Sheddin' a Tear Here, Boss

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'....

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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???

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

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...

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

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

“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

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

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...

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

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.

Breaking Up with Purpleheart

I spent the morning upset about Purpleheart.

I was trying to do some fancy hand joinery in a piece of purpleheart and it just wasn’t meant to be. (Let’s face it…given its hardness, purpleheart can sometimes be as easy to work as glass).

Somehow during the process of struggling with the lavender wood it took me back years to when I was still dating.

My brain knew that what I was trying to do was doomed. Inside I knew the joint I was trying to cut was just not meant to be. However, my emotions really wanted it. I wanted that chisel to create the perfect tiny Dovetail on that rock hard, ¾ inch thick plank. And it was just like one of those doomed relationships from years ago I couldn’t’ get to work, regardless of how badly I wanted it.

So I reverted to something else from my past…I started blaming everything else for the circumstances I couldn’t change. I knew my chisels were razor sharp, but I yelled at them anyway. I know that I know how to cut with my dovetail saw, yet I still chose to curse my hand. My workbench held the board exactly where I wanted it to be, but after failure occurred I still wondered what would have happened if I had positioned the board differently.

Ultimately, I have to walk away knowing that I sincerely tried to do it, but I just couldn’t make it work. Rob Cosman probably could have done it, but this wasn’t about him. Frank Klausz might have achieved perfection, but it wasn’t Frank’s project. Instead, I am left with the knowledge that sometimes it is not enough to have all of the right tools and a heart full of desire. Sometimes, it just isn’t meant to be.

One final dating metaphor…I suppose even in walking away I can hold onto the hope that things might be different. Perhaps in two years I’ll pull that purple plank back out and see if the circumstances are different. We romantic woodworkers always cling to that “what if” hope.

The Outdoor Type

I know….no blog postings for ten days and now two in one afternoon….

About 11 days ago I told of my adventure removing a splinter by myself while Gail was off visiting her sister in San Francisco.

Well, today tragedy struck again. I got another splinter but this one came from doing something we’ve all done at one time or another. I refer to the painful “reaching into the briefcase” splinter.

I happened to look in my briefcase today, and I saw that the center compartment is still filled with Euro coins from where I was in Ireland 2 months ago. So I decided to clean them out. I reached down in there and began scooping them out when I felt the most intense pain of my life.

Having never passed a kidney stone, here is the previous personal pain record holder: I was carrying the ball and had enough steam built up that when the defensive guy hit me he sort or bounced off, and as I kept running his attempt to grasp me caused him to slide down my body. With my left foot planted on the ground this guy’s knee came down right on top of my left foot, breaking 3 of my Metatarsals. (Shout out….Dr. Steve Ahlfeld…thanks again for fixing my foot. All these years later I have NO issues, even when the weather changes. It’s perfect.)

Anyway, broken metatarsals are nothing like the pain I felt prior to pulling my hand out of my briefcase and seeing a huge splinter jammed up under the fingernail of the middle finger on my right hand. Yes, just like some kind of sadistic POW torture, I had put the equivalent of a toothpick under my fingernail and broken it off.

It doesn’t help that I have a problem with biting my fingernails…

Strangely, the splinter only hurt on the way in. Having found its equilibrium, it was not causing any pain as it just sat there. Still, I couldn’t leave it there.

Gail won’t be home until Tuesday. (I know…she has been in San Francisco LONGER than we were in Ireland….) I don’t think it would be good for this splinter to wait that long. What if the nail grows over it, trapping it in there? Also, I don’t know what species it is. It could be Cherry, but it might be Padauk…and I just don’t like the thought of African wood living under my fingernail. What if it leads to Ebola? Laugh all you want, people, but none of us actually knows for sure….

So I had no option but to cruise over to PrimeCare (it’s cheaper and faster than the Emergency Room). However, when I got there I found there must be influenza sweeping through the blueberry farms of West Michigan because it seems every migrant farm worker in the area was there with a sniffling horde of kids. I asked, and a nurse confirmed they had a full crowd in front of me. So l left and went to lunch.

I drove 25 miles away to my favorite place to eat (BW3s) and used their free WiFi to email my tale of woe to my wife who was 3 hours behind me on the west coast. I ate my food while asking all of my favorite waitresses if they would like to earn some extra cash going after the splinter…no one needed the money that badly.

So I used the internet to find the closest medical facility. When I arrived at Spectrum Hospital’s Urgent Care facility, I found no migrant farm workers…only trained medical professionals looking to help.

The Physician’s Assistant asked if I wanted to try to tough it out or if I wanted to take the sure fire painless route. He misinterpreted my answer and the next thing you know I am “toughing it out.” Basically he just jammed some tweezers under my nail and yanked that bad boy out.

I have posed it with a dime (and a 10 cent Euro coin) for size comparison.

Is there a lesson to be learned here? Perhaps I should not be left home alone in the future???

What does it say about my woodworking toughness when I get doctor-worthy splinters just reaching into my briefcase?

It’s probably a good thing that I am more into hotels than tents. It’s really best than I don’t like to go camping. To quote the Lemonheads….Honey, "I lied about being the outdoor type.”

Dude, Your Car Sounds So Fast

Just think about when today’s kids become woodworkers….things are going to be a lot different. I say this based upon their choice in automobiles.

To give a foundation for the validity of my statements, let me give you my resume.

I am a car guy. I didn’t see it coming. I was a cyclist, and cars were just the things that could potentially kill you out on the narrow country roads of Indiana. However, when I turned 16, I decided I needed a car. I just wanted a car…any car would have done. So I took all of my money from my paper route, and my parents helped me out by giving me some additional funds, and we went out looking for cars.

I remember we were down in Acton (southeast of Indianapolis) when we looked over and saw a car for sale. It was hard to miss it. It was orange. Those hood scoops were factory original…not some stupid aftermarket crap. The center caps on the Ralley II wheels indicated the car was part of PMD (the Pontiac Motor Division of GM). However, PMD was not the important 3 letter acronym associated with this car. I would say the more important letters were GTO. It had rusty quarter panels, perfect white vinyl interior, and everything was original…including the lady who sold it to us. She had bought it brand new from Tom Wood Pontiac back in 1972. She wanted $1000, and we got it for $900 cash. It was the fall of 1986, and I still didn’t know what I had. I just knew I had a car.

Then, I drove myself to school the next day and something happened…I pulled into my parking spot when a bunch of guys I didn’t know were suddenly surrounding my car and asking me questions about my “Goat.” GOAT?!?!?!? Wow, these guys aren’t dumb…they’re just dyslexic. Well, somehow thanks to an orange Pontiac GTO my life as a Gearhead was jumpstarted.

A couple of years later, in college, I fell hard for convertibles, and I kept myself going knowing that my Rose-Hulman degree would land me an engineering job and enough salary to get a new convertible. During rainy college nights, when I would be fixing Thumper (my 1981 VW Rabbit) on the side of I-70, I vowed that I would get a new car (a convertible) the moment I graduated.

By the way, going from the GTO to Thumper was quite a change. Thumper only had compression in 3 of its 4 cylinders, so even though I thought I was Ayrton Senna when I would shift the four speed manual transmission, the car sure didn’t perform like his F1 car. Thumper didn’t perform or sound like my GTO. However, the GTO only got 8 miles to the gallon. (Honest to God…it got 8 mpg). Thumper was far more economical for a college student even with the cheap fuel we had in the early 1990s. Still, I always loved the sound of the V8.

Today, Gail and I have four cars, and we cover a wide spectrum. We have a 4 cylinder Jeep Wrangler with a full roll cage, Skid Plates galore, a Warn Winch, and ARB Air Lockers with 4.56 gears. (Our rock crawling history was done with Low Gearing…not high HP.) Gail has a Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited with a V8. We have the amazingly economical 2006 VW Jetta TDi (Diesel), and we have a Mercedes SLK with AMG Sport Package. So we have a 4 cylinder, a 6 cylinder, an 8 cylinder, and a diesel. We fix EVERYTHING ourselves, and we keep our cars forever. (I am a true Gearhead...)

When we got the Mercedes, Gail said I had to get rid of the convertible I got 5 days after I graduated from Rose-Hulman, so I gave it to my mother. (I am a very good son).

I love my Mercedes. I love the fact that it is soooooooooo smooth. It idles like a finely engineered automobile, but when you plant the right foot hard, it opens up an adrenaline flood of tsunami proportion. If I am getting on it, the traction control kicks in on the 2-3 shift. Do you know what it takes to break loose those huge back tires while letting out the clutch on the shift into third gear?

However, when the SLK is cruising along, the guy driving next to it has no idea what that silver beauty can do. He probably thinks, “Wow that car is beautiful.” And when it is suddenly gone he thinks, “WOW!!!! That beautiful car is FAST!!!!!!!”

By comparison, this week while driving home from work, my Diesel Jetta was passed by a Husqvarna chain saw. It wasn’t really a chain saw; it was actually a WeedWhacker. You’ve seen them. Little cars driven by 18 year old guys with some kind of coffee can sticking out from under the rear bumper that makes the car sound like something you’d use to clean up a fence line. So the Weed Whacker passes me, and at the next stop light it couldn’t accelerate as fast as my Diesel Jetta that only has about 98 hp. And I, as a Mechanical Engineer and a Gearhead, just couldn’t figure it out. What is the appeal in that sound? Why would a kid want fancy wheels and a coffee can that makes WeedWhacker noises when there are so many other options?

I think I want to do an intervention. I want to work with the local schools and get all of the kids together at the racetrack when they turn 15 and go through a little Scared Straight program.

We’ll start with a Shelby Cobra. I’ll make sure the side pipes are nice and loud, and we’ll just take each kid for a couple of hot laps and let them see what real hp and real exhaust rumble is all about.

Then, I can pack 4 kids into an AMG Mercedes Sedan (let’s go with an S65). And we’ll start by just sitting there letting them play with the interior toys and feel the leather seats and just generally get the feel of what you get with a $200,000 Mercedes. Then, I’ll turn to look at the collection of 15 year old kids, and say, “Let’s see what this 4 door Family Truckster car can do.” (I won’t necessarily tell them that this particular 4 door has a bi-turbo V12 that pumps out over 600 street legal and factory warrantied horsepower.) It just looks like a beautiful 4 door Mercedes that blows away just about anything on the road without having to make any funky WeedWhacker noises.

This is my true calling. I need to work with America’s youth to let them know that WeedWhacker Mufflers are just wrong. You only have three choices:

1. Leave your Mom’s Buick sounding just like it did the day she bought it.
2. Get yourself an American V8 and bolt on some headers and a free flowing exhaust package and bask in the Symphony of the Right Foot Stomp
3. Pay way too much money to get a race car that is hidden underneath the skin of a 4 door German luxury car, and go out looking for Corvettes and Mustangs to mess with.

If I don’t do this, then we are going to lose this generation to the mistaken belief that the WeedWhacker sound is not only acceptable, but that it actually symbolizes performance.

Think of what that attitude will do to the future of woodworking. My nephews will end up saying things like, “My uncle Jeff thinks that 5 hp Unisaw is tough, but give me a 7 ½” Skil saw with an exhaust rattler any day.” “Uncle Jeff thinks his 18 inch Bandsaw is cool, but I would much rather just use this jig saw with the optional motor Rattler.” These little punks won’t even have the decency to build upon the foundation of a Festool Plunge saw. They’ll be buying saws from Harbor Freight and bolting on aftermarket equipment to accentuate the screaming of the cheap Chinese bearings. And in their mind, they’ll be cool.