The Legends of Fat Tuesday

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

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

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)

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???

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????

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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.