<p dir="ltr">So, Joe, did it work for ya? Or do you still have a junk closet under the stairs? We don't want to know if you used the lube...</p>
<p dir="ltr">We don't have a junk drawer, oddly enough. We do have a drawer that holds kitchen appliance manuals, batteries in a Ziploc bag to be recycled, and stamps and envelopes. My wife cleared out all the junk and won't let me put random things in there anymore. :-)</p>
<p dir="ltr">-Steve</p>
<div class="gmail_quote">On Oct 25, 2015 8:31 AM, "Joe Johns via Woodworkers" <<a href="mailto:woodworkers@lists.sawdusters.org">woodworkers@lists.sawdusters.org</a>> wrote:<br type="attribution"><blockquote class="gmail_quote" style="margin:0 0 0 .8ex;border-left:1px #ccc solid;padding-left:1ex"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">It's a well-known and documented fact that every household in the free world has a junk drawer. Ohh, don't you sit there shaking your head! You might know it by a different name, but I know you have one.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">The only people who don't have <i>junk drawers</i> are the villagers who live in mud huts in Africa. What they have are junk niches. See, what they do is, when they build their hut they have to wait until it dries really, really good in the hot African sunlight. Then, they go inside, take a sharp stick and carve out niches in the walls of the hut. One of them gets to be their junk niche.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">I know it's hard to believe but it's true. Being a woodworker I know it's damn near impossible to get a drawer front to properly fit a dome shaped mud hut. Besides, if some woodworking genius other than myself could do so then pretty much all of the drawer would be sticking outside the wall of the hut. This would allow other villagers to walk by and steal their junk. Therefore, that is why they have inside niches.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">I've obviously cleared that up so I shall move on.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">It's the same thing with the civilized world - you move into a house, you walk into the kitchen and without so much as a fleeting thought, you instantly pick a drawer that will forevermore be known as the j<i>unk drawer</i>. Ya know what? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say unless you're moving into a brand new home that the drawer you picked was the exact same drawer picked by the person living there before you.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">Just because I said 'every household in the free world...' doesn't mean I agree with it. My household is the sole exception to my earlier declaration. </div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">See, I think a <i>junk drawer</i> is an indication of slothfulness. Indeed, the indolent nature and desire of someone having something in their hand and, for want of an intelligent decision on where it should really be placed, it gets thrown into the <i>junk drawer</i>. Scissors, nail clippers, Scotch tape dispensers, balloons and snapped birthday candles, one shoelace, a couple batteries (none of them are the same size and both are dead) - the list is endless and the drawer brimming.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">In fact, I'm willing to bet when people move out of a house that they have a box labelled "Junk Drawer". I mean, think about it, it's a whole lot easier to dump the drawer's contents into a box than to sort through it, right? So, when they get to the new place and the instant decision on which drawer will be their new <i>junk drawer</i> has been made, they dump in the whole box; think of it as being the proliferation of pestilence.<br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">Here's a vivid picture for ya...<br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">You come home from a long day of working for the man, you crawl into the house on your hands and knees and onward to the living room where you claw up onto the couch and, with the little strength you have left, you pick up the TV remote and it doesn't work. The screen says, "Hey, Dummy! I told you to replace the batteries two weeks ago!". Meanwhile, your wife is upstairs sorting out the remaining fifty-six moving boxes; each of them labelled, "Clothes I outgrew 5 years ago".</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">You yell at the ceiling, "Honnnneeey, where are the batteries?"</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">She yells at the floor, "In the kitchen, in the junk drawer."</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">"Awww, shit," You say with great trepidation, "I'd have better luck finding them on the Moon, I'll be in there for hours."</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">That's why I don't have a junk drawer.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">What I do have is a junk pit - it's under the stairs. It's that dank, dark, dismal and almost useless space created when you have stairs leading to another floor that morphed into a planetary black hole and sucks up everything coming near it.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">Here, I'll help you out...imagine an indoor landfill.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">A couple months ago I was forced to go into the landfill to look for a windshield cleaning thingy - ya know, the ones you see at filling stations with the handle sticking out of a bucket of water and has a sponge on one side and a rubber squeegee on the other? I knew I had one and after extensive searching elsewhere and not finding it, I reasoned it had to be under the stairs.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">Holy crud, it was like Fibber McGee's closet! Ice skates from the 50's, picture frames with people nobody in the house knew, old boxes of laundry soap, broom and mop handles, old toasters and other kitchen gadgets, you name it and it was under there. One of the things I found was a brush; a most odd and strangely shaped brush. I held it in my hands and studied it really, really long and hard. The more I looked at it, the more I was left puzzled. The end was much smaller in diameter than the rest leading me to suspect it was meant to be easily inserted into something but I had no idea what that something was. I took it to the shop and set it on the back counter and left it there figuring I could at least cut off and use the wooden dowel handle and maybe the brush in some future capacity.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">Fast forward to yesterday, I'm in the shop, the outside temperature was 24° and the inside a balmy 45°. Now, I don't know about you but I didn't clamber to the top of the food chain to work in temperatures I can't control; it was time to fire up the wood stove and while it gained intensity I walked to the other end of the shop to lay some things down on the workbench. That was when I seen the brush - ohh, I had seen it many times since placing it there those couple months back but I had never really <b>SEEN</b> it for what I could do with it on this day.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">I left skid marks racing home to print out a certificate then ripped back to the shop, made a frame, cut the glass - I was on a very important mission, a mission that couldn't wait. At one point I shook my fists and hollered at the ceiling, "This is my quest! This is my destiny! People coming into the Twisted Knot Woodshop absolutely need to see this!"</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><img src="cid:ii_ig6njcnj0_1509f8ca2cd0cddf" width="422" height="562"><br><img src="cid:ii_ig6njcoc1_1509f8ca2cd0cddf" width="562" height="422"><br> </div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-size:small">-- <br></div><div><div dir="ltr"><div>Joe,<br></div><div>The Twisted Knot Woodshop, "There's never been a classier joint"</div><div>Visit the Twisted Knot Woodshop - <a href="http://www.twistedknotwoodshop.com" target="_blank">http://www.twistedknotwoodshop.com</a></div></div></div>
</div>
<br>_______________________________________________<br>
Have you ever wondered how the rock, paper and scissors settle an argument?<br>
<a href="mailto:Woodworkers@lists.sawdusters.org">Woodworkers@lists.sawdusters.org</a><br>
<br>
To unsubscribe from this list -<br>
<a href="http://lists.sawdusters.org/listinfo.cgi/woodworkers-sawdusters.org" rel="noreferrer" target="_blank">http://lists.sawdusters.org/listinfo.cgi/woodworkers-sawdusters.org</a><br>
<br></blockquote></div>