The Latest Build

Things are cruising along over at my new space in the Prism Glass Works building. I've my own little 250 square foot slice of heaven right next to Club Workshop.

I need to build a workbench and table to get the space setup. I'm using this as an opportunity to hone my drafting and AutoCAD skills. This is my drawing for the two cabinet frames that will sit on each end of the 5 foot long bench

Panels laid out for CNC routing.

I drew this in AutoCAD because I intend to fabricate it on the CNC router tomorrow. I'll load this drawing into a CAM program to create tooling paths and, hopefully, completely functional pieces that only need to be glued and brad-nailed together.

The bed on the CNC router is horrendously uneven, so my first job will be to throw a piece of 3/4" MDF on and mill a flat surface. Once that's done, I'll load the 3/4" birch plywood and run some cabinets.

On a side note, I drafted this in Google's Sketchup program originally. It's more intuitive to use than AutoCAD, but the free version doesn't export files I can use to create the tool paths. Would you like to see the Sketchup version?

Original Sketchup cabinet design. The new version is slightly modified.

I didn't drill holes for shelf pins, and haven't decided if I'm going to yet... I guess it'll depend on how well this come out. The CNC router at the workshop is a modified ShopBot, intended to be a hobby and not a production machine.

More build details as they happen.

Coming soon: chalkbags!

I have this annoying helpful habit of seeing things and wondering, "how hard can that really be?" It makes for all sorts of entertaining adventures.

Like this most recent attempt at making chalkbags over at Club Workshop.

This fabric came from JoAnn, but I got some really cool Japanese cotton prints from Fancy Tiger that are going to make some badass crag bags.

This bag is a simple tube design with a fleece liner sewn inside. The cylinder is challenging because it's difficult to sew the bottom on, even though it was laser cut to the exact diameter I needed.

The second thing that was difficult was sewing on the belting to finish the top edge. I mismeasured and I think the thickness of fabric is a hair to much to fit under the foot. Hoping that someone that knows about these things can give me some advice.

It's Never Too Late To Live Somewhere You Love

Gray's Peak, Bakerville, CO

From The Top

Way back in the days of NGDA, my coworker Pat Murphy and I were always trying to hatch get-rich-quick schemes. And why not? It was working well for Pets.com and that goddamm'd sock puppet.

At some point, for a reason I'm not entirely sure of, we had a meeting in his Brewery District bachelor pad with the "manager" of a popular Columbus band. I put manager in quotes because I can't get my mind around why a band from Columbus would need one.

On second thought, maybe I should have put the quotes around "popular"...

The specifics of our high-powered business development meeting are long lost, but I do remember him making a point on the importance of humility. He used Pat Benetar as an example and said that it was important to be good to people on the way up, because you never know when you'll need them on the way back down.

Flash forward some 13 years, I was browsing through Tokyo's Hakuhinkan Toy Park when I came across this:

Indeed, it's a long way from keeping celebrity backsides in business to exercising tubby Japanese school children.

If you'll excuse me, I'm overdue for my Taebo workout...

The Downside to Understanding

When you're traveling to certain places (like China) it can be difficult to tell when people are arguing.

In the US, raised voices and rapid speech generally mean someone is pissed.

On the dial from 1 to 10, China's average outside volume is at an 11. That people talk loudly comes somewhat naturally from the fact that to get over the noise of machinery, traffic and horn honking you have to crank it up a bit.

When I was walking back through old Lijiang to the hostel I heard an exchange between two women that sounded loud even by Chinese standards.

A 70-to-80-year old rather haggard looking Naxi woman was sitting on a small plastic stool shouting back and forth with a Chinese woman in her mid-twenties. The old woman continued yelling even after the woman walked around the corner, finishing by screaming:

你家有房子 (Nǐ jiā yǒu fángzi)

This translates roughly to "...your family has a house."

Old town Lijiang is a Disneyland of sorts. While it's a truly historic area (and even a UN World Heritage site), the shops lining the cobblestone streets are filled with the same cheesy trinkets, yak meat jerky, and "artisans."

There's lots of exhibition weaving, wood carving and silversmithing.

As garish as all of this is, it attracts millions of tourists each year, mostly from other parts of China.

The younger woman, like me, was probably a tourist. I can only imagine the rest of the argument.

Now That's a Hostel...

This is the view from the Halfway Guest House in Tiger Leaping Gorge near Qiaotou, China. It took about 6 hours of moderate hiking to get there and a bed for the night cost me $4.63.

I had to laugh at the "Be Careful. Dangerous!" sign posted on the terrace railing.

That sign seems more appropriate for every cubicle and office in North America where people are letting stress and poor diets kill them.

Speaking of diet. At the same hostel I had a steaming plate of freshly prepared beef and vegetable noodles for just under $3.

Just sayin...

How Do You Get to Myanmar?

This is David. He's from Seattle and staying at my hostel in Dali. When we introduced ourselves he told me "I have your name tattooed on my chest."

At first, I was thinking that this was along the lines of my Columbus drywall contractor who had a tattoo that literally read "Your Name" on his ass.

He shows me and proceeds to tell me that it was the result of a successful wager. He needed $500 for a one-way ticket from Seattle to Myanmar where he's been teaching for a year. A professional poker-playing friend offered him the cash to tattoo his name and picture on his chest.

The rest is history.