Beware the Aisles of Merch

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Recently, Best Made Co. in New York, they of the high-end outdoor gear, did a search for the great American hardware store. Our local shrine to tool shops from a bygone era made the cut and the catalog cover. And I am here, friend, to spread the Good News about Kraftco.

Kraftco is one of those labyrinthine stores over which one must develop and demonstrate mastery. Through this process one acquires not only useful tools and fasteners but, more importantly, a sense of accomplishment.

When you are new there, you do not go looking for things. You ask where they are. Then the man behind the counter will nod sagely, say he's pretty sure they've still got 12-gauge Romex with ground in stock, and he will grab a map, a torch, and a crumbling copy of the Necronomicon ex Mortis. Do not allow him to get more than three steps ahead if you value your life or those molly bolts you're looking for.

Last year they caused a local uproar by bringing in computers to handle sales and inventory. People felt betrayed.

My favorite Kraftco story centers around my dear friend Claire, who went shopping there one day and walked up to the counter with a big tub of boric acid and a machete. They really do have everything.

Anyway, the old-timer behind the counter eyeballed her purchases and said "So. Whatchoo gonna do with all this?"

Claire, who is possibly 5'4" in heels and who I would not mess with for love or money, looked our man dead in the eye and said, and I'm quoting here, "There's going to be a reckoning."

He said not another word, just nodded and rang her up, then dutifully followed her to the parking lot to take down her license plate.

Down here we call that full service.

The Cost

Love a thing, carry a thing, that thing has power. I don't think talismans get much more complicated than that.

Got a couple recently. My parents came down to visit, which they only get to do once or twice a year. Brought magic stuff. Gifts. History.

First was this:

New workbench

New workbench

The top's made from a door my dad salvaged out of my grandmother's neighbor's house. Solid doors, if you do not know, make good workbench tops. The corners are square, the surfaces level and true. So he took that door, filled the voids in it, built a finished edge around it, added a tool tray and a vise, and made a replaceable work surface out of hardboard. Boom, new bench top.

My parents and I spent the weekend building the legs and shelf together. We made a hinged contraption that allows the bench to roll on wheels if you want to move it. We added adjustable feet to level the thing out. And then they went home, leaving this piece of themselves behind.

I love it almost too much to use it. Silly, I know, but I dread marking it up. Worst thing you can do with your tools is revere them.

Then there was this:

Pocket watch

Pocket watch

There was a woman named Molly McGee. Molly wasn't her real name, but everyone called her Molly and her husband Fibber. Molly took care of me during those times when my parents couldn't. She was an octogenarian babysitter, and she kept up.

I have only the faintest memories. Her helping me color. Playing hide-and-seek. In those last days, me begging her to come tuck me in at nap time and her telling me that no, I'm sorry, my legs (knees? feet?) just can't take that staircase.

It's curious how the love grows in inverse proportion to the memories, that she can loom so large in me despite my inability to conjure her face. I remember that goddamn staircase, though. How unfair it was that she couldn't come up to pull the blankets over me and kiss me. That part's Technicolor.

And so she died and so her watch came into my father's care and one day I mentioned wanting a pocket watch and he handed me hers and I just...stopped. And turned the thing over and over. The way you would a dinosaur bone or a moon rock.

He took pains to restore it. He wanted me to rely on it as I once relied on her. And now I have it, this small gold heartbeat in my pocket. And I get to take it out and wind it. And I get to think of her. That's a talisman. It keeps her alive. That's its power.

So it is with the workbench. I look at it and that thing that lives at the center of me shudders. It knows that one day I will no longer have a father. It knows that when that day comes I'll go out to the garage to grab my drill or pullsaw or a box of screws, and I'll see that bench. And I'll have to scrape myself off the floor.

That's the cost, though. Anyone who writes stories in which magic doesn't have a cost is a hack and a liar. Keeping my dad alive after he's dead will demand payment. As does time traveling to 1980 every time I reach into my pocket to see when I can go home. As did Molly's love.

As for the bench, I gotta mark that bastard up. It's not a tombstone. It's not an altar. It is a place for becoming. A place for the future, not the past. The future requires that you make a mess. That's its cost.

Fizzy Lifting Drink

So we're going to set aside the navel gazing for a second. A pointing arrow has cropped up, two people in as many days bringing up the same topic independently of each other. I feel the universe is guiding me toward making the Internet and your lives better.

We need to talk about you nerds and your Sodastreams.

Look, I get it. Bubbly water is both amazing and versatile. I understand the burning passion that a man has for a crisp, refreshing, hydrating beverage that tickles his palate and settles an upset stomach.

Make a simple syrup with peaches or berries or ginger or even celery seed (I shit you not), and you've got a soda. Mix it with booze for a cocktail. And may Shub-Niggurath, The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, spare MetaFilter user Greg Nog for his idea of cold-brewed fizzy coffee. Motherfucker changed my world with that.

Yes, I get it. Your passion is mine. But why why why must you constantly be bobbling out to Williams-Sonoma to swap your booby-trapped proprietary charger cartridges, only to find out they're out of stock? Why must you limit yourself so? Don't get me wrong, I'm no open-source zealot, but you're grundle-punching yourself here.

You guys? Homebrew that shit.

It takes a couple of parts ordered online, a trip to a home improvement store, and then a quick jaunt out to a welding supply shop. Twenty minutes of assembly later, and you have months of ozone-destroying beverage pleasure. And it's cheaper even than a Sodastream, long term. (Protip: Get the adapter they link at the bottom rather than build the bike valve thing, unless you really need your water super fizzy)

But middleclasstool, you say, why would I spend that time and effort building that myself when I can just buy the Sodastream and get it running in five minutes? Besides, there's a model that looks like a penguin!

Listen to me, you fucking Philistine.

If you have a Sodastream, odds are you're a nerd. If you're a nerd, then you understand that spending even two hours setting up a tool that saves you five minutes of work every time you use it will pay dividends. You drop your money on Textexpander to save you seconds or minutes per day because you know those minutes will add up to hours and days and weeks and months. You're Backblazing your Tent node right now, aren't you, pervert?

This one day of work is going to save you at least a year's worth of errands. Me, I get bubbles whenever I want. I have never known the pain of having a charger run out on me when I'm ready for my fizz. Sometimes I get really mad at Al Gore and I turn it on and let it go, and I still have plenty left in the tank for my bubbles. You need to embrace this liberty and all the sexy ladies that will come with it.

I am a voice of one crying in the wilderness. Make straight the way of the seltzer.

Rise, My Creation, Your Master Commands

You've probably figured out that tools are important to me. I spend a lot of time thinking about them, and I like to write about them too.

Problem is that most of the tools I rely on every day are, predictably enough, software, and there's already a big crowd of people who write about software and getting work done. There's Sven and there's Patrick and there's Sparky and there's Eddie and there's Drang and there's Brettsy von Terpington and there's Merlin and there's Merlin and there's Merlin and there's more besides. I don't feel like trying to duplicate their success.

I was ruminating on this the other day when I had made my third failed attempt at a post I still haven't given up on about how I use alerts and notifications to emulsify awesome sauce. I found myself slipping into doing some variation on the sort of thing I read in my RSS feeds every day, and let's face it, if I do that, there's really no point to this place.

That got me wondering what the point of this place is, and I was surprised at how difficult that question was to answer. I thought on that for days, and then a very scary career opportunity presented itself, and the answer tumbled out of my skull.

I was trying to get work done but had just finished one of those conversations that completely derails your brain with scary possibilities, and as a result, I was worse than useless. I was literally experiencing a mild fight-or-flight response thinking about it, swept up in a mix of exhilaration and the sort of terror one feels when confronted with the dead-eyed ghost of a six-year-old Japanese girl.

I had anti-focus. I knew I had to process it before I could get anything done, so I started typing, and eventually, the following came out.

A note before we dig in: Please pardon the grandiosity (and random perspective-shifting). I tend to tinge purple when I'm brain-dumping and I hadn't intended it for public consumption, but I don't think I should edit it too heavily, for honesty's sake.

This is what I wrote:

The thing is that you are meant to do something on this earth. You are meant to change things in some small way. That is why you were given hands and a mind and a heart and legs. You were meant to do things that make people's lives better. You certainly were meant to always be working to make yourself better. This [opportunity] is the devil you don't know, sure. But would you rather be impotent and underused?

This thing in me that wants to live, I want to let it, and I'm not sure of how. I worry about the costs. But I desperately want it to live. Sometimes it seems I can physically feel it burning in my chest, and I don't know if that's real or not, but I damn near don't care because it feels alive.

The job's not going to give me that. No job is, unless it's a very special one. I'm not sure that even necromancing my old dream of being a decently-paid writer would do it for me, not really. Once you're doing what you love, the trick is to keep loving what you're doing. And how many people get paid to write what they want?

That sense of being alive, I've found it in music and art and books and women and movies and funerals and Jennifer and the birth of my children and I'm hungry for more of it. I want to find it in me, in my life.

"Your life is coming to you," I hear that thing say, and I think, it's here. I'm living it. What else is there?

To build something, for starters. To feed and amplify wonder. To make others feel a hunger and longing for that feeling and to be lost in it.

You can write about OmniFocus. You can write about notifications. You can write about clutter and focus and tools and tricks, but it should always be connected to your heart and your fear and your life and your longing for something you're not sure exists. That is your blog. The intersection of tools and dreams, usefulness and impracticality, fear and longing and love and sex and giving and meaning and failure. A glorious Kurt Vonnegut butthole-shaped crossroads of life.

That is The Tool Shed. Looking for a way to build dreams and change out of the things of this earth. Talking about the stuff we all know but don't say. Finding a way to help that thing live. Not a whole lot of blogging about that.

Now look at notifications and OmniFocus and tools and your job in THAT light, fucker. Where are the angels and goblins in your contexts?

Woof. Is that Bill Shakespeare? I don't have my glasses on.

But I hope the gist is clear: that thing at the center of me lies mostly beyond my comprehension, but I'm pretty sure it is at least partly a call to do work. Not necessarily my job, not even necessarily an avocation like this place, but something that matters, something that changes things in some small way. I can't quite shake that loose.

I'm only now starting to get comfortable with the idea that all life is searching, that when you feel like you've arrived, it's pretty much all over. So if this site really does last and is to be anything, it is to be a chronicle of that searching, with a keen eye on keeping it bullshit-free.

I'm encouraged by the surprising level of reaction I've gotten from people who have read this site and the new friends I've made because of it, but the real reason I know this place is on the right track is that every time I write something like this, I'm choking down panic. That means it's worthwhile, because it means I'm selling my heart.

Now I think I'll call my shot: Spinning the Wheel of Topics, the next post will be about trying to spend more time acting and less time reacting.

Happy Birthday, Brett.

A very happy birthday to Brett Terpstra.

Who is Brett Terpstra?

I'm just delighted you asked.

This is a list of stuff Brett Terpstra has made.. Most of it he has given away for free. Don't know what that stuff is? That's okay. It's nerdy stuff, but it's important nerdy stuff. Stuff that has changed my workflow and vastly improved my life. Stuff that is so important for my writing that I actually lug my MacBook to work so I can write on it, then transfer the files to my Windows work laptop so I can give them to my bosses so they can be all oh, mct, you're so talented and handsome, and just look at your document formatting, can we do the sex now?

Brett's stuff is mostly related to plaintext writing and Markdown, which I've written about here before. Just as weaning myself off of fast food has decreased my tolerance of it, so has abandoning word processors for plaintext nerdery made me apoplectic with rage after five minutes in Word. Brett is basically the Whole Foods of dorks.

More accurately, he's a mad scientist. A really, really nerdy mad scientist who makes awesome things that help people. He's a toolmaker, and so he has my love. Personally, I can't imagine writing without Marked, I use his OS X services to clean up my work, and since I discovered his tools for my favorite text editor, things have gotten even better.

I use his tools every day. That's what she said. Where's the beef?

Brett, happy birthday. Congratulations on your work and your new podcast. You make the internet and my life better.

I mean this in the nicest way imaginable, Brett: you are my Tool of the Week.

iHate

I guess we can call this a Tool of the $TIMEPERIOD post, as it's about a handly little thing I discovered recently. It's not an object, exactly, more of a process, and I haven't been doing it for very long, but I think it has some serious potential.

I've started keeping an "I Hate" list. Stay with me, it's more positive than it sounds. But I need to back up for a minute.

My job is to provide technical support to people who go into physician offices, look for things that aren't working, and try to root those problems out. It's about increasing efficiency, training doctors to take a broader view of their patient populations, and put in better processes for preventive and chronic disease care.

The process is a pretty straightforward one: First you identify something that's not working the way it should. Once you've done that, you do what's called a "root cause analysis", which is essentially reverse-engineering the problem to figure out why it's happening in the first place. After that, it's a matter of rapid-cycle testing: propose a fix for the problem, test it out immediately on a small scale, and watch what happens. If your change works, great, spread it out across the practice, and if not, analyze why not and work on a better plan. Rinse, repeat.

This is a stunningly simple thing that is often very difficult to do well. When you're new to it, the hardest part of it (for me, anyway) is training your brain to catch the problems in the first place. It's easy to get complacent about things being The Way They Are and acclimate yourself to annoyances and idiocies to the extent that you barely even notice them.

The job's been worming its way into my brain. It's slowly gotten me thinking about the things in my life that could stand an un-sucking. Like buying my iPad, for instance—I was stunned to discover that I usually prefer using it to my laptop, unless I need to do something it flat-out can't handle. Why?

No power cords. Ten-hour battery. Lightweight. Easy to rest on the arm of my chair. It doesn't gently roast my testicles while I use it. It doesn't erect a partial barrier between me and the rest of the room. It's as pleasant and easy to plop in your lap as a book.

In short, it made me aware of a half-dozen or so minor annoyances that come from using even something as portable and convenient as a laptop computer, annoyances I'd gotten so used to that they barely registered with me. Hello iPad, bye-bye frustrations, and my life gets a little more un-sucked.

Enter the "I Hate" list.

It's a simple concept. You write down things that you hate. Not things like racism or Sean Hannity or the New York Yankees (things that are equally horrible), but things that you encounter in your daily life that you find to be at least moderately unpleasant. They may be things, but mostly they'll be tasks you perform.

So, as an example this morning, I noted that I hate tracking email conversations in Outlook, because Outlook does not by default group messages by conversation the way GMail does. I thought on it some, then went looking for a hack.

Turns out I didn't need one. Outlook 2010 allows you to turn this on as a setting. Even better, it gives you some surprisingly awesome tools for managing conversations that even GMail doesn't have. My morning went from dull to nerd-giddy in five minutes, and I spread the word to my teammates about what I'd learned. From "I hate" to improving company efficiency in fifteen minutes or less. And now every day has a tiny little bit less friction.

So I'm applying this life-wide. I keep a little text file called iHate.txt in my Dropbox (that's an affiliate link—if you sign up through it, we both get more storage for free), and any time I hit an annoyance, I whip out my phone and append a new line to it. It's already growing at a good clip, and I'm doing root cause analyses to find what's behind those lifeturds.

Turns out a lot of it has to do with clutter, of both the physical and metaphorical varieties. Which necessitates a plan. Which I am now working on, a tiny bit at a time.

Surprisingly positive experience, thinking about things that you hate. Every splinter identified is a splinter that can be tweezed away. And now is the season of the tweezening.

Internet Am Hard

I spent several hours trying to write a post about what a disruptive technology simple portability has been to my life. It was going to start with the transition of my adoration from laptop to tablet (particularly when traveling), describe how it brought to my attention a thousand little annoyances in life that I'd gotten far too used to, segue to the deplorable state of my cluttered home, and end with a discussion of my growing resolve to apply what I learned from computing and travel and simplify my life as much as possible. I'd blather on for a bit about some of the ethical implications therein.

Then I realized I was unconsciously attempting to rewrite this excellent post by Ben Hammersley, and immediately felt embarrassed, because his is far better than mine would have been.

So go read that one instead. It's brilliant.

Plain is Sexy

An earlier iteration of my blog featured a “tool of the week” bit that I abandoned after cracking under the pressure of coming up with one every single week. But I loved writing those posts and have never given up my fondness for tools, so I figure I’ll keep doing them sporadically here. If for no other reason than that all posts can’t be as navel-gazey as the last one.

So I’ll lighten the mood a little and bore you instead by talking about writing workflows and software. Six of you will care, but this is where I spend most of my day, and I feel like talking about it.

Still around? Hokay.

I’m rapidly becoming convinced that John Gruber’s excellent Markdown syntax is one of the greatest things that ever happened to writing on computers. He developed it as an easier way of writing and reading HTML documents by stripping out all the tags and extra cruft and replacing them with simple symbols. Write up a simplified plain-text document, run it through a script to convert it to HTML, and blammo, web page made with considerably less work.

John’s a very smart guy, but I’m not sure he realized what he’d done there, not at first. By abstracting the details of writing HTML, he hadn’t just created a shorthand. He’d damn near created a meta-language, something that could be run through any number of different programs to create any number of different types of documents. With the right set of tools, you could easily turn a Markdown document into an RTF document, a PDF, theoretically anything.

Enter Fletcher Penney and MultiMarkdown, which has utterly changed the way I do business. It takes Gruber’s original syntax and adds very little (I believe Penney only added syntax for creating tables and footnotes), but allows you to process it into a number of formats: HTML, LaTeX (and thence to PDF), OPML, and Open Document Format (which from there can be converted to RTF, Word, or Pages formats).

Gruber’s creation kicked off a minor revolution in writing and developing for the web, and it’s now leaking into offices and writer’s workflows as well. An pornographic amount of software has sprung up around it, particularly for OS X, but really everywhere.

Why use it? Well, partly because you hate Microsoft Office. Yes, you do.

I’m what some might term a “power user” of Office, as I’ve gone so far as to create Excel spreadsheets embedded with hand-written VBA code that creates and emails Word documents on the fly. I’ll be the first to praise Office’s power, as it is indeed as powerful as Satan’s own broccoli farts, but actually using it is about as pleasant as inhaling said farts. It’s the word processing equivalent of going to Walmart.

So there’s that. There’s also the question of portability. I’m writing this right now in Markdown on an iPad, but I could open it on any computer from any decade since punch cards went out. You don’t have to worry about what happens if your favorite software dies out or starts sucking. You don’t have to worry about operating systems or versions.

So on. I’d be willing to bet a lot of you are nerdy enough to be familiar, so I won’t go on. But I love it. I take all my meeting and conference notes in Markdown. I write up reports and quality control plans in Markdown. I rub Markdown all over my chest before bedtime every night. It gets out of my way and lets me work.

But the most amusing effect of Markdown’s growing adoption is seeing a surge in popularity of that nerdiest of tools: the humble text editor.

No frills, no buttons (well, hopefully not), no “ribbon”, no bullshit. A window, a blinking cursor, and what you want to write. Like Markdown itself, a good text editor gets out of your way.

Me, I started with Emacs, the (almost literal) 800-pound gorilla of text editors. I got into it partly for efficiency, partly for nerd cred, but also partly for the glorious wonderment that is org-mode. I left org and Emacs only with a great wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Why? Early signs of repetitive strain injury. Emacs relies on key combinations that require a certain amount of manual acrobatics, and they took their toll on my forearms. So I left for the dark side and learned Vim.

I quickly learned that I loved Vim’s commands, but loathed Vim itself. I began to despair. I found a way to use Emacs with vim’s keybindings, but that was starting to feel like a Rube Goldberg contraption, so I reached out to my fellow nerds. They introduced me to Sublime Text.

Hoo boy, is it aptly named. Runs on all three major operating systems, is easily configurable, and it can even be set up to use (some) vim keybindings. For a guy like me, this is like being given a bisexual Christina Hendricks covered in heroin and bearing a large bag of cash. And then learning that the Star Wars prequels never happened. Something something LEGO.

That’s where I’ve been ever since, Markdowning my happy ass away in Sublime (and Nebulous Notes on my iPad). I could probably count how many times I use Word each month without having to take my shoes off. And let me tell you, brethren and sisteren, that is when you can stop farting around and start building giant killer robots.

Is it for everyone? No. Converting to your preferred document format isn’t hard, but it was built for nerds. If you don’t get a product with built-in MultiMarkdown support, you either need to be able to use a command line without panicking or have a nerd on hand to simplify using it. So there’s a learning curve, but it’s worth it. The reward is the sheer simplicity of writing and formatting text.

So to Mr. Gruber and Mr. Penney, you have my eternal gratitude. You’ve made how I work so much better.

Apps with Markdown/MultiMarkdown Support