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How to Meet a Wizard

July 17, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

Little known and oft ignored fact: there are thousands upon thousands of wizards living along side us. I know because I have apprenticed to a few, and am training to be a wizard myself.

Due to the fetters or civility and modern society, many of these people are forced to ply trades far less fantastic than traditional wizards. Since they can’t focus their powers on the arcane, they instead focus on being very good at one, specialized thing.

I was preparing a delicious serving of Carolina style short ribs when I decided that human blood might be a good addition to the recipe. My blood. Lots of it. From my thumb, via knife, into the delicious chili sauce.

This plan didn’t turn out as well as I had hoped, and I ended up hemorrhaging enthusiastically for several hours. I should have listened to my wife and gone to the hospital then and there, but I had to look tough, because, y’know. I wrapped the wound in Wendy’s napkins and duct tape, hoping that my mechanic’s bandage would staunch the bleeding and prevent the need for medical intervention.

My prescription of beer and Advil didn’t work. Turns out alcohol and ibuprofen are blood thinners. Who knew?

Admitting that perhaps this cut was beyond my healing abilities as a level 17 cleric, I drove around on Monday morning looking for an open Urgent Care or Patient First. I avoid hospitals when I can. Wizards don’t live at hospitals, anyway.

The man who saw me wasn’t even trying to hide that he was a wizard. A Stitch-Wizard, to be exact. He was five-foot-one, 85 lbs, wearing a red, 1970s paisley tie that was tucked into the top of his pants. His wrinkled skin betrayed years of scrutinizing eldritch magical tomes, and his puffed grey mustache was a vain attempt to distract from his amazingly shaped wizard beard. He spoke with power and wisdom; his eyes were kind and showed me ancient, guarded knowledge.

He used his magical powers to get rid of my thumb pain and stop the lifeblood from flowing out of my body. It was awesome.

Be observant when you are out and about, for you may be interacting with wizards every day.

What manner of man are you that you can sew up skin without spells and staves?

How to read 1000 pages in two days

July 2, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

Having trouble finding time in your busy schedule to read all of those awesome books on your “awesome books to read” list?

Follow my simple guide, and you’ll be plowing through Fifty Shades of Grey and the Twilight Saga is record time!

How to read 1000 pages in two days:

Things you’ll need:
-A book (or books)
-Working eyeballs
-Light
-Beer (anything cold)

Step 1: Have a massive, sudden storm demolish the power grid/infrastructure near your home

Something like this should do:

Tis’ but a scratch.

Step 2: Read, because you have nothing else to do

It is best to distract yourself from the heat and lack of any creature comforts by reading something riveting that takes place somewhere cold. I chose A Storm of Swords by George R.R. Martin. The Frostfangs and The Wall didn’t sound so bad when I was roasting myself in our void of AC.

Step 3: Continue to read until you fall asleep

While you’re digging through drawers looking for your LED book light in the waning daylight, find some way to keep your beer cold. I recommend stealing some ice from your neighbors, filling a martini shaker, and shoving your beer in there as a make shift wine-bucket.

Good luck to everyone in the DC Metro Area still without power. May your batteries never die and your candles burn long.

Land Rovers make good pole support, apparently.

How to Valedict your Grill (and make Inauthentic Peanut Chicken Satay)

June 26, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

(Before we start, I’m aware that I’m not supposed to turn nouns into verbs, but I did anyway. And this won’t be the last time.)

My little Weber charcoal grill has been a stalwart backyard companion, seeing me through several summers, many parties, and many more beers. He has served admirably, weathering harsh winters, falling branches, and admittedly too infrequent cleaning from me. He is as loyal as a grill can be, given that he can’t really move or talk or do much of anything to prove its loyalty.

He is a little small, and annoying to light, but that was all part of his charm. He’d often sear my food a little too aggressively, leaving me to pick off the black burny bits before serving anything to my guests. But he was a good grill, and it was easy to look past most of his shortcomings.

Most of them.

There comes a time in a man’s life where he has to admit: despite nice flavor, grilling with charcoal is a total pain in the ass.

It takes too long to heat up for someone as impatient as me, and you have a limited cooking window once the coals are aflame. You also have to store big bags of weird smelling black bricks that inevitably soot up your hands when you’re trying to spread them out correctly.

To that end, I caved. I bought a gas grill. A behemoth of a thing, really, but it’s shiny and sturdy and new.

To say goodbye to my little turtle of a Weber, I decided to grill up one of my (and my wife’s) favorites: Peanut Chicken Satay.

How to Make Inauthentic Peanut Chicken Satay:

This recipe is inauthentic because I neither 1) cut the chick up and put it on skewers as is the “satay” part of the name, nor 2) marinate the chicken properly beforehand. I used a basic salt-and-seasonings chicken brine, which is pretty not Thai.

Things you’ll need:
-Chicken (skinless breasts are best, but tenderloins would work too)
-Seasonings (unfortunately, Old Bay isn’t called for, but salt, mustard seeds, coriander, black pepper, and garlic are)
-Peanut sauce (Time permitting, you can make your own with peanut butter, soy sauce, vinegar, and chicken broth. Time did not permit, so I used House of Tsang Bangkok Padang Peanut Sauce that I found at Safeway)
-A grill and grill accessories
-A sauce brush
-Beer (Sam Adams Summer Ale makes another strong appearance)

Start with an image of the finished product, that makes sense, right?

Step 1: Brine your chicken
This is a technique I picked up from a fancy Williams Sonoma grilling book. The concept is deceptively simple: soak your chicken in seasoned brine so it retains its moisture on the grill. Making the brine is super easy: just dump a bunch of water, salt, mustard seeds, coriander, black pepper, and garlic into a bowl (or freezer bag, like I did) and then add your chicken. No need to measure amounts, just add a lot of each thing, but make sure there is more water than anything else. Let it sit around for a few hours to really soak up all the tasty goodness.

Bag-O-Brine

2: Prep the grill
Chicken is a fickle meat. It burns quickly and dries out without warning. A big mistake a lot of green-grillers make is allowing their poultry to sit over open flame while it cooks. Doing so will quickly render your chicken rubbery at best and burned at worst.

The solution is indirect heat. Arrange your charcoals so that they only take up half of the grill. This will give you two areas to work with: direct heat over the coals, and indirect heat…not over the coals.

1. Arrange

2. Spray

3. Burn…BURN! HAHAHAhahaha….sorry.

Step 3: Chicken + grill = ??
While you’re waiting for the coals to heat up, remove your chicken from the brine and use some paper towels to pat them down. Removing the excess water will keep the grill from smoking and also make the chicken sear better when you drop it on the direct heat.

Mmmmmm, delicious raw chicken.

When the coals are ready (very, very hot, white around the edges, glowy in the middle) briefly place the chicken over the direct heat for 2 minutes. Flip and repeat for another 2 minutes on the other side.

Sear and move, sear and move.

Move the chicken over to the indirect heat to finish cooking and prevent evil, evil dry-out.

Step 4: Sauce!

Let the chicken cook for about 10 minutes with the lid on, letting all of the juicy brine cook the chicken from the inside out. No need to flip yet, there will be time to flip out later.

Pour your sauce all over the chicken, but try not to spill it into the coals, as that could cause smoke, which will mar the flavor of your meat. Use a sauce brush to spread it evenly on the breasts to ensure maximum spicy peanut coverage.

Spicier = better

Brush, brush, brush, all day long.

Let the sauce cook a little bit, then flip the chicken. Learn from my mistake, and don’t leave it too long, or the sauce can and will burn. If it does, brush some more sauce over top of it and hope no one notices.

Almost ready for the devouring part.

Step 5: Serve with scalloped potatoes and peas
Because, duh.

And you’re done. Enjoy the spicy flavors against the juicy (presumably perfectly cooked by now) chicken!

With that, I say farewell to my little grill and hope his time out to pasture is relaxing and flare-up free.

Just for the record, here is his replacement (4 burner, 45,000 BTU, propane):

Shiny!

How to use Old Bay Seasoning

June 22, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

Old Bay seasoning, like Old Spice deodorant, is no joke. It’s so awesome, it doesn’t even need a ridiculous ad campaign.

If you’re from anywhere near the Chesapeake bay, you know this to be true. Old Bay is the standard-bearer of Maryland summers; his blue, red, and yellow heraldry fluttering in the breeze coming off of the water. Where there is Old Bay, there are crabs, and there is beer.

But Old Bay need not be saved, hoarded, coveted, only to be used on crabs. Even the labeling says, “For Seafood, Poultry, Salads, and Meats.” I have never had an Old Bay salad, but it sounds like the kind of thing a bad ass Corinthian warrior would eat. I suggest using Old Bay on anything and everything, as it can do no harm, only good.

According to the best and most trustworthy research tool ever known to humankind, Wikipedia, the ingredients of Old Bay are as follows:

mustard
paprika
celery seed
bay leaf
black pepper
red pepper
cinnamon
cloves
allspice
nutmeg
cardamom
salt
mace
ginger

I think they left a few out. Namely:

Very finely ground crack-cocaine
99.9% pure distilled youthful exuberance (harvested from only the most carefree of American teenagers)
Beer flavor enhancer #19
Refined Chesepian spirit dust (salvaged from Skicoak, near Norfolk)
High fructose black bean syrup

How to use Old Bay:

Things you’ll need:
-Old Bay
-Food you are going to cook
-Beer (may I suggest Blue Moon Agave Blonde Ale?)

Step 1: Put copious amounts of Old Bay on everything

And you’re done! You and your reborn taste buds can thank me later.

The picture is a little blurry because I got some Old Bay on the lens.

How to Shamelessly Steal an Idea (and plug a great blog in the process)

June 15, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

The key to good writing is reading. If you’re not out there, scanning every piece of verbiage you can get your hungry little eyes on, your writing will suffer. The goal is to subconsciously emulate other good writers until your own writing kicks significantly more ass.

To that end, to be a better writer, read everything. Read shampoo bottles. Read ads on the Metro. Read the fine print of EULA until you get bored. All writing has merit; whether it be teaching by example or serving as a warning.

I read quite a bit. The majority is of the nonfiction type; news, periodicals, satire, essay. The minority is fiction, TMZ, and most importantly, blog.

Not that I avoid reading blogs as a rule, I’m just very picky about what content I digest. Probably psychological damage from reading one too many bad blogs over the years. Post Traumatic Blog Disorder. Either way, my list of preferred blogs is surprisingly short.

But Ed, over at The Dogs of Beer, is on my “read as soon as it is published” list. I find his posts engaging, entertaining, fresh, and funny. So much so, that I’ve stolen his idea and added a bit of my own flavor.

I have an odd way of building and fostering a writing community.

A Daily Schedule for Writing a Blog Post:

Things you’ll need:
-Fingers
-A computer (and the internet, obvs)
-A partially functional brain
-An understand of a QWERTY keyboard layout
-A camera
-Beer (Sam Adams Whitewater IPA is a great choice, especially if your wife bought you a 6-pack recently because she is that awesome)

7:00 AM
The best ideas come in the shower. All that water washes the glue from your brain, forcing it out of your nose and down the drain. Once cleared, ideas grow. If you’re like me, you’ll have about 50 malformed, awful ideas before that one decent one hits you.

If the shower doesn’t work, try staring blankly at something (like the document you’re supposed to be working on) for a while. If that also doesn’t work, steal an idea from someone else but give them credit.

8:30 AM
Ideas are great and all, but the devil is in the details. Brood over your idea on your commute to the office. Feed your newly born thought-baby with all the anger you develop sitting in traffic. Let it run wild and grow wings until your idea is a gelatinous blob of meta-ideas and you can’t really make sense of any of it. You can sort all the rest of that stuff out later.

9:21 AM
Drink coffee. Lament living in a country where drinking beer in the morning is socially/professionally/ecumenically unadvisable. As you burn your tongue, think of a great opening line to the blog post you haven’t even titled yet.

9:59 AM
Realize you’ve done very little work so far because you’ve been thinking about your blog post and how you can’t taste anything anymore because you’ve seared your tastebuds. Furiously work on something for thirty minutes to catch up. Get distracted midway through reading XKCD and Penny Arcade.

11:01 AM
Finally get around to logging into WordPress. Bask over the tens of hits you got since you last logged in. Stare at your “views on your busiest day” number and sigh deeply. Be sad that you’re not fabulously rich and famous.

Create a new post. Spend 40 minutes thinking of a witty title that ends up not being very witty at all.

11:41 AM
Title your post. Write down your opening line if you can still remember it.

12:31 PM
Lunch. Something with avocado. Talk to some people on Gmail. As you nom-nom-nom down your avocado/provolone/tomato monstrosity of a sandwich, write the opening paragraph of the blog post in your head. Laugh at how funny you have convinced yourself you are.

1:01 PM
Try to remember all those funny things you thought of when you were eating. Quietly curse your boss for distracting you with “work”, when you’ve got important blog posts to write.

3:55 PM
Wake up from your Excel-induced torpor and realize that your blog post is all of 13 words long at this point. Cry inside. Try to type something, anything, in an attempt to feel productive. Re-read what you’ve written. Think that it’s not so bad. Re-read. Delete. A lot.

5:43 PM
Continue brooding over the idea in your head. Yell at traffic. Shake your fist at nearby cars. Make inappropriate eye contact with the people in the adjacent lane. Apologize to your wife for the string of obscenities you just let fly.

6:21 PM
Have a sudden flash of energy. Write, write! Let the words pour from your fingers like an IPA into a pint glass. Also pour yourself a beer.

7:33 PM
Finish blog post. Stand and cheer triumphantly. Realize you have no picture to go along with the post. Look through your existing pictures for something relevant. Find many pictures of cats, but not much else. Look for your DSL-R. It is probably under the couch. Don’t ask why.

8:13 PM
Rush to capture a cool picture in the coming twilight. Keep slightly adjusting your F-Stop as the sun slowly sets. Say, “eh, good enough” after you’ve taken 35 of the same exact picture. Go inside. Put Benadryl Gel on your bug bites.

8:19 PM
Upload your pictures. Pour another beer. Don’t rinse the glass, that would take too long. Remind yourself that the smell near your beer fridge won’t go away until you clean the cat litter. Give the cats a stern eyeing and tell them to stop pooping, because it is grossing you out.

8:39 PM
Edit your post.

8:40 PM
Insert your picture and think of a witty caption. Finish your post, but forget to add tags, select a category, or turn on auto-share. Also forget to hit “Publish.”

9:30 PM
Play video games while thinking, “Man, what a good blog post.”

7:03 AM
Look at your blog stats. Realize you never published your new post. Hit “Publish.” Hope no one noticed.

Rinse and repeat! J. Carney: Tag, you’re it.

As per 7:33 PM, here is a completely unrelated picture of a large spider.

How to Make a Mess in your Kitchen (and Make Inauthentic Shepherd’s Pie in the process)

May 24, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

This pie is inauthentic for two reasons. 1) I used highly nontraditional ingredients and 2) it isn’t really a pie.

No crust = not a pie.

But I’m not one to question the practices of shepherds. They’ve been doing what they’ve been doing way longer than I’ve been doing what I’ve been doing. If they say this is pie, then it’s pie, damnit.

Things you’ll need (in some places known as “ingredients”):

-Beef (of indefinite quality and weight, preferrably ground)
-Potatoes (the key to making the inauthentic version is to use random potatoes. I used sweet potatoes, red bliss, and Yukon gold. Mega bonus points for using blue potatoes)
-Green beans (fresh, frozen is some bullshit)
-Sugar snap peas (see above)
-Unnecessarily large carrots (because, why not?)
-A random chunk of onion you have left in your fridge from something else you made (or a fresh onion, I guess)
-Butter (I know, but if you know a better way to brown onions deliciously, I’m all ears)
-Milk (dog or better)
-Worcestershire sauce (the burger and…pie?…booster)
-Beer (Troegs Dream Weaver Wheat this time around)

Step 1: Go back in time to last weekend and purchase all of your produce from a local farmer’s market

Whether you’re a hardcore Locavore or not, buying local is just the nice thing to do. You help the farmers in your community, the produce is usually fresh and relatively cheap, and it’s a fun day out.

I was going to use cream of chicken, but I didn’t, so don’t.

Step 2: Chop and boil the ‘taters

Find your finest, sharpest, biggest knife, and proceed to cutting the potatoes into manageable chunks. Since the sweet potatoe takes longer to boil, you’ll want to cut it into smaller pieces than the rest. Once they’re all in pieces, drop them into a pot of pre-salted water and set to high heat. Cover if you don’t want it to boil over. Leave it uncovered if you’re looking for a culinary adventure.

As you can see, I didn’t follow my own advice and cut the sweet potatoes, smaller, so I had to boil for longer.

Step 3: Sauté the onions, carrots, and whatever else

You’ll need to boil the potatoes for about 30 minutes (since you’ll be mashing by hand, not with some fancy machine, so they need to be very soft). While you’re waiting on these, melt a chunk of butter in a big pan.

Remember: never use the old crappy metal utensils on the brand new expensive nonstick pans,

Chop and add your onions.

Protip: cut the onion in half with a very sharp knife and run both sides under cold water. Using a sharp blade will reduce the number of cells you rupture and rinsing it will wash away the sulfur compounds, resulting in fewer tears being accidentally added to the meal.

If you’re adding carrots to the pie, chop them up and add them with the onions. They (like the sweet potatoes) will take longer to soften.

Sorting your ingredients into neat little lines makes them taste better.

Step 4: Chop your green beans and de-pod your peas

Chopping green beans is easy. If they’re fresh, all you have to do is make sure you cut off the stringy little ends. After those are off, you can pretty much just flail the knife randomly until the pieces are in sizes/shapes that fit easily into a human mouth.

Sugar snap peas on the other hand, are slightly more complicated. I never truly appreciated buying frozen, pre-separated peas until last night. It’s a labor intensive process. If you have a child or a very smart pet, you might want to assign this task to them to save you some time.

The good stuff.

Interestingly enough, the older and more dried out the pea pod, the easier it is to remove the delicious fruit inside. The peas inside the very green, juvenile pods often aren’t yet detached, making is near impossible to remove then. The good news is that these taste great! Eat them.

If you’re into fiber in a big way, you can also eat the pods when you’re done.

Just in case you’ve managed to go through your whole life without seeing what “peas-in-a-pod” look like, here’s an example.

Step 5: Add the beef, beans, and peas to the softened onions and carrots

Toss everything in a stir it up with the spatula. You want to cook everything on medium heat until the meat is completely cooked through. If you still see pink, keep cooking. This is also when you’ll want to add some salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce, garlic, Sriracha Rooster Sauce, and whatever else you think might taste good.

Does it look appetizing yet?

Step 6: Mash the hell out of some potatoes

Leave your new mixture of tasty deliciousness to simmer on low heat and drain your now very squishy potatoes. At this point, you’ll start to notice this is a very orange dish. That is a good thing. Beta-Carotene, good eyesight, all that.

If you are hardcore, you’ll use a hand masher. It tends to leave lumps, but for an inauthentic pie, lumps are good. For those of you who have been reading my writing for some time, you might recognize this masher.

Before you start, add in some melted butter and a splash or two of milk.

These are much easier to mash than unripened pears.

Step 7: Put everything together in a big dish

Pour your delicious meat and vegetable hodgepodge into a dutch oven, pyrex, or something else that can go into the oven and not melt. Smooth it out evenly so that you can added a layer of your mash potatoes on top.

Pre-potatoes, it should look like this:

Halfway to piedom.

Pre-heat to 400 degrees (or 204 Celsius if you have some kind of weird oven). Next, add a thick layer of your newly mashed potatoes to the top of your meat layer.

I tried to get fancy at this point. Using a pastry bag, I attempted to make adorable little swirls of mashed potatoes, mainly for dramatic culinary effect.

Attempted. Attempted and failed. Miserably. When you leave lumps and skin in your mashed potatoes, they don’t flow very well out of a pastry bag. They kind of plop and splat. The result is not overly appetizing:

I’m sure it tastes fine, it just looks not-so-fine.

Step 8: Bake your creation

Everything is cooked at this point, so this final bake is just to seal in the juices and infuse the potatoes will all sorts of vegetable yummy flavors. Pop the pyrex into the oven for ~20 minutes. You can also briefly broil the potatoes to get that “browned peaks” look.

Now is a good time to clean up the dirty dishes – or – drink your beer. Whichever seems more important.

Step 9: Enjoy!

Inauthentic recipe, authentic deliciousness.

How to Cover your Basement in Plastic Shavings (and Build a Custom Closet Organizer in the process)

April 28, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

I’m really surprised my house isn’t haunted. Given its long, strange history of additions and owners (from bootleggers to drunken USPS employees) you’d think there would be spirits banging down the door to haunt this place. If I were a ghost (which I’m not, I don’t think) I’d want to live here.

Alas, we’re ghost free. I think.

The first part of my house was built in the 1920s, during the prohibition. It was nothing more than a shack in the woods, or so the stories go. Over the years, sections were added, things we modernized…kind of. The house now possesses a certain odd charm. Nothing is a standard length, and many things are hilariously crooked or woefully under-engineered.

While this is great for quirky aesthetics, it makes for troublesome habitation. Almost all of the things I’ve had to do around the house have been custom, working around the random widths of openings and ever-changing dimensions of hastily hung drywall.

In our closet, there is an elongated space that is 17″ wide, 45″ deep, and 88″ tall. Right now in this spot, a pile of pillows and winter comforters are stacked to the ceiling, but this isn’t a very economical use of the space. Tiff and I shopped for a closet organizer, only to find all of the standard sized ones are at minimum, 18″.

No beuno.

So, being the kind of guy I am, I suggested I could build one. Out of PVC pipe.

I mean, why not? It’s easier to work with than wood, you can use tons of joints to stabilize the thing, and it’s super lightweight. I know this sounds like a high school science project, but no shit, it worked out pretty well.

Things you’ll need:

-1″ PVC pipe (you’ll need as many inches as you need. I ended up needed just over 50ft. I know, crazy.)
-Various PVC joints (I used 2 elbows, 4 tri-elbows, and 12 “T”s)
-PVC joint compound (use in a ventilated area, unless you want to get really high)
-A hacksaw (other saws may work, but a hacksaw is the easiest/cheapest)
-Enough casters to support your contraption (if you want it to be able to roll)
-A tape measure (do I really need to add a comment about this?)
-A Sharpie® (black works best, but use green or blue if you’re feeling festive)
-Beer (I found Noble Pils! Holy shit!)

Noble Pils and CPVC compound; a match made in heaven

Step 1: Measure and hack

This is pretty easy. Figure out what dimensions you need for your space and mark the PVC piping accordingly. If you’re planning to split the pipe multiple times for joints, etc., make sure you compensate for the length of the joints themselves. They tend to be 1″ to 1.5″ additional in your overall measurement.

When you’ve got your measurements marked out, go to town with your hacksaw. It takes a little bit to get going, but if you’re reckless (read: drunk) you can cut through this stuff in 4 of 5 heavy-handed strokes. Don’t worry if the cut isn’t perfectly straight; it’ll be hidden by the joint anyway.

Inches and stuff, yo.

Step 2: Shove rod A into slot B

As I write this, I wonder if I really need to write it. These pieces fit together like LEGO.

Once you’ve gotten the pieces cut, shove them into the correct holes to make the parts you need. Start with the base. I made both end supports first, so that I could work upward from a (somewhat) solid base.

Makes 2 of these, and you’re like 1/4 the way done.

Step 3: Continue to hack and shove until you’ve created a rectangular base

You want your base to fit the width and depth dimensions of your space. If your space is narrow but deep (like mine) you should probably add supports to the middle of the base, to make sure it doesn’t buckle under the weight of your awesome clothes. I have several sweet-ass jackets that could surely destroy a lesser closet organizer.

As mentioned before, the joints are a tad longer than the pipe, so be sure to compensate for the new spacing when cutting the pipes to length. Protip: Don’t guess. Use the measuring tape. It will save you a ton of time and probably money.

So, this is pretty cool.

Step 4: Test fit the base/bask in your glory and drink beer

Before you go much further, make sure the base you’ve made fits the spot you’re trying to put it in.

If it doesn’t, go back to Step 2 and cut to length.

If it does, drink beer and brag about how awesome you are.

Step 5: Add the “hanger” part

The base is cool, but the whole point of this thing is to organize the closet. As such, you need to be able to hang things like dresses and pin-striped suits and Renaissance Faire outfits. Cut the PVC to a length your wife can reach, otherwise this project is moot.

If you want some added stability, include a cross-beam on one side of the organizer. This will allow for larger items to hang on one side and smaller items to hang on the other, while simultaneously keeping the whole thing from falling over.

Oh yea, you should probably add your casters now. Just super glue them to the bottom of the “tri-elbows.”

Also, go buy super glue.

Isn’t my basement awesome?

Step 6: Drive back to Lowes 3 different times to get the stuff you forgot

By now, you surely realize that you’re short on piping, casters, glue, joints, and beer. Drive back to Lowes to get whatever is missing. Go to the liquor store to get more beer.

Now, cut the rest of the pieces to length and stick them together. If your organizer has been built correctly, it should stand quite well on it’s own without human (or house elf) support.

I know it LOOKS like it is sagging in the middle. That’s because it is. I ended up adding 2 more casters, but I was too lazy to take pictures of it.

Step 7: Hang clothes

Put clothes on hangers. Put them on rack. ???. Success. High five wife. Drink beer.

How to Make your Wife Happy (and Organize your Tools like a Pro)

April 22, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

If you’re like me, you’re all “do” and “go” and very little “clean” and “organize.”

I have a lot of tools. Tiff has gotten to the point of rolling her eyes when my family gives me even more, obscure tools, to add to my ridiculous collection. While I’m not quite at the level of my Dad (who has any tool you’d ever need for anything plus a spare, just in case) I definitely have am impressive armory.

That armory, for all its repairman glory, is a big effing mess. I can never find anything I need, even though I know I have it…somewhere. I’ve even gotten to the point of buying replacement tools and supplies that I already own because I’ve given up trying to locate the original.

It’s bad.

“Oliver, it can’t be that bad”, you say. “You’re a reasonable person who hasn’t quite failed at life, so you’re probably just being hyperbolic, like usual.”

Oh yea? Behold, “The Pile”:

Seriously. You can't even see the stuff behind the other stuff. And this isn't even near all of my crap.

But now that the wedding is over and I have brief lull in the depraved sprint that is my life, I decided to make my new wife happy by cleaning the basement.

Supplies you’ll need:
-All of your tools (probably in a big pile)
-Your hands (preferably the ones at the ends of your arms)
-Beer (Yards IPA for me, hooray)

Cleaning up is sooooo much easier while drunk

Step 1: Eliminate the Garbage

First, get rid of all the trash. I’m sure by now you’ve collected hundreds of scraps of wood, drywall, and plastic, in addition to thousands of drywall anchors, random used screws, and other bits of unidentifiable metal. Good rule: if you haven’t needed a random piece left over from a new install it in two years, you can throw it away.

If the glue in the bottle has completely solidified, you can throw it away. If the tool or drill bit has rusted to the point of insta-tetanus, you can throw it away. If it is completely unidentifiable as anything you ever needed or will ever need, you can throw it away. Be judicious with your tossing.

This is not patina. This is me leaving a tool outside for weeks. You can throw this away.

Step 2: Consolidate

I find the easiest way to sort out a pile is to spread it out into smaller, catergorized piles. I made piles for screw drivers, wrenches, drill bits, painting supplies, saws, hex keys, random bits of uncategorizable stuff, knives, axes, stuff that should probably be upstairs with my computer parts, and pliers.

Once you’ve got your stuff in smaller piles, you can decide how you want to group them. I mentally took stock of what I use most often, and placed those in the uppermost drawers of my toolboxes.

Top drawer: screw drivers, knives, and adjustables. Middle drawer: wood clamps. Bottom drawer: hole drills, Grab-Its, socket extensions, pencils, other sundry drilling crap.

Step 3: Don’t fear the Bucket

I borrowed (stole) some great toolboxes from my Dad, but I can’t fit every tool I have into them and still be able to close the drawers. To that end, I started using a cheap, 5-gallon bucket to store my more unweidly tools.

A bucket works great for storing saws as you can place them blade down and not have to fear slicing your delicate writer hands on the vicious teeth. It’s also great for hammers, crowbars, axes, torque wrenches, grout floats, thinset spreaders, and anything else that just won’t fit into the confines of a small toolbox drawer.

The bucket can double as a brew bucket, if you use a lot of bleach.

Step 4: Organize the small stuff

Now that you’ve got the big stuff out of the way (or you should, and if you haven’t go back to step 3) you can focus on optimizing the organization of your tool boxes. The space in these is pretty limited, so it’s best to finagle the stuff for a while, trying to find the best fit.

Alternate screw drivers and paint brushes to get a pattern that takes the least space and looks the best. Do your best to line up similarly sized items to maximize the use of space.

Example of bad drawer organization:

The product of just throwing crap in a drawer for 2 years.

Example of good drawer organization:

Same drawer as the last picture, no shit.

Step 5: Put everything back in a manner that maximizes floor space

I shouldn’t have to explain this, so here’s a picture of “The Pile”, after about 2 hours of work.

The cats will undoubtedly be confused as to why you cleaned up their playland.

As soon as you’re done, call your wife to show off the results of your hard work. I recommend vacuuming before hand. She’ll probably be very happy with your work, and very appreciative that you’ve taken the initiative to clean up the mess that is your life.

How to Scuff up a Pair of Dress Shoes (And Build a Custom Cake Stand in the Process)

April 16, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

Sometimes, when a man and woman love each other very much, they spend 11 months planning a ridiculously elaborate 8-hour event, otherwise known as a “Wedding.”

I was recently part of this marathon event planning session and was responsible for many of labor intensive, made-of-wood decorative features.

The corn hole boards were one. A croquet stand was another. But the crowning jewel of my pre-matrimonial chores was a custom made wooden cake stand.

We shopped around before I started. eBay. Etsy. Smelly and dangerous local flea markets. Everything was either too expensive, or too not-at-all-appropriate for our wedding. We almost gave up hope. We almost bought pre-fab.

I know, I know. Craftsman blasphemy and all that.

I decided, after having viewed a few dozen online, that I could totally make one of these things myself.

With the wedding fast approaching, and our free time quickly dwindling, I used the fading twilight of a post-work Tuesday evening to stomp around in the woods, dressed in my corporate finest. I was looking for a big stick, roughly 4-6″ in diameter. I was under strict orders to make sure it had lots of bark intact.

I finally found one, rolled up my sleeves, and in the waning sunlight, wielded my ripsaw with a fury unexpected from someone wearing a button-down.

Tools you’ll need:

-Power saw (Jig, reciprocating, or band preferable. I used a miter because I’m cheap and unprofessional)
-Regular saw (I used a foldable FatMax™ to do fine cuts)
-Glue (Lots of it. Epoxy would also work. I used Gorilla Glue™)
-Wood stain (I chose a dark walnut to match the subtle cashew of the tree wood and the pistachio of the bark)
-A piece of stain-grade wood (Something that doesn’t need sanding, preferably, because sanding sucks)
-A big stick that you found in the woods
-Beer (I didn’t get a picture of it, but I was drinking Bass Pale Ale)

Oh, a tape measure and a pencil are also a good idea if you’re into accuracy.

Step 1: Cut the big stick you found in the woods into equally sized pieces to make the legs for the stand

With proper tools, this shouldn’t be too hard. I did not have proper tools. My stick was bent at a funny angle, but I measured out four, 5″ sections that were straight enough for my purposes.

I shoved the stick into my miter saw, hoping it would fit. It kind of did. It took a few heavy-handed “BZZZZZZTs” to finally get through each piece. Lots of barks fell off as I did this. I hid it from my wife and planned to glue it on later.

You may have to make additional smaller cuts to get the piece exactly level.

This is a leftover piece that got stuck in the saw. I swear I didn’t just stand it up like that for a good photo. I swear.

Step 2: Stain what is to become the “stand” portion of the cake stand

If you bought the right wood, you shouldn’t have to sand it at all. If you didn’t you weren’t listening to me and you should feel bad.

Open your stain carefully, and do not accidentally hit it with your elbow, spill it all over the deck, and have to go back to Lowes to buy another can before you even start. Trust me on that one.

It is much easier to stain a flat piece of wood using a soft cloth, as opposed to a brush. Note: if you care about your hands being a completely different color than the rest of your body for a week, I recommend wearing gloves. Or you can be like me and not realize how badly wood stain stains, and have to explain your new skin to your coworkers come Monday.

Rub the stain with the grain of the wood. This will bring out all of the nice looking wood features.

Feel free to just pour the can all over the wood and mop up any excess. It will only make kind of a total mess.

Step 3: Let dry, drink beer

Pretty self explanatory.

Step 4: Use an insane amount of glue to cement the legs to the bottom of the stand

My wife didn’t want ugly screws or woodfiller marring the beautifully stained wood. I don’t have any plug cutters, so I couldn’t even try to do the job correctly. On top of that, my au naturale stand legs were hollow in some places, which would have made driving screws very difficult.

So, as any good craftsman should do, I said, “Screw it, I’ll glue it.”

I used about half a bottle of Gorilla Glue on each leg (slight exaggeration). As anyone familiar with the product knows, it expands, filling any gaps it can find. It overflowed and spilled down the legs of my cake stand, which actually ended up looking pretty cool, so I left it and claimed it was deliberate.

Once you’ve got the glue applied, carefully center your newly stained top on the legs. Use a level to make sure the cake won’t come sliding off. Once it is decently balanced, put a bunch of crap on top of it and go away for a few hours.

I supposed I could have clamped it, but clamps aren’t overly photogenic. Two-by-fours and old cans of stain totally are, though.

Step 5: Have an incredibly talented photographer named Matt take pictures of your cake stand to make your work look way better than it actually is

I don’t need to say much here. Just look. I think he was trained by Gandalf.

It tastes even better than it looks.

Being married is awesome.

How to turn a simple job into a complicated one (And change the pull cord on a mower)

March 18, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

Spring!

Time for allergies and mosquito bites and repairing all of the yard tools you broke in the Fall. Time to make the yard look pretty so you can drive around snobbishly saying, “pfft, our yard looks way better than their yard.”

The first thing I needed to fix was the mower. I have a sturdy old John Deere (JA-62 if anyone cares) that has cut down more than its fair share of evil grass blades over the years. I’ve changed its oil, air filter, sharpened and re-positioned its blade. When being lazy last year and mowing up leaves instead of raking them, I accidentally tore through the ten year old nylon pull cord.

But hey, it’s just a pull cord, easy fix, right?

No, wrong. It probably should be an easy fix, but when I’m involved, things gets stupid complicated stupid fast.

The culprit:

It went from fine to frayed to filament to fuuuuuu, in record time.

Step 1: Gather your tools

You will need:

-A Phillips head screwdriver (or drill with Phillips head bit)

-A flat head screwdriver (or same as above, with a different bit, obviously)

-Sockets of various sizes (depending on your make/model of modest mower)

-A socket extension or socket screwdriver attachment (to leverage or not to leverage, that is the boring question)

-Beer (your choice)

Since it was slightly overcast today, I chose Smuttynose IPA.

Step 2: Remove the shroud and gas tank

To get at the housing for the pull cord, you need to take the mower completely to pieces. If you find yourself removing big, tight bolts and looking into the crankcase, you’ve gone way, way too far.

Remove the shroud (aka pointless plastic mower-helmet). Mine was secured with two longish Phillips head screws.

Once the shroud has been removed, you’ll need to remove the gas tank. This is a great time to spill gasoline all over your shoes and jeans, if you haven’t done so already.

This is also a good time to note what other parts probably definitely need replacing, so you won’t be shocked when they break. I noticed how ragged and leaky my gas supply hose was, and I took a picture of it so you can commiserate with my future repair job.

There was a chick on TLC's "My Strange Addiction" who drank gasoline. Beer is cheaper.

Step 3: Remove the weird thingy that contains the wound up pull cord

There should be a few bolts holding the pulley/flywheel/wind up thingy in place. Check to make sure you aren’t just removing screws at random; I accidentally removed the throttle cable and it was a total bitch to put back on without a lot of swearing and kicking.

One weird thing to note with this piece: you’ll also remove the oil dip stick when you pull it loose. From my research, this is normal for all types of mowers, so don’t judge your mower too harshly. It’s what nature intended.

Once removed, flip this piece over to find the pulley that hides the cord. If you’ve made it this far in under an hour without calling anyone for help, you win the “better than the writer of this article” award.

Turbines to speed!

Step 4: Remove old pull cord

Using your flat head screw driver, remove the screw that holds the pulley in place.

Spoiler alert: this thing is under tension and will jump out at you like one of the “can-o-snakes” from the 90s. Set your beer down before proceeding.

If your pulley housing looks like this, you’ve either done everything perfectly, or screwed it all up:

Surprise! You get to spend more money than you thought!

Ignore the mess you’ve made, and continue to remove the old cord. If the pulley spring is getting in your way, just detach the little hooks from either end and set it aside for now.

Most mowers are surprisingly simple. The pull cord is probably just knotted on both ends. Cut the cord using a sweet, sharp knife, and set it in the corner of shame (the trash can).

While less popular than "Rock, Paper, Scissors", "Knife, Rope, Pulley" found some use in the small engine/farmer's market crowd.

I know this step is getting kind of long, so you’ve probably wandered off. Stay with me! I promise rewards!

Next, remove and cut the cord from the handle, making space for your new cord. You’ll probably have to stick something (a screwdriver, twig, lightsaber themed chopstick) into the handle to get the knot dislodged.

I have no idea why my pinky decided to go all "fancy-pants holding a martini glass" while taking this picture. Feel free to make fun.

Step 5: Attach the new cord and re-coil your pulley

Because trying to order directly from the John Deere website was like chiseling my request into limestone and sending it via barefoot courier, I went to Lowes and bought a universal mower pull cord. It wasn’t quite as nice as my original cord, but beggars and choosers and all that.

Note: The Lowes staff does not appreciate a random, dirty dude walking around their store taking pictures of their products.

Push the new string through the hole in the pulley and tie a knot. I have a tendency to tighten knots using my teeth. Don’t do that in this situation, unless you like the taste of dirt, gasoline, nylon, and used motor oil.

Now comes the most excitingly annoying part of the whole process: rewinding the pulley. You have to take the part that sprang out at you and carefully coil it all back into the center of the pulley. Fair warning: this make take multiple attempts.

Ultimately, you want it to look like this:

Much harder to do that it looks, if it looks simple.

Step 6: Replace and wind up the pulley

Now that the new cord has a new home, you can start to rebuild your mower. The pulley mechanism has two small plastic “wings” that act as a stopper and cause the wheel to wind back up once it’s pulled. Be sure to line these up correctly, otherwise your cord won’t rewind at all and will hang limply, like a very sad, very dead fish.

Winding the cord up is relatively simple. Before you tighten down the flat head screw, turn the entire pulley clockwise, pulling more cord into the center of the device. If you are doing it correctly, the “wings” will resist and pop out, spinning the entire contraption backwards a little bit.

You need to wind it up more than you would think. Don’t leave enough cord to reach all the way to handle holder, as this won’t create enough tension to pull the cord back into the pulley.

These are the aforementioned "wings." They work sort of like a yo-yo. But not really.

Step 7: Test

Replace all the parts you took off, and give the pull cord a yank. If the mower starts AND the cord retracts fully, you win!

If not, you lose. Repeat Step 6 until you have wound the cord to the sufficient tension.

Step 8: Mow you magnificent bastard, mow

Victory! You saved your mower’s life. You are a hero to your backyard. I’m sure the hydrangeas will throw you a parade.

At this point, dance a celebratory dance. Or not. Your call.

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