My Journey in Writing, Ranting, and Woodworking

Life can be dangerous.  We learn at an early age that the buddy system will keep us safe.  If one is going swimming, go with a buddy.  The same would apply to robbing a liquor store, it is safer and more fun, with your best friend along for the ride.  If one is hang gliding in the Adirondacks, climbing an ancient volcano, or brushing up on your voodoo raising the dead spells, doing it alone, could be unsafe.  Today I learned of another, perhaps even more important time, when the buddy system should be employed.  While reading ‘A Splintered History of Wood’, one must (MUST) have someone nearby who is willing to listen to you read excerpts.

I was reading during my breaks at work.  All around were people who had little interest in wood.  I had no idea how horrible it would be, when I read of Ted Williams and his baseball bats.  Such a cool story and nobody, who cared, to share it with.  At least I have my blog; some people don’t.  I knew I could eventually share the story with you fine folks, so I was able to make it through this difficult time in my life.  So here is the story.  I was on page 158, nibbling on a Hot Pocket, when I read the following…

 “These guys are serious about their bats,” says Dick Johnson, president of MaxBats, who’s joined us.  “They can rub the handle and tell if the diameter is off by 1/16 inch, swing the bat once to see if the bat’s half an ounce too heavy or too light, ping the barrel with their finger to see if the wood’s the right density.  And if everything isn’t perfect, it becomes a practice bat.”  And a strike is against the manufacturer.  Ted Williams had  the same demanding specifics.  He once returned a set of bats to the manufacturer with a note: ”Grip doesn’t feel just right.”  Subsequent measurements showed the bats to be 5/1000 inch shy of Williams’ specified diameter.”

Are you kidding me?  5/1000, or 1/200 of an inch, if one is inclined to reduce the fraction, which I am.  Still the point is cool.  There I was with nobody to tell.  It was awful.  This book is filled with far too many interesting facts to be read alone.  It isn’t safe.  One could become overcome with such a desire to share that it pushes them over the edge.  Symptoms might include, increased blood pressure, high anxiety (generally only for Mel Brooks), cramping, increased appetite, power snacking, followed by loss of appetite, headaches, temporary death, and bad hair.

 For each person, the tidbits worth sharing will be different.  I am the son of a mathematician, so I like numbers.

 “Today this American company makes about two thousand grand pianos and six hundred uprights per year.  The first American-made Steinway bore a number in the 400′s; each since has carried a sequential number.  Today the pianos rolling through the factory bear numbers in the 577,000 range. ‘It’s taken Steinway 153 years to get to that number,’ explains Bob ‘That’s  about two years of production for some piano manufacturers today.’”

 I love that part.  But to be honest, these two examples weren’t even the best ones from today.  I didn’t share the best ones, because I wanted to be able to say, ‘But to be honest, these two examples weren’t even the best ones from today.’  What is wonderful about Spike Carlsen’s style is that he is able to transition from instruments to bats with great ease.  The book doesn’t feel like a collection of stories, but one single look at wood and how it is interwoven into our lives.  I am enjoying it almost as much as cutting dovetails, after eating pizza, and later writing a blog piece.  I hope my ridiculous introduction didn’t make you think I wasn’t being sincere in my praise for this fine tome.  It is really a joy and I am sure there will be at least one more review, before I am done.