June 6, 2007 - Wednesday

June 6, 2007 - Wednesday
someone around here needs a life

I like big tools.

I'm not referring to Vin Diesel, or Rob Schneider, who is a smaller tool. I'm talking about those tools designed by men, for men, that make loud noises, shake dramatically, and require all your strength to keep control of.

I came upon this realization the other day when I had, in my hand, a Simonize SL 1400 High Pressure Water Cleaner. The thing shoots out 10 liters of water a minute and is quoted as being a "serious water blaster" by people that know about such things. I was using this beast to strip paint off of garage door, and as soon as I plugged in the hose and turned the thing on I knew I was dealing with one bad motherfucker. The amount of water coming out of the nozzle –adjustable to 'wide' and 'focused' spray– was a super-torrent that could easily disintegrate a small dog or strip the flesh off of a charging salesman.

And, there is a reason why small children are not allowed near such machines. It's not just for fear of them driving their eyeball to the back of their skulls by the shear force of the water. No, it's much more cerebral. It took a great deal of will-power to not turn the nozzle away from the garage door and knock down passing bicyclists and joggers with it's formidable spray. This kind of will-power is not available to children who would not hesitate to blast a squirrel out of a tree, or shoot a bird in mid flight. This is the strength over tools I'm talking about; not just physical, but mental.

It was certainly psychological when I pointed the nozzle in the air and saturated people gardening two houses away. The fools never knew that hit them. One minute they were peacefully plucking dandelions out of their Begonia garden, the next thing they knew they were drenched, as if maliciously targeted by an unholy supernatural being. If I had not had mature self-control they would have been in need of an air-rescue.

That's the kind of raw power you have when you're handling a really effective piece of machinery. You are more powerful and relentless than nature itself. Years of thought, planning, and work that may have gone into the design of a structure or room, in a matter of moments can be undone. Like a PCP driven Mongol horde had stormed the place; ruthlessly raping the light fixtures, subjugating the wall unit, and then riding off on the Shop-Vac.

A friend of mine has a 1,000,000 candlepower flashlight. Don't ask me why a guy living in a loft-flat in Prague would have a light so strong that if you put your hand over the beam you can clearly see your skeleton. Suffice it to say –as a testament to his personality– he once offered to show me "how to skin a shrieking rabbit with his teeth". When you shone that thing across the courtyard at 3am into someone's bedroom window you could clearly see the scared shitless faces of people certain they are about to die at the hands of unearthly beings. Although, not dangerous unless you held it to someone's nose while they're sleeping and abruptly turned it on (instantly turning their eyeballs into two charred raisins), you could still easily temporarily blind people that drive slowly in the left lane.

And I can't say enough respectful words about the Orbit Sander. Although it has a fairly unassuming name, most sane households will avoid having it on premises at all costs. The thing is far too unruly; prone to sudden fits of epileptic-type spasm, and obeying it's own rules. When my father rented a Dewalt 3A 5 In. Vs Random Orbit Sander I was unnerved at first because I heard it before I saw it –the thing was loud. As I gazed down on the tool, looking like a cowering armadillo with a sand paper disc for legs (the orbit sander, not me) I almost laughed: "Why, you little devil," I thought, "I'll ride you like a petting-zoo pony."

It was deceptive little fucker though. When I turned it on, it shot out of my hand and raced across the floor like a badger on crack; stripping off an inch of wood veneer in it's wake. Desperately I lunged for the twisting extension cord and caught hold of it with both hands. That's when the De Walt Random Orbit Sander got nasty. It turned on me with a fierce whine and shot towards my face. Showing extraordinary reflexes I rolled out of the way just as it whizzed passed my head coming the other direction. One final dive and I had it pinned under me. With some hard wrestling I finally had the thing firmly in my grip –requiring the full weight of my body to keep the little monster in check. Through brute strength and coercing it got the job done.

Aside from the weed-wacker, with it's rapidly spinning wire that could disable the collars of people that wear them up and strip idiots of their modern mohawk-style haircuts, or the wonderful chainsaw, whose magical design causes disobedient trees to moan in fear, I have to say one of my favourite tools is the power drill. Perhaps it is it's ambidextrous quality, allowing you a vast array of drill bits and removable heads. Drill bits that could bore 3 inch diameter hole through the drums, and skull, of a parkside bongo player. Of course, you'd need an extension bolt for that kind of depth, but that's part of the genius of a power drill. You can get one. Perhaps it is it's solid weight, filling your hand with a throaty vibration –the slow-to-fast torque of the thing –pleasing to the senses. All the senses except smell. That is, until you excavate a hole through a joist, or turn an American Idol into ground beef and whiff the sweet scent of friction-burn.

But it's not all about wrecking and destruction, right? I mean a nail gun, for example is quite suited to securing a baseboard to drywall in a quick an efficient manner. But why engage in such a mundane activity when you have that kind of power? Why not, say, secure a juggler to the drywall instead?

After all, that's why they're called power tools, right?

If you need me I'll be attacking mimes with my Radial Arm Saw.

And why did it take me two weeks to write this crazy drivel?