Although losing the Internet has opened my eyes to things I pretty much forgot about (the mark of a true junkie). The Honey Do List from Hades Town is one of these things.

"Let’s see…plumbing, basement lights, bookcases?!"

When did I ever agree to build bookcases next to the fireplace? Although there’s plenty of blue collar blood in my body, the woodworking genes never crossed over. Rewire a lamp? Sure. Solder a pipe? It involves fire, so I’ll give it a shot. Cut a straight line in a board? Not with a laser, a jig built by a team of German engineers and master carpenter Norm Abrams directing my every move. I’ll probably never aspire to the lofty heights of Norm and his antique walnut corner cupboards. Then again, if I had the 50 grand worth of tools Normie has in his shop, I could get trained chimps to turn out Chippendale furniture inside of a month. Companies that make things like Gorilla Glue and wood putty bank their future sales on people like me and our multi-thumbed offspring.

My big thing, strangely enough, is furniture restoration. I know furniture is made of wood and that wood is my archenemy, but restoring it usually doesn’t involve cutting or nailing anything. BIG difference here between resto work and carpentry. I scrape off the old finish (or finishes as is often the case), give it a sanding, slap on a new coat of finish and either deliver it to a room in the house or add it to the ever expanding pile of yard sale items. I even repair cane seats (big bonus at yard sales, ‘cause most people overlook real gems because of the seat repairs). I’ve learned most of the work, from cleaning to seat repair, at the hands of my parents. My family is very tribal in that respect: the elders teach the younger set and they in turn impart that knowledge on to the next generation. No books or videos, just watching and hands on work. Plus, once you nail the basics, you can’t believe how many people toss out perfectly serviceable furniture. People are willing to get rid of something made of solid wood only to buy new furniture with the structural strength of cracker meal. Junk is a 20^th century concept and needs to be overhauled. If for nothing else, I need fewer projects to work on.

So what has my e-addiction (and the feeble attempts to break it) shown me? That my basement looks like the autopsy of an Ethan Allen store. The broken bones of chairs in one corner, a legless table in another, the carefully dismantled carcass of a child’s roll top desk spread out across the floor. I get partway through some (read: most) of these projects only to be called off on more urgent needs (like beating my high score in Solitaire). I return months later wondering where half the parts got off to and spend a weekend trying to get back to where I left off (on the furniture, not the Solitaire). I’ve managed to curb my trash picking tendencies (the will is strong, but the flesh is weak and the car trunk is empty) and still the basement fills with an inanimate forest of legs, drawers and seats. Even more projects are finding their way to me, usually through neighbors looking for a cheap repair or well meaning relatives out trash picking (in my civilized family, it’s called "pearl diving"). Surprisingly, the Missus has said little if anything about the squalor that is my workshop. As long as she can make it to the canned goods and cranberry juice, my half of the basement doesn’t exist. I know it will reach critical mass soon enough, so maybe the hard drive crash is an electromagnetic blessing in disguise. Time to start scraping the paint off that roll top again.

By the way, if you have elections going on by you get out there and vote today. Google the candidates names, learn something about them other than their name and then head off to the voting booth. You don’t like the choices? Put your own name in. Just vote. It takes very little time and gives you license to bitch when taxes go up or inane referendums get passed.