Going Out on a Limb

My Colored Pencil Ring

It's official I'm an Internet woodworker now. I've learned the secret handshake and I've been accepted into the clan. I'm still an extra help assistant to the junior under secretary of new arrivals but I'm in. There are loads of very talented woodworkers who post amazing projects every week on YouTube. To even get a comment on my project from one of them feels good.  I love getting new comments and pour over them each day looking for nuggets of truth hidden inside.


"Why didn't you use loose tenons to hold that joint?"
"Uh.."
"I've made loads of those and I prefer making them with PVA glue. Yours will probably break."
"I suppose I could..."
"Editing was a bit choppy. I preferred the video you made last week!"
"I didn't do a video last week..."
"Exactly!"

Seriously though. It's awesome. I wrote a post last August called Stalking Minotaurs. It was basically just a motivation for myself to try something new. Something hard. Something I wasn't comfortable doing. The rather juvenile analogy allowed me an excuse to post yet another Minotaur post on this site. (I think I'm up to three now Kludge Likes Minotaurs) As you know, Minotaurs and Dragons are the only fantasy animals worth your devotion...

Anyway, the point. I had one. I know I did.

Right! So then I decided to start videoing my time in the wood shop. I set up and new channel on YouTube and begun to swing quite far outside my comfort zone. In the last year I've made 50 videos. Most were flops, but a handful have actually been well received. (More so because of the project than because of the presenter or the quality of the video)


As a YouTuber I would be remiss not to take a second to also promote myself. I do geeky woodworking and I try new ideas. The point of the channel is to experiment and try. Even if that idea ends in a giant ball of fire. Ideas deserve a chance at life outside your head. Not all ideas have to work and mine go sideways quite often, but who cares. The fun is in the trying.

It feels good. It's nice to get a reward for taking a risk. Even if it's only after many failures. Risks can be scary, but if you're not willing to step out on that limb to see if it will support your weight, then you'll never get a chance to eat Jell-o for months on end as you're sitting in a dirty hospital suspended by a traction device waiting for all your broken bones to knit themselves back together....

The Practice Of Dovetails

As everyone with half a brain knows, dovetail joints are the hardest joint to make in woodworking. People with whole brains however, dispute this fact and are generally more articulate at expressing their views.

I like power tools. They're fast, reliable and make for cuts that are highly repeatable. When it comes to working with hand tools, none of those things can be said about me. I'm slow, sloppy and highly erratic. Still, I'm also stubborn and pig headed, so that makes me want to continue trying something until I get it right.

Enter in the dovetails. This is a joint that proves that you have the skills required to be a craftsman. A good clean dovetail makes people want to get up a cheer. So that's the goal. cheering crowds of people when they see my joinery. I like to set reasonable expectations on all aspects of my life.

The trouble is it's actually hard. It's really hard. I don't know what I expected it to be, but hard wasn't on the list. Tricky, challenging, fun. Right fun was on the list.

Shrug. Where do we get these ideas from anyway? You see people doing this all the time.

(Some random day in May) "I want to run a marathon"
(Two minutes into marathon) "What the hell was I thinking!?"

(While watching DIY) "I want to repaint the kitchen. You know, liven things up"
(On third coat with paint in your eye) "What the hell was I thinking!?"

(Sitting comfortably at the office) "I should learn hand dovetails"
(45 minutes into chiseling out waste on a set of pins) "Don't I have a machine I could do this with?"

And in fact I do...

Rust & Time

I haven't posted here in a while. Well not a real post anyway. It seems that my other sites have gotten the better of me. Fusion Ring is up to 80+ followers and so I find myself posting there every day. Plus it's easy. I'd already be done with a Fusion Ring Post by now....

Secondly and more to the point I've been neck deep in a 1950's vintage table saw restore. That is a post that really has nothing to do with my geek side and so, Kludge Spot has been void as of late. Every waking moment of free time has been devoted to looking up motor wiring diagrams, tracking down compatible bearings, vintage color charts and removing 49 years of rust. This one is the kicker...

When you're removing rust off a table top like this, it is important that it remains dead flat. Compromising that compromises the work you can create. What that means is that nothing more abrasive than your knuckle hair and can be used to remove the rust build up. In addition chemical products like naval jelly, discolor the surface, leaving it yellowed and patchy. So it you really want it to look like it did when it came off the assembly line in 1950, you get two things. A green scrubber and a can of WD-40.

Removing rust gives you lots of time to think.... Here is a shot of what it looked like the day it arrived in my garage.



So I set to work. Four hours alone with your thoughts can be a bit daunting. Luckily that can be overcome by the sound of blood pounding through your temples. This is accomplished by sheer exhaustion. See a man who spends 40+ hours a week sitting at a desk typing is in little shape to preform the repetitive back and forth scrubbing motion for four hours straight. In addition I was sweating like crazy. Which was dropping salty water all over the surface of my table. Sweat that would turn into rust, if not cleaned up. I was working against me. After 4 hours...I got maybe 15% clean. You can sort of see it under the other parts.



The next morning I awake to find I couldn't move my legs. How disappointing. I wept. Then rolled out of bed and stumbled to work. Over the next 4 days I recuperated enough to try again. Two more weekends of work and about 10 more hours of rust cleaning time, brought me here. I had now disintegrated 22 green scrubbers and emptied 3 bottles of WD-40. I smelled like a mechanic shop and the grease under my fingernails took three days to completely remove. But... I'd removed a fair amount of rust.



I have to say I'd never really give rust much though before. I mean you get a little on tools from time to time. You spray some lightweight oil and it mostly comes off. Really bad rust you sand it off. Not this stuff. Some of this stuff hadn't seen the light of day for decades! I think It still thought Eisenhower was president. Korea? Vietnam? Persian Gulf? Never heard of it.

My shorts, are now brown. They used to be grey! I literally have a terra cotta stripe across my crotch area, which is where the level of the top meets my broken and twisted form. Another 5 hours of work, 2 cans of WD-40 and 6 green scrubbers brought me here...



It's really close now. Not completed, but close. I would guess another 4 hours or so till I can say I'm done scrubbing rust. I hate rust. I probably hate it worse than brussel sprouts at the moment. But when I'm all done and smiling at my face in the cast iron, I'll think...

Boy I wish I could get out of this wheel chair and use my saw...

The Return

This is Kludge Spot. The place where the inconsequential is king. It isn't the place were I ramble on about woodworking. I'm working on some new posts and darn if I'm not determined to keep this place up to date.

I've now got a Woodworking blog where I can spout on about that particular branch of my personality. If you're interested you can visit it The Wood Mangler.

If not, stay right here. I'm back. Honest. No really... I'm sure it's going to happen this time....

Diary Of An Amateur Woodworker

March 2008

Dear Diary,
Today my wife asked me to build her something. A toy shelf out of wood. I haven't done anything like that since I was a kid, and back then it was impolite to say, "Wow? Did you make that? Kid...that looks like garbage." I'm not even sure where to start. I have a workbench, but I hadn't actually thought of using it for anything. I hope my tools don't get freaked out by actually having to cut things. "Work? What's up with that? I though we were just for show!"

Dear Diary,
The toy shelf turned out okay. The children don't know what it's for and keep sleeping on the shelf like a set of junior bunk beds. What if it falls apart? That would be embarrassing trip to the hospital. "So, Mr. Brown...not only did you maim your daughters with your poor woodworking skills, but as I can see from this chunk of wood protruding from your eldest child's arm...you also need to work on more uniform staining application."

April 2008

Dear Diary,
Why is it that '10 simple steps' in a magazine come out to '25 impossible fitting joints' in the garage? Nothing is as simple as the cartoon drawings show stuff. I think they specifically leave out steps that are important just to get a laugh. "Hank, did you see my piece called "A fun afternoon project? I can picture grown men weeping into piles of sawdust. For my next article I'm thinking of writing, 'Antique Furniture in Thee Simple Steps.'"

May 2008

Dear Diary,
I'm hooked. I've found myself in the garage more than at my computer. I wonder if it's feeling lonely? I honestly don't care. My only regret is splinters. There are days when I feel that there are more trips inside the house to remove a errant piece of wood from my finger than actually building something. I've become a human pincushion for birch, oak and walnut. Certainly nothing I ever had to deal with in computing. Blisters and pockmarked fingers make it hard to type. Maybe I'll go back into the garage....

August 2008

Dear Diary,
Splinters are now the least of my worries. Today I am the proud owner of a table saw. So far I'm so scared of it I have trouble using it. I envision gruesome dismemberment every time I power it on. Fortunately now people are also willing to share their horribly graphic accidents with me. People, stop it! That's not helping. I spend most of the conversation in my 'happy place' fighting the urge to hurl all over them. I've resolved to try out some hand tools.

September 2008

Dear Diary,
I'm never going to get it. I can't cut a straight line with scissors and a hand saw is even harder. So far I've cut and hurt myself more with my chisels and flush cut saw, then any power tool I own. There's a reason our ancestors evolved and harnessed electricity. The simple answer is that, 'Hand tools suck' and all the rants about 'craftsmanship' and 'patience' now will only fall on deaf ears. Here comes "SEVEN FINGERS BROWN" mangled but productive!

December 2008

Dear Diary,
I live eat and dream woodworking. I'm constantly covered in sawdust and machine oil fighting the cold for another hour in the shop. I have a ton to learn and I'm still looking for another soul I can hook on this hobby, but I think it has transcended 'fad' and become a full blown addiction. We will see if this goes to wayside that some of my other addictions have gone. As for right now, I hope not. There is something so gratifying about destroying innocent wood for fun.

Sacraficing to Oops

There seems to be no shortages of people places or objects to bestow your esteem, regard, respect, approval or reverence. So how is it that I ended up here? Recently I find myself making sacrifices to a god that I didn't even know existed until a few moths back. This god is now the ruling force in my workshop, second to none with the power to change the outcome of even the smallest of event. That's right, the god of Oops.

Somehow I have unknowingly allowed myself to be ensnared in the firm grip of this relativity low profile god. What many folks would dismiss as coincidence, I see as evidence to the etheranl hand of Oops. Oops is a very demanding god

Oops demands regular sacrifices of nearly all of my projects. Sometimes, he only wants a small thing, like a striped screw head, or stray paint drip on an otherwise clean job. Other times my reverence is tested with something of a slightly larger scale. As I noted in an earlier post, Oops was apparently drowning in wistful melancholy, just as I had almost completed a project. As such his demands were much more stringent. I had the largest Oops offering to date, as I dismantled every last joint of a project to lift his spirits and cement my everlasting commitment to this terribly vengeful god.

So goes my current religious experience. I decided after that last project, that I would limiting my devotion and be giving less to this rather impish deity. I had a job that was to be a set of lattice framed doors to cover the top of my mothers koi pond. The hope was to offer some relief to an issue she has been experiencing with some rather pesky fishermen. The raccoons had discovered a nice source of fresh fish and I was charged with fixing it so they couldn't readily get at their after midnight snack.

As I put the last finishing touches on the doors I realized I hadn't made any amends to Oops. In fact I was quite proud of the fact, and mentioned it in passing to my wife as she looked over my handy work. I walked back into the shop about an hour later to sweep up sawdust and move the items, when I noticed a chip of wood missing from a joint.

Apparently Oops got wind of my statement and wasn't interested in loosing another follower. I searched all over the shop for the sliver of wood that was missing. It had apparently vanished, as if snatched up by Oops in a display of power. A sort of forced sacrifice to affirm who in fact was in charge of my so called free will.

I spent an hour or so repairing the corner. It seems I'm still an unwilling servant. Hopefully in the future I can find a way to rid myself of this god. Until then, I will continue in my sacrifices and increase my supply of wood glue and sandpaper.

The Cult

I sit down, and shed all reason and logic, as I open my pamphlet entitled:

"So you've decided to do away with all that filthy productivity and join the cult."

It's not a good sign but I decide to keep reading. I flip open the hand folded tract and see what more information it has to impart to my longing soul.

"You don't have to live the repressed life of your narrow minded generation. Open your mind and breath easy. You have begun your first step towards a life without the domineering overlord of 3 phase wiring or mindless repacking of your wearing motor bearings. Can you imagine a world without concerns of blade drift or constant mechanical tuning? If yes, then I bid you welcome to the cult. Please remove your jeans and t-shirt and pick up a linen smock and a tasteful pair of dark breeches."

It turns out, that my new hobby has some rather bizarre fringe members. Like any other family, the woodworking clan has a number of relatives that most people just never talk about. The hand tool nuts. Electricity? Oh yes they've seen it. It doesn't matter. They shun it. Many of them started innocently enough. Purchasing a hand plane here, a set of chisels there and soon a rip saw, crosscut saw and before you know it, WHAM. They're a full blown cult member with knickers and a period ponytail, sneering at those of us with table saws and electric sanders.

"You know... you could do that be hand?"

"Make molding? By hand?"

"Yea. You would only need a spokeshave, and simple scratch stock, and couple of hand planes. Should only take 20 minutes per 3' foot board."

"My router can do that in like...oh I don't know...4 seconds."

"But it won't be handcrafted."

"By handcrafted, do you mean tedious and aggravating?"

For every hand tool there is now a new modern equivalent that came into use with that ridiculous dark period of our history known as, The Industrial Revolution. I'm not saying I don't appreciate learning the techniques and skills of craftsman gone by, but contrariwise I have zero plans of freezing time at 1865 when my back saw could be interchanged for cutting drawer joints or amputating infected limbs. I like this era and I welcome the inviting hum of whirring motors and spinning drive belts. For me, the machines are half the fun.

To me, when looking at a set of hand cut dovetails side by side with machined cut dovetails they look identical. One took 30 minutes, and one took 3 minutes. Unless of course we are talking about my hand cut dovetails, which look more like ragged New York City pigeon tails after being run over by a an angry cab driver. So take your pick.

I suppose this could all just come down to jealously, or possibly the countless hours I've spent at my workbench trying to do anything that looks slightly passable as craftsmanship with my hand tools. Nah, that can't be it.

So I took my leaflet, crumpled it up and threw it away. Anyone want a loose fitting set of dark breeches?

Starting Over

There are few things as defeating as starting over. When you believe that you have completed a project, paper, blog or task to realized that something is not satisfactory. You sit there putting the finishing touches on it when it hits you like a ton of bricks. You begin to rationalize. It's not that bad, I can fix it. No matter how hard you try, you know the truth of it cannot be escaped. Life is about to teach you a valuable lesson that you will shell out for in heaps of wasted time. Buckle up.

So you just finished the most amazing wrapping job on Earth. Perfectly folded corners and the most delightful bow you've ever tied. I mean, honestly, when does curling ribbon ever curl that well? Only when curling ribbon knows what you don't. It knows that you've been a total stooge and left the "HALF-OFF CLEARANCE" sticker smack dab in the center of Aunt Betsy's gift.

I recently found myself at the end of a woodworking project. It wasn't anything horribly involved, but in my mind it was nearly complete. It took me about 10 hours or so to get to this point, and this point wasn't pretty. No sir. My design, with two floating shelves, looked great on paper, but as paper doesn't have to worry about real world physics, it can't be blamed for failing to support itself in real life. Turns out I should have known better. Well, I do now...

As I stood there staring at it, I knew I what I was going to have to do. I didn't want to. I was getting down on all fours looking at it from weird angles. "Well that looks fairly good." I wanted to bust out the duct tape and bailing wire. Have you ever been there? Pretending you can fix a broken levy with a bucket of paint? You begin reasoning with yourself.

"Well, when you kinda close one eye, and tilt your head to the left...it's really not that bad."

"Are we talking about the same cabinet? I'm looking at the one that's shaped like a 'V'. Where's the one your blathering on about?"

"Is it really that far off?"

"You could check it for square, if you'd like a good laugh...."

"-sigh-. I'm going to have to start over from scratch."

"No doubt! You might want to even burn your old plans, just to be on the safe side. Better brew another pot of coffee."

I knew I was going to have to start over and re-design it from the bottom up. So I just bit the bullet and dismantled the entire thing. In the end, I'm glad I did, it turned out much better, and much more stable. I'm nearly done again. And this time, it looks like it's suppose to. Sometimes starting over, is just a simple fact of life. That being said, if I find some major flaw that I've overlooked... you can bet I'll be reaching for my can of paint!

Stealing From The Dead

It's true. I'm a thief, a scoundrel, a scallywag. My victims are totally helpless, and I swoop in a take what I need. They cannot stop me. I'm not in the least bit repentant about it. In fact I'm proud of it.

I say, "If your silly enough to pass on with nice stuff in your garage, it's your own fault when your wife and son sell it to me for next to nothing!" My soul is absolutely filthy. I need help.

I don't remember the exact date, but sometime in September I found myself souring thorough Craigslist when I found a posting for a '12" free standing band saw for $25'. It's not important what a 12" free standing band saw is, or what it does, just know this. That price was UNHEARD OF! So I did what I always do on Craigslist. I waited three days and then sent a email like, "Are you still trying to get rid of your old band saw?" This is a low tactic, but not too low for a jerk such as myself.

$25 for a 12" free standing band saw was hard to pass up. So I went down to see it. And so began my new life as a tomb raider.

After a quick look, I knew I had to have it. It looked horrible (see picture), all covered in rust and sawdust siting there dressed in a 1950's gold paint job. But in general, old tools last forever. This thing was made from cast iron and steel. New jobs are loaded with plastic, which just doesn't last. Under all that ugly, I saw a gem.

So I curled up my lip and said, "Does this old thing even run?" We plugged it in and she ran like a dream!

This gentleman was selling his fathers old tools for his mom. His father has purchased them in the mid 50's, and took good care of them, but passed away in '82 or so. They have just been sitting dormant in the garage for 25 years. His mom was moving so they needed to be sold. He was also selling a Shopsmith for $50 (another awesome bargain) and some other power tools way below market price. Was it my responsibility to tell him? Absolutely.

Instead I offered him less. I offered $65 for both units, and I'd "take them off his hands". He was so thankful he helped me load them into the truck. I'm a swine.

So after a bit of work, the band saw is working like a dream! All the rust is gone, her table has been leveled, parts oiled and bladed properly tensioned. She's cutting through wood like an absolute wonder. The Shopsmith was too big for my shop, so I'm selling it in pieces on Ebay. I've already recouped what I paid for it and I think I will more than triple what I spent.

So there it is. I'm scum, I steal from the dead, and gloat online. All in all, I couldn't be happier.

Declining Digits

"Where have all the fingers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the fingers gone, long time ago?
Where have all the fingers gone, gone to table saws everyone
When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn?"

I have a new hobby. Finger cutting. Okay, given the squeamish nature of some folks, and the opening lines of this post let me pause. I would like to say that I have never in my life cut myself with a power saw. I have all my fingers and no gruesome tales to spin here. Honestly.

That being said, my new hobby has my certain hazards that never existed with my other pastimes. Computing is a rather safe use of your free time. I have never, for instance, worried about safe mouse handling, or what horrible things I could do to myself if I left my attention drift.

August for me, was the month that I acquired a table saw. Life will never be the same. I now can demolish an unsuspecting piece of wood in a spectacular display of flying sawdust, whirling blades of carbide tipped steel and the added potential of severe bodily harm. All in the name of 'fun'.

Is it dangerous? Absolutely, but so are many hobbies. Motorcycling, and then there's...birdwatching? Okay I'm drawing a blank, but I know there are others like, shark petting or something. Sure it might not be as interesting as being a gongoozler, but it sure ranks at least second best.

What I find most rewarding is the potential. Potentially I could be building stuff. Currently I've spending most of time getting my shop setup. It's very self serving at this point. I've only build a couple of items, but I've spend hours in the garage. I always feel busy, but I'm not sure how productive I've been. For instance I spent an entire afternoon pretending electricity was never invented, as I used a hand saw and chisels to make dovetails. After two hours I had chopped through an unreal amount of wood yet still unable to get a really clean fit. All the while an expensive dovetail jig sat weeping under my workbench. There is a whole branch of these fanatics in woodworking. They call themselves hand tool users. It's like a freaking Neanderthal cult.

It's that sort of total time sucking ability that really draws me to woodworking. It takes time to plan, design and then build jigs to help you build the real stuff you intend to build. Honest, this is a normal woodworking practice. I've spent my last two weekends building jigs for my table saw. These are setups that help me do things like, cut clean 45 degree angles, crosscuts, splines and other exciting ways to cut away at your expensive planks of wood. It's like hanging out with your doddering grandpa for the whole day. I'm totally loving it. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go and wax my table saw.

Reincarnating Inanimate Objects

With a title like that, you just had to click and see.

"Okay Peter, what nonsense are you going to start driveling on about now?"

No, it's true. I'm reincarnating inanimate objects with the hope of monetary gain. I've reincarnated a rather unattractive wood pallet into, what I believe is a very cool table. How's that for a step up in caste? Sure beats coming back as a cow.


Patricia and I have been trying to figure out what to call this table creation. She thought it reminded her of a tiki stlye. I was going for green, or recycled. This might surprise some of you out there, until it occurs to you, that down deep I'm a capitalist. This means that I believe everyone's money spends the same. My goal is to try and get some of it and test that theory. So if it sells tables, I'll cave.

After a good deal of 'discussing' we compromised. Its a rustic/'green'/tiki bar/western/reincarnated pallet table. Well. I hope that helps to clear it up for you. It's definitely rustic. I didn't plane down the top to a smooth surface. That might be because I like the cool ridges and small bumps that let me know where the wood came from. Sort of it's soul. Or it might be that I don't own an electric thickness planer and after three hours with a hand rasp and sheet of sandpaper I passed out in a sweaty heap at the base of my workbench, thus declaring that stage, 'completed'. I'll let you decide which is true.


I have to say for my first table, and given the state of the raw materials, it is very well built. I came out square and level. It's a little wobbly at the edges, due to the fact I made the base a bit to small. But all in all, I tried to apply good techniques while building it. Patricia found me a really cool cabinetry book published back in the mid 60's. It has really given me a base for understanding furniture construction and classic methods. Its also cool to see men with Vitalis in their hair, wearing slacks and dress shirts assembling furniture.

Besides a small piece of plywood used to attach the tabletop to the center post, every bit of this table was recycled from a pallet. I took said pallet, and a couple others, from my office. After a number of weeks, a fistful of slivers, cuts, and a good deal of fun. This table appeared on my workbench. This table just oozes interesting. And it's an instant conversation piece.

I posted it up on craigslist this morning. So now the hope is that someone, somewhere will think to themselves:

"You know what I need? I sturdy, rustic table with an uneven surface, made from the remnants of a shipping pallet, to put all my really important stuff on. I wonder if I can find one of those?"

"Guess what? I might just know where you could find something like that!"

Runs With Power Tools

"Runs With Power Tools" It's my Indian name. I just upgraded it from, "Collects power tools and never uses them, even though he has a workbench." It was a bit awkward anyway. Introductions at parties were always a bit lengthy followed by a fairly pregnant pause.

Recently I have decided to try and build some stuff with my tools. It's funny because I really do have a nice selection of tools that I had never put to any real use. So there I am in my garage at my workbench which was was all together well organized, neat and tidy. In other words, it was a complete travesty. In only eight short hours though I fixed it. I fixed it as only a real man can. I turned into an absolute pig sty but in the mist of this pile of sawdust, wood chips, glue, nails and tools was a box. A box that I created.

The box was not square. The edges seemed to wave a little like it was cut by some recovering drug addict trying to keep his mind off the last fix. In addition I had a number of grooves that were not referenced in the initial design. So there I stood, with copious amounts of sawdust in my eyebrows and splinters in my hands, staring at this slightly misshapen, severely over glued, excessively sturdy box of wood, sweat and altered visions.

With each new project I attempt I find that my techniques are becoming more refined. For instance I now understand how to correctly use a straight edge and clamps while wielding the awesome power of my 15amp circular saw. In fact if CAL-OSHA had seen my first few saw cuts I would have been shackled and hauled away, correctly labeled as 'a danger to self and any immediate society.'

But now I got that down. Mostly. Luckily there are plenty more deadly tools in my 'arsenal of destruction'. I would say the shear shearing torque housed in my router is enough to destroy any piece of wood I incorrectly feed into its whirring blade. There is nothing quite like pitching wood pieces around the garage as the router blade grabs and sticks in a nice hard knot.

Noted. Buy new windshield before wife comes home.

For the most part though it's a blast to pick up a tool, and be like, 'I wonder what this is for?' I know I bought it, or was given it for a reason, but I've never used it before. I think I'll try it out. Currently I have constructed three projects in the last three weeks. I have tried things, failed, tried again, failed some more but learned during the process. In the end I have three new objects that cost me slightly less than if I'd purchased them outright, but not by much.

I've already dreamed up three new projects and two of them are pretty adventurous. I'm just happy to finally be shaping wood to my will and getting something that I can say, "Yeah, I made that. Yes, I think I can do better." Which in the end is all anyone can really hope for.