I didn’t drive it away, because my Cocobolo handled skew chisels are only used for paring. They have never been struck. They have never been man handled or strong armed. They have always been delicately handled like little Baby chisels. Yet, it is missing.

Where are you, Baby Chisel?

I’ve looked all over the top of my cluttered workbench, the place where you belong. I’ve looked under the bench too. I’ve looked in the deepest corners of my tool cabinet. My search for you even forced me to face the spiders that hide under the lumber rack.

I’ve looked everywhere in my shop…our shop. And I have to assume that someone took you away. Someone who passed through the shop looked upon your beauty and decided that you should belong to them.

I tried to talk to a friend about it, but I was left feeling empty by all of the clichés:

Do I really miss the chisel, or do I just miss the idea of having a full chisel collection?
If you love a tool…set it free….if it comes back to you then it is yours for all eternity.
There are plenty of other skew chisels in the world. Just call Tom Lie-Nielsen and order another.

I still bristle as my heart cries out the expected response, “I don’t want ANOTHER chisel. I want MY chisel!!!!!!!!!”

not THAT ebony...

2008-08-26T14:20:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I posted a blog entry on dealing with the guilt from other people who have unrealistic paradigms of what life (and specifically woodworking) should be.

I wrote it in the morning, and then a little after lunch I came back in from getting the mail and read an article in the latest Popular Woodworking that somehow applies. Its connection to the blog post is convoluted, but it does apply.

In the backpage feature (Out of the Woodwork) of the latest (October 2008) PopWood, the author talks about certain boards being almost too good to use. Meanwhile yesterday, I argued that perhaps I should hide some really, really nice lumber inside a cabinet piece where almost no one will ever see it.

Perhaps they are both dumbass arguments???? Maybe the PopWood article is just as screwed up as my blog posting??? The thing is they were both written by the same dumbass.

You see, I didn't know that issue was due out so soon. Normally, when I have an article in the magazine, they send me a couple of free preview copies about two weeks before the magazine goes out to subscribers. That didn't happen this time; I was still looking for my preview copies yesterday when I found the real thing. So even though I knew my Out of the Woodwork feature "Et Tu Brute" would eventually be out in circulation, I certainly didn't realize it would arrive at my house on the same day I published a blog post defending my right to use any lumber I choose. (Also, let me go on record clearly stating I would NEVER make drawer sides from the wide ebony mentioned in the magazine.)

So....let's scramble for some credibility here....

I think rather than saying I am a dumbass who has managed to put out conflicting thoughts on the use of good lumber versus prized lumber....I instead am going to embrace the USA election year political mentality of saying, "I didn't flip flop...I am just making sure I represent as many different voter opinions as possible."

Dealing with Guilt

2008-08-25T10:07:00.003-04:00

I had the great pleasure of enduring a guilt-laden lecture this weekend.

Apparently in my attempt to live my life and do what was right for me, I crossed someone else’s line of acceptable behavior and had to spend hours hearing about it.

You see, I made some drawer sides from stock that was something other than CRAP. It wasn’t luthier quality 5A Birdseye maple, but my drawer sides weren’t knotty pine, either. This simple action on my part incensed a friend of mine, and John spent the better part of Saturday constantly telling me that I was a wasteful, short sighted, selfish, arrogant, immature, and foolish spendthrift. Then, just for good measure he added that I was at least partially responsible for most of the actions carried out by the Khmer Rouge, the genocide in Rwanda, and the introduction of New Coke.

The ironic thing is that I actually thought I was being frugal. The only ½ inch stock I had was the pretty stuff. And it was just the right size for the drawer sides I needed. This wood was a perfect fit for what I needed. So rather than run a lesser wood through the planer and turn 30% of it to chips….I just made my drawer sides from the good stuff that might have otherwise sat in the cutoff bin for years. I thought I was justified in my decision.

Because my friend has 40 years of experience building drawers, he has an unwavering opinion of what drawer sides can be. In his world they have to be the worst wood from the cutoff bin. Drawer sides are made from wood you “settle for.” I guess I wanted more. See, I thought since it was my life I could have drawers that were beautiful on the sides, too. I bought the wood. It was my sweat and tears that went into the construction. (Wait….you guys know me…let me rephrase that…). It was my BLOOD, sweat, and tears that went into the construction. I’m an adult. I have a right to make my drawer sides from anything I want. My friend just doesn’t see it that way.

Perhaps I should start a new policy of including one ebony sided drawer in each piece of furniture I make. If I had great talent (and infinite time) I would add marquetry on top of those ebony drawer sides (not on the drawer front…on the sides). And then, I would NEVER point out to anyone that one drawer in the cabinet had hidden beauty. Like a woman who wears her prettiest Vicki Stuff under the faded jeans she dons to shovel out the horse stalls in the barn, my cabinets would always have one little beautiful hidden feature that I put in there just for me. And even though most of my contemporaries are making drawer sides from whatever stock they decide to “settle for”… on at least one drawer per project, I will make it in a way that shows my very personal decision to rise above the level of mediocrity and reach for that brass ring just one more time.