Fortunately I Have Loose Specs

I bought a Jacobs Super Chuck on Ebay, used. I had heard that the newer ones weren’t as good. When it arrived, it had a Moore jig borer taper stuck in it.

Jacobs makes cheap hardened wedges to get tapers out. They’re U-shaped pieces of metal that narrow toward the tips of the U. You put one on each side of the chuck, between the chuck and the taper. Then you press them toward each other with a vise or a hammer. I have heard people say a hydraulic press would work, but these things are very wimpy, so I don’t see how the additional force could be used.

The wedges were very blunt on the narrow ends, so I had to grind them to get them to slip past each other. I broke a couple. They bent like cheese. Finally, I put the taper on the anvil of my vise and beat one wedge into it with a blacksmith’s hammer, and out it popped.

Sadly, the wedges gouged my chuck. So I put it in the lathe and removed as much of the damage as I could. Here is the end product. I took off very little metal, and left some of the gouging in order to avoid going too deep.

The results are pretty good. The finish is not much worse than a new chuck. I used an AR tool (indexable carbide) and Ridgid Pipe Cutting Oil, and I didn’t expect great results from carbide, but it looks okay.

I started by facing the flat side. I was able to indicate the chuck in, but I could not index the flat side against anything, so it probably wasn’t all that perpendicular to the lathe’s axis. I don’t know if you can see it, but the flat side is not perfectly symmetrical. Oh well. Life will continue.

Once I had that done, I cleaned up the chamfer. I also did the rest of the face. The part that is angled. I had to break the compound loose, set the tool against the surface, and tighten the compound and tool post. I did the facing by moving the compound slide forward across the chuck, with the lathe in reverse. To go deeper, I drew the cross slide toward me. It worked out okay, so I guess you don’t always have to measure. None of these angles are critical.

I managed to stop the chuck (Jacobs, not lathe) a couple of times by cutting two deep. I think the little nick next to the rectangular-looking gouge occurred at that time, as the tool bit in. I removed most of the nick.

This was a lot of fun. I think the chuck is okay. The amount of metal I removed is like two sheets of aluminum foil.

Weigh Yours While There is Still Time

I’m in for a fun morning. Dentist appointment.

I was thinking about it earlier. I would hate to be a dentist. As disgusting as other types of medicine are, I would still choose most of them over dentistry simply because I could not face handling spit all day. And having big, gaping malodorous mouths open a few inches from my face. I have this notion, correct or not, that physicians usually get to straighten their arms more than dentists and keep the revolting stuff farther from their lips.

I hope he doesn’t find anything. Last time, or time before last, he found a filling that dated back to the Reagan years, at least. Maybe Carter. He didn’t believe me, but it’s true. That got replaced. Time before that, I think, he found places on my incisors where I had ground them away at night. He replaced parts of the teeth with composite. I am hoping that as I get older, he will gradually replace my entire head. That should cut way back on dental expenses as well as nasal allergies, and it will make it easier for me to fit in, in our socialist future. When the last particle of brain is removed, I plan to change my registration to Democrat and propose to Janeane Garofalo. You can’t have a limbic brain if your whole head is made of space-age resin.

I need to get started on the garage wiring today. It’s not going to be hard at all, except for the chore of moving my gigantic bulk to the top of a ladder about three thousand times. Someone pointed out that my method of moving my compressor on rollers resembled the technique Hebrew slaves used to build the pyramids, but I have to be honest and admit that I was allowed to use straw. So it’s not really a fair comparison.

As I become more of a tool nerd, I find that I keep more items in my pants at all times. This morning, curiosity overcame me, and I weighed them. Without my cell phone–I never know where it is, thank God–my pants checked in at 3 pounds, 11 ounces. And they’re shorts. I’m just glad I don’t have one of those ridiculous nerd keychains that are so big they have to be attached to your belt. That would put me over five pounds, for sure.

In the future, when psychiatrists try to determine whether a tool fixation is pathological, pants weight will gain recognition as a fine diagnostic tool. Under four pounds, odd but normal. Four pounds to eight pounds, shock therapy indicated. Over eight pounds, treat for hoarding. Or call Mrs. Berger and have a frank chat.

Time to get up and go. Maybe I should chew an onion first.

75 Pounds of Sexy Iron

My Parlec milling vise arrived. I never realized 75 pounds could be this heavy. I put it on a scale because I was sure it had to weigh more.

Is it a good vise? No way to know. Og had no problem with the choice. Once the mill arrives, I can put the vise on it and do things to it with a dial indicator and a test indicator. That will tell the story.

I’ll say this. The workmanship appears to be spectacular. It’s gorgeous. It’s going to kill me to crud it up with swarf and cutting oil.

Where do you put a thing like this until you have a mill?

Skills and Plumber’s Crack Developing Nicely

I decided the only way to move my compressor was to break down and spend the necessary cash.

It amounted to almost three dollars.

I was thinking about the problem, and I realized I could use conduit as rollers if I could fasten a sheet of plywood to the feet of the compressor. I didn’t need a pallet. This thing only weighs around 550 pounds, or the weight of two fat ladies. It’s not heavy machinery. But I didn’t have a suitable piece of plywood, and I didn’t feel like cutting one. Then it occurred to me that it only needed to have a complete span of wood along one axis, so a couple of pieces of two-by-whatever would do. I could put one on each side of the compressor, put the conduit perpendicular to them, and go.

Here’s the process.

I bought this expensive hardware and added hi-tech fiber shields to prevent marring.

I screwed the boards to the compressor.

I shoved conduit under the boards.

I pushed and sweated. But not too much.

The pads seem to be coming apart. I didn’t know they had a finite lifespan.

Now I have to reposition the bench and the tool cabinet, run some conduit, and wait.

Two years ago I probably would have hired a crew to do this.

Call the Fire Department

I just got terrible news. My milling machine shipped yesterday. And that’s not the worst of it. Checking around the web, I find that coast-to-coast freight shipments sometimes take as little as four days.

I finally have to face reality. I have to move the compressor and redo the wiring.

Arrghh.

The plan is to lay conduit over the garage rafters and run wire from one side of the garage to the other. I think the tops of the rafters are about 12 feet up. You would be surprised. The roof is level with the house roof, but the garage floor is a foot lower, so it adds up to a lot of headroom. My fat body is going to have to go up there in order to put in the conduit. I have to get 30 feet of pricey #8 wire and a new disconnect. Bummer.

I don’t know how to move the compressor. I have a Genielift, but moving it to the garage would be about as much fun as moving the compressor, and anyway, it would only raise the compressor if it were on a pallet. The geometry is not right for the Genielift. And I can’t use pipes as rollers. The compressor rests on little feet a good distance apart. I am afraid I’m going to have to scoot the silly thing twenty feet.

If I could find short, tough casters I could lean the compressor over and bolt one to each foot. I can look into that. They’ll have to be capable of holding around 150 pounds each, but short enough so I can run them up under the feet without tipping the machine over.

An engine hoist with a strap would also work. That would run about 50 bucks.

Wish me a fun day. Maybe I can find a reason to procrastinate. I sure hope so.

I Feel Like Donald O’Connor on His Tenth Take

There are two things you never want to have to pick out for yourself. Taps and drill bits. You would be better off killing yourself. The Enco catalog is mostly taps and dies, I’m pretty sure. The tap and die stuff starts on page 76 and ends on page 114. Drills aren’t quite as bad, but still pretty horrible. All drills and taps look exactly alike. I am still traumatized from going through them.

I ordered a couple of small tap/drill sets in HSS. I ordered the weird tap wrench Og and a forum dude recommended. I am pretending I don’t need drill bits. I don’t want to think about them. Ever.

Actually, I bought a pound or two of them a while back. Some Ebay guy sells mixed new and used bits by the pound. It’s not a bad deal. When I need a drill bit, I rarely know the exact size; I just look for one that will work for me. These will come in handy. They won’t be a good substitute for a real set, but they will allow me to avoid abusing a real set unnecessarily. I can reach for the cheap drills first, whenever possible.

I still haven’t made the final decision on a quality set, for a very good reason. They cost a TON. I’m hoping that if I put it off long enough, science will come up with a cheaper substitute for the drill bit.

Some forum guy says I’ll need a tapping head. I told him some other guy had said I wouldn’t need one, if I had a lathe I could reverse. Oh, no; that was nonsense! I needed a thing called a Procunier tapping head, and…here’s the good part…they come in different sizes, so you can’t just buy one!

Oh, yeah, THAT’S a surprise.

I plan to avoid that purchase even more doggedly than I avoid recycling, margarine, and Jehovah’s Witnesses.

The mill should be here next week. I’m really hoping I can make tool holders. I tried to pick out a 60° dovetail cutter today, but Og showed me this homemade job: look. Might be fun to try to make one.

The only really worthwhile thing I accomplished today, other than a Costco run, was washing out my motorcycle helmet. Damned thing got mildew in the liner during the garage’s raining-indoors phase. Not a pleasure to wear. And new helmets cost over $300. Iodophor really did the job on my saddlebags, so I blasted the helmet with it, too. I stuck it in the sun to dry, and then I picked it up an hour later, and it was still cool and wet on the inside. I should have realized it would insulate like a beer cooler. Helmets are full of foam. In fact, riders sometimes compare riding with a helmet to having a beer cooler on your head.

Do NOT get the idea that a beer cooler is a good helmet substitute. Never mind how I found out.

I stuck the helmet in the house. Hopefully the AC will dry it out eventually.

I better have some fried Costco and relax.

Tool Holders!

I have learned something about machining. You can’t just buy a quick change tool post set and be happy. The set will only have two holders for turning tools. Once you start grinding tools, you’ll end up with a variety. In other words, more than two. So when you want to change tools, you’ll find yourself moving tools in and out of the tool holders.

The upshot of all this is that you need more than two holders.

Some guy on the Chaski forum posted a photo. He has a collection of tool holders, from CDCO Tools. They sell cheap Chinese tooling. The photo showed dozens of these things in a drawer, set in rows. It was like a Communist-bloc tank display. He has a library of tools he has already made, and they’re sitting in their holders ready to go.

Another guy says you have to have at least 10 in order to be happy. And someone said he makes his own.

That got me thinking. This should be an easy project for me, once I have a mill. You buy cold-rolled steel, cut it in suitable chunks, make them pretty with a fly cutter, tap a few holes, cut a few grooves, and you’re done. I doubt I can do it for less than the $9 cost of a CDCO tool holder, but that’s not really relevant. If I wanted to have everything done for me, I wouldn’t be buying machine tools.

I suppose you could make them from aluminum. Tool holders are pretty beefy. I don’t think aluminum ones would be flimsy enough to flex. The threads might be a problem, though. I guess you would have to worry about them holding up.

My set came with two holders suitable for turning and facing. One has a groove in the bottom of the tool slot, to support a boring bar. The other doesn’t. I assume the grooved type must have some disadvantages, because if it didn’t, there would be no reason to manufacture holders without grooves. I have to figure that out. I don’t think I’ll ever want to use this kind of holder for boring, since I have a holder designed especially for boring bars. But versatility is good.

I also want to make some brass knobs for a bathroom cabinet. I realize they probably won’t be as cute as the ones at Home Depot, but it’s an irresistible project.

I have to get some tapping tools. It’s an essential I somehow overlooked.

Blog Drama Approaches Crescendo

I have some weird news for you.

A few months back, someone I know voiced suspicions regarding the existence of Mish Weiss. As I recall, this was before the strange twists and turns in her story. According to Mish’s blog, she was fighting leukemia, and things didn’t look good. I don’t think we had learned of her long-lost daughter, who later gave her a bone marrow transplant. At that time, it made for moving reading, but it wasn’t unbelievable.

Out of respect for my friend’s instincts, I did a little research. I couldn’t find any record of a Mish Weiss in New Jersey, which is where she says she was born. I did find evidence of Mish which predated the leukemia story, and it didn’t seem to have anything to do with cancer or drama. I also considered the friends Mish named on her blog. At least one of them, Cary Veech, seemed to check out as a real person. And I knew Leah from my own blog, where she had been commenting for a long time.

My conclusion was that the story was probably real. I figured a fake this detailed would be beyond the reach of a bored blogger starving for attention. I believe what I said was that prayer didn’t cost me anything, so it wasn’t a great loss if it turned out my suspicious friend was right.

I didn’t know as much about the story as many other people. I didn’t keep up with any of the crew on Facebook or Twitter. I just checked in on Mish and posted prayer requests from time to time. I really wasn’t concerned about whether it was real; I figured I would err on the side of caution and not worry about it. Others inquired more deeply.

Now if you go to Leah Friedman’s blog, you will see a bizarre post by her friend Cary. He claims he has locked everyone out of the blog, and he says he and Leah have a relationship, and he can’t get her to confirm her identity, or even that she exists. So there goes one real-life friend who seemed to confirm the story.

I learned something weird today. Supposedly, Mish had an online friend who was an FBI agent, and who claimed he was joining the Mossad. That’s a little hard to swallow. The Mossad is an intelligence agency belonging to another country. That makes it exceedingly unlikely that they would accept American citizens belonging to another intelligence agency with interests that sometimes conflict with Israel’s. A commenter on Leah’s blog says this person, who calls himself “Mason,” has removed his Twitter account and pretty much vanished. This is all secondhand; I have not kept up with this the way others have, so I can only report what they say.

Another comment says no oncology department in Jerusalem has any record of Mish Weiss or anyone resembling her.

On top of that, Mish’s blog is now private. I have no idea what’s going on. I haven’t been invited yet.

So what is the truth? No idea. If it’s a con, it’s very well done. I admit, the story has gotten awfully good lately, which is cause for skepticism, but remarkable things do happen. You can’t just assume unusual stories aren’t true.

I guess we’ll get the answer this week. If Leah and Mish are on the level, they can prove it very quickly, and they will. If not, not.

Do I feel angry or betrayed? No. Like I said, a little bird has been whispering in my ear about this for a very long time, so I knew there was a possibility I was wasting my time. I don’t care. Praying for other people improves me. I got my blessing out of it, regardless of whether the story is true. If it’s a sham, the punishment will not fall on me.

In a way, I hope it’s a lie, because it means there is no sick girl languishing in a hospital bed in Jerusalem. I don’t feel stupid; everyone believes a good lie. It’s not going to make me bitter or damage my faith. I don’t have faith in people; I haven’t for a long time. I have faith in God.

I know my friend the skeptic will be excited to read this. I won’t out that person. They can pipe up in the comments if they wish. If Mish is imaginary, figuring it out so early was pretty sharp, so unnamed friend, my hat is off to you.

More

It gets even weirder! Now Leah’s blog has been changed to invitation-only!

Medical Insurance = License to Cruise

What a fantastic day. I didn’t always think I was having fun, but in retrospect, I realize I was.

I decided to organize God’s Own Garage, because it was starting to get cluttered, and I still have to stick a 2400-pound milling machine in there. I really opened it up. It felt wonderful. An orderly room is like a beautiful woman. It gives you pleasure just by existing.

Then I decided to clean the mildew off the Harley’s saddlebags. It grew during the roof-problem era, when the garage was damp. I got on the web and looked, and I saw a lot of stupid ideas for killing mildew on leather. Then I realized I already had something that would probably do the trick: iodophor sanitizer. Unlike bleach, it won’t damage the leather, and as far as I know, iodine kills EVERYTHING. So I cleaned the mildew off with rubbing alcohol, hit the leather with iodophor, and followed up with leather conditioner. And the bags looked great. I was shocked.

I never thought that bike was all that good looking when I bought it. The black tins disappointed me, but at that time, you bought the Harley the dealer showed you, or you did without. Today I realized it’s actually a very nice looking bike. It has grown on me.

One thing led to another, and I found myself trying to get her started. I had to drain all the fuel back when I installed the new petcock, so the tank was literally dry. I figured it was time to fire her up. But I had no gas. I did something really stupid. I had a truly ancient container of gas on hand. I decided to put a quart in the tank. I figured it would get me to a gas station, and if it wasn’t the greatest gas on earth, it wouldn’t matter, because I’d be diluting it twenty-to-one with new gas.

I had to use a MAPP torch to get the silly thing started, aiming the nozzle into the carb. When it started running, I thought my problems were over. I decided to take a short spin to see if it was in shape to get me to the gas station. And the bike died three blocks from home. Worse, the place where it conked out was a good two feet lower, and you really can’t push an 800-pound bike uphill. Even a slight grade is bad news.

I walked back to the house, got the torch, and drove to the bike. Got it started. Then it died again. Finally, I had to call my dad. He was the only person available on short notice. He graciously abandoned his dinner, drove to a gas station, bought a gas can, bought a gallon of good gas, and brought it to me. Thank God, it did the trick.

I got the bike home and fiddled with it, and I went for another spin. The acceleration was weak, and it tried to stall at low speeds. I figured it was either the gas or corrosion in the slow jet, which happens when a bike sits. I went and got gas, and on the way home, the bike got worse, surging and farting. Surging is embarrassing. It makes you look like an idiot in traffic. Like you have no idea how to work a throttle.

I got home and ordered some new slow jets on the web (the dealer near me probably charges fifty bucks each for a two-dollar item). Then I decided to play Dr. House. I thought there might be crud in the carb, but I did not want to take it apart and hit it with carb cleaner. But I realized I had a bottle of STP fuel injection cleaner and some Sta-Bil. I figured carb crud had to be just like injector crud. And if the bad gas had water in it, Sta-Bil would get rid of it. I made an STP and Sta-Bil cocktail, poured it into the tank, and hit the started. The bike ran! I got a screwdriver and adjusted the idle speed, and away I went.

It ran like a dream. Great low-end torque, good acceleration, no backfiring, no hesitation, and no surging. It probably didn’t run this well new. Against my better judgment, knowing I was very rusty, I decided to go for a longer ride. I put on my helmet and horsehide jacket and boots, and I tooled through Coconut Grove and onto I-95.

Riding at highway speed is very intimidating when you’re a new rider, and every rider who has been off his bike for months feels like a new rider when he gets back on. So I was nervous. I felt stiff, and every seam and reflector in the road seemed determined to knock me off the bike. I stuck with it, having no choice, and I went all the way to Northeast 95th Street (over 10 miles) and got off. I rode by the house where I grew up, across a busy intersection from Mike’s old house. I rode down by the bay, where we used to waste our time gigging inedible fish.The bike never gave me a second’s trouble.

On the way home, I felt loose, and my Motorcycle Safety Foundation training came back to me.I threw the bike around a little, just to get used to moving the weight. It was wonderful. I had really missed riding, without even realizing it.

Also, I came up with a name for the bike. It made me laugh. Can’t tell you now, though. I’ll spill it eventually. Not all of you will get it.

I plan to ride more in the future. I was always reluctant to ride, because I was worried about having an accident, and I was too cheap to get medical insurance. Actually, I was afraid they’d make me get an exam, and I didn’t want to show up fat and out of shape, and I never seemed to get into the kind of shape I thought would impress the insurer into giving me a ridiculously low rate. When I finally got insurance, all they did was ask questions. I could have told them I was a giraffe. They would have bought it. So I said my blood pressure was 75 over 40 and I had just won a gold medal in the Decathlon.

Not really.

Anyway, I have insurance, so I’m not as scared of the road. Oddly, the thought of paying medical bills scares me less than the possibility that I will be turned into a giant meatball.

It was a magnificent day, all the way around. I realized my milling dreams were doable, and I got the Harley on the road. I can’t ask for more than that. I’ve been thinking I should ride it to church. It’s a long trip on the interstate, on a low-traffic day. Perfect for riding.

I’d look like a freak with that jacket however.

The pastor’s son has a chopper. I guess I would be excused.

I had a problem with the insurance people. Somehow they got the idea that I had smoked fairly recently, and they jacked up my rate. It’s a lot of money. A hundred bucks a month. I called and complained, and they said I could get a blood test and prove I didn’t smoke.

I’ve been thinking about it. I may just let it go. I keep thinking it’s wasteful to spend that kind of money for an occasional cigar. Then I think about the more fundamental issue: freedom. Do I really want to live like an uptight, irrational, self-righteous, liberal smoke Nazi, just to save money? Wouldn’t I be letting them control me?

For a long time, I thought I might want to give cigars up altogether, because I had read a few things that worried me, and I was concerned about using a product which had been a curse to my family. But last week I read up on it, and here is the truth: smoking a couple of cigars a week is one hundred percent harmless. It’s not addictive. It won’t hurt your heart or lungs. It won’t give you cancer. The Jews believe asceticism is evil, and I think they’re right. Maybe it’s wrong to live like a fanatic in order to keep the insurance company from ripping me off. Liberty–even small, nonessential liberties–is worth something. Pleasure is important. Christians forget that. You’re not supposed to be a slave to it, but if you deprive yourself more than you should, you just store up temptation for the inevitable day when your willpower breaks, and you weary yourself of trying to be good, and you reject gifts God intended you to enjoy. One purpose of the sabbath was to teach man he occasionally had to get off the hamster wheel, stop punishing himself, and enjoy things.

I don’t think John the Baptist was a true ascetic. His diet was limited when he was in the desert, but no self-respecting ascetic would even consider eating honey. It’s an extremely decadent food. And we have no idea what he ate when he was in Jerusalem, where he had access to real grub. You can’t compare him to true ascetics, like the Buddhist and Hindu nutjobs who wander the jungle for decades in diapers, living on dirt. We know Jesus and the disciples enjoyed food and wine, and Jesus even let a woman perfume his feet.

I still have time to think it over.

Garbage In…

Church was fantastic last night. It doesn’t seem to matter what the subject of the sermon is; it always turns out to be just what I need. On this occasion, the pastor started out by asking us if we had ever known anyone who just could not tell the truth. I exhaled loudly. I could not help it. He really hit a nerve. This is a problem I’ve been dealing with a lot lately.

The sermon was not really about liars. The bit about lying was his way of moving into a discussion of Philippians 4:8, which I will now paste:

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

Here’s the NIV; I think that’s the version he used.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

It was a weird transition. It went like this. He said when people lie to us, we are likely to sputter something like, “That’s not TRUE. That’s not RIGHT.” And from there, he went into the rest of the verse. I don’t know why he started that way, but he really woke me up when he asked that question. It got my ears working.

The basic message was that the things we think about determine what we are and what happens to us. I think that’s accurate. And I have found it to be true.

One of the big problems with participating in the Internet is that you are exposed to society’s collective id. You will be confronted with cruelty, perversion, and hatred, the likes of which you would be very unlikely to encounter in real life. I don’t have to give you examples, unless you just bought your first computer. And we also come across a lot of negativity and sin when we watch TV, read books, go to movies, or listen to music. It has an impact. It can make a Christian feel left out. It can trigger the herd instinct and make you want to conform to the standards of the unsaved world. If you spend too much time thinking about these things, they will degrade your faith and steal the pleasure you take in life.

In order to be a realist, a Christian has to be an idealist, because we live in more ideal world than the rest of humanity. To most people, the world is an unfair place where there is no hope of justice. It’s a place where there is no arbiter to right wrongs. There is no one to pray to. Often there is no reward for doing right, and doing right may actually bring punishment. But Christians know God hears them, and that he is stronger than the world, and that very often, he will intervene in their lives and make them work. This is why leftists often attack us with the claim that we live in a fantasy world. Their world has no meaning and no order, and they assume ours is the same way, so when we persist in praying and trying to do right instead of abandoning morality to achieve our goals, they think we’re idiots.

Example: if a teenage girl gets herself pregant (and women DO get themselves pregnant, unless it happens without their consent), a leftist will propose a mechanical, worldly remedy: tear the baby apart in the womb and suck it out with a hose. Because raising kids is hard for unwed mothers, and unwanted babies never amount to anything, and so on and so on. A Christian, on the other hand, will say God rewards people for repenting and taking responsibility for their sins. A Christian will say a girl who turns to God and refuses to harm her child will have doors opened for her, and that her curse will turn into a blessing.

You can’t think like the godless and expect to have faith. You have to believe that morality works. It’s easier to think that way if you don’t spend your evenings watching porn and listening to rap and generally exposing yourself to primitive, immoral thought.

A few years ago, a friend of mine suggested I watch the Horatio Hornblower TV series on DVD. He said it was good entertainment, and he also said it presented wonderful morals. I took a look, and he was right. After you watch one of these shows, and you witness the hard moral decisions the characters make, you feel improved. And there are plenty of other examples of good moral models in entertainment and literature. Many older movies carry good messages. That’s something I’ll think about in the future, when I decide what to put into my mind.

They gave us rubber bracelets last night, with “THINK 4:8” stamped on them. The pastor told us to print out the verse and post it where we could see it. I think I’ll do that. I’m not a bracelet guy, but I am okay with putting scripture where I can see it. I find that thinking about this verse gives me strength. It makes me want to be a better person.

One of the benefits of marriage is that it gives you someone to whom it is your duty to improve yourself. But not everyone is married. Not everyone has kids. Maybe it’s possible for single people to find the motivation in verses like this one.

Modern culture is nothing but mental pollution. It’s crippling. Like sprinkling poison on your food. I need to recognize that and use this knowledge to shape myself.

Things are going so well for me, I don’t understand it. I spend more and more of my time in a peaceful, optimistic state that comes from knowing God and letting him work in my life. Things are working out. My problems are shrinking. I almost feel as if it’s unfair to talk about it, because it’s hard to believe that it’s reasonable to expect other people to get the same results. I don’t want to be like a freak success story in a diet commercial, claiming everyone who tries the product will be like me and lose 90 pounds in three weeks. But what is happening, is happening. I can’t keep it a secret or lie about it.

I keep looking over my shoulder, wondering if it’s supposed to be like this. Christians do have problems. When you go without a real problem for a certain length of time, it’s hard not to get antsy. I remember what Robert Duvall said in the movie Tender Mercies: “See, I don’t trust happiness. I never have. I never will.” Maybe it’s okay to trust it, when it’s built on a solid foundation. I seem to remember a verse or two that support that notion.

If this is what Christianity is supposed to be like, I can understand why people like the Apostles were so in love with it and why they wanted other people to try it. Maybe the yoke really is easy, and the burden really is light.

I suppose I should trust the person who said that.

St. Nick Arrives Early

Yesterday I celebrated Christmas in June. The tooling for my mill arrived. I spend some time fondling and pawing it. Now I can’t wait for the mill itself. Should be here in maybe ten days.

Here’s what I got.

1. Clamping set. They practically give these away. Comes with a nice bin sort of a thing you can hang on the wall or the side of your mill.

2. Set of 8 cutters. Four are 2-flute, and four are 4-flute. I wanted carbide, but people told me I was nuts, so I got cobalt.

3. Set of 5 fly cutters, with HSS blanks I can turn into cutting tools. I know you’re supposed to make your own fly cutters, but here’s a funny thing I’ve learned: it takes tools to make tools. Some things, you can bang out with a cordless drill and a butter knife. Others require you to be fairly well tooled up. You need a mill and God knows what else to make fly cutters.

4. R8 collets.

5. Wiggler set.

6. Edge-finder.

7. Indicol holder.

8. Parallels.

9. 1-2-3 blocks.

10. Woodruff key cutter.

11. Acid brushes.

12. Corner-rounding cutter.

That’s the bulk of it. I forgot to get a square and V-blocks. If you have suggestions, let fly. Enco has so many squares, I have no idea which is best for the money. I figured I’d get a pair of import V-blocks without clamps. They’re not too pricey. For squares, the 4-piece Brown and Sharpe set has been suggested to me.

I have a Jacobs Super Chuck I bought off Ebay. I was going to get a new one, but everyone says the quality is not as good, so I went used. It has a humongous taper in it, from a Moore jig borer. Looks like I’m going to have to get wedges to knock it out. I tried using a punch.

The vise arrives next week. I hope it lives up to what people say about it. It didn’t save me much money over a Kurt, but it’s bigger and a little tougher, so I thought it was a good choice.

I think the best thing I bought was the cheap shop apron. I am really tired of ruining my nice $4.95 shirts.

As if You Needed It

I guess only machinists will find this funny.

Today my 1-2-3 blocks arrived via UPS. I had never seen 1-2-3 blocks before, except in videos. I took a look at them, and I heard myself think, “I thought they would be bigger.”

105

Mish Weiss is not doing too bad, for a person who was not expected to be around at this time. Her white blood cell count keeps going up. If her platelets catch up, it will be a whole new ball game.

Of course, the battle never stops. Now Leah Friedman is having problems. She has two artificial heart valves, and she has a fever of 105. Please say a prayer.

While you’re at it, look at this email I received this morning:

Guys,

Please pray for the family of Major Kevin Jenrette. I found out he was killed today by an IED in Afghanistan.

Kevin was one of the finest men I’ve ever known. A loving husband and father. A devout Christian. A dedicated servant to his country.

Thanks for giving this blog a purpose.

Confirmation?

A huge pile of machining stuff will arrive today. Enco shipped the vise separately, so I don’t know when it’s coming, but at some point during the day, I will find myself in possession of things like parallels and 1-2-3 blocks. I can’t believe I did this.

There has to be a reason for this. It’s so strange; it doesn’t seem natural. I hope the purpose eventually becomes clear. In the meantime, I can’t wait to get started.

I started reading Josephus yesterday. He wrote a short autobiography, a history of the Jews, and a history of the wars between the Jews and Romans. The bio was like something Barack Obama would write. “I first realized I was a gift to the world when my mom told me the nurses in the maternity ward had used my halo as a reading lamp.” I skipped it and went to The Antiquities of the Jews.

This is interesting stuff. Josephus was the son of a priest, and he was born at around the time of the crucifixion. He had to be familiar with the Babylonian Talmud and the Jerusalem Talmud, as well as any other bits of history and wisdom the priests passed down to their sons.

Josephus says the angels had sex with women and gave rise to a race of evil people.

The modern Jewish position is that angels can’t do things like that. Most Christians agree. The book of Enoch, Josephus, and the book of Jasher contradict the current view. So who is right? Maybe the answer can be found in a principle of Jewish theology, which says–I hope I’m stating this correctly–that older authorities generally outweigh new ones.

Josephus presumably had some reason for making his assertion. A Jewish priest who was proud of his scholarship wouldn’t throw an item like that out without some basis. He must have received his information from those under whom he studied.

The Talmud is supposedly nearly impenetrable without experienced guidance, and presumably, a lot of orally relayed information that was known in ancient times has been lost. But it makes sense to assume that it can be accessed indirectly through the writings of people like Josephus.

I have to wonder what he left out.

Anyway, this tends to confirm my own suspicions, and it certainly helps the Bible (both testaments) make sense.

I better get started, wiring up the garage for the mill.

Reward Repentance With Self-Righteous Excoriation

I just saw Obama speaking at Buchenwald with Angela Merkel beside him.

Did I hear him right? I believe he listed the Germans’ evil deeds, including “using rape as a weapon of war.”

The memory of the Holocaust has to be kept alive. No doubt about it. But there is such a thing as tact. What does this amateur hope to accomplish by speaking in such pointed terms? The Germans have nearly turned repentance into an industry. The Holocaust ended sixty-five years ago, yet they are still gracious enough to promote its remembrance by allowing foreign heads of state to speak from the sites of concentration camps. Am I crazy, or could Obama have taken a more constructive tone?

It’s like Louis Farrakhan had a baby with Karl Marx and Steve Urkel. Obama can’t do anything right. Isn’t this exactly the kind of nationalist “arrogance” he himself complained of?

It’s hard to believe that any President would have the gall to be self-righteous about the Holocaust, while allowing Israel’s enemies to build nuclear missiles.