The Journey Begins

About a year ago, I fell headfirst into the black hole that is YouTube—specifically the woodworking corner of it. I started binge-watching folks like EnCurtis, Bourbon Moth, Stumpy Nubs, and a dozen others who somehow make sawdust look glamorous. These creators were entertaining, informative, and made it seem like if you had roughly one million dollars’ worth of high-end equipment, you too could whip up heirloom-quality furniture in an afternoon.

Naturally, I had none of that equipment. Nor did I possess a single ounce of woodworking talent. So, obviously, I thought: This is the hobby for me.

My wife—being the supportive, loving, and slightly skeptical woman she is (and not just because she’s the only one reading this—hi honey 👋)—gave me the green light. Or at least, I interpreted her eye-roll as a “yes.” Close enough.

According to YouTube, which we all know is the definitive source of all truth and wisdom, the first essential tool is a circular saw. Or better yet, a table saw. That led me down another rabbit hole: watching table saw accident videos. Pro tip—don’t do that. If you value your fingers and your sanity, skip that playlist entirely.

After deciding I could probably live without one or two digits, I soldiered on and began researching table saws. Back to YouTube I went, where opinions ranged from “You’ve got ten fingers, buy a Skilsaw and roll the dice,” to “Only buy green tools. Or red. Or yellow. But never mix colors unless you want your garage to look like a clown exploded.”

The tribalism around power tools is something else. I haven’t seen that kind of brand loyalty since the great Coke vs. Pepsi wars of the ’90s.

Eventually, I settled on a SawStop—mostly because I was mesmerized by the hot dog videos. If you haven’t seen them, stop what you’re doing and search “SawStop hot dog.” It’s like MythBusters meets deli meats meets finger safety. Truly inspiring

So off I went and ordered a SawStop table saw. You know, just dipping my toe in the woodworking pool. Except... I cannonballed in with a full Home Depot cart.

Alongside the table saw, I picked up a 14-inch Jet bandsaw, a miter saw, a router, a jigsaw, a planer, a jointer—and because moderation is for quitters—I threw in a CNC machine too. At that point, I wasn’t building furniture, I was assembling a small factory.

Now, I can hear the judgment from here:

"You haven’t built a single thing and you already went full lumberjack out of the gate?"

And to that I say: fair. But also—my wife said “yes,” so technically, this is a joint decision. (Hi honey 👋. Still love you. Please don’t check the credit card statement.)

Sure, I may not have crafted a single birdhouse yet, but I’ve built a solid foundation of potential. And a garage that now looks like a tool catalog exploded.

So there I was, surrounded by a mountain of freshly ordered tools—table saw, bandsaw, CNC machine, and enough gear to make Norm Abram jealous—and letting the buyer’s remorse marinate.

As I sat pondering where on Earth I was going to put all this stuff, a brilliant idea struck me: “I’ve got a big living room... and it’s air-conditioned.”

Apparently, my wife moonlights as a mind reader. She walked by, gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek... and then smacked me on the back of the head. Message received. The living room was off the table.

Garage it is.

Now, we’re lucky enough to have two garages: one big one for the cars, and a smaller one that’s been the final resting place for 30 years of “we might need this someday” junk. Naturally, I chose the little garage. Because nothing says “woodworking studio” like squeezing between old Christmas decorations and a broken treadmill.

I cleared out some space, but according to YouTube (aka the Oracle of All Things), I needed proper lighting. So back to shopping I went. At this point, I was starting to feel like I might have a problem. Amazon, ever the enabler, had a deal on LED lights that string together like holiday cheer for your ceiling.

The lights arrived, and one of my kids volunteered to help me install them. Now, these lights weigh about four ounces and require zero wiring, so I didn’t need help—but I wasn’t about to turn it down. I figured he just wanted dinner. We got started, and by the third light, I realized I was just standing there watching him do all the work. Not a bad arrangement, honestly—but this was my hobby, and I wanted to participate. So I said, “I appreciate the help, but I didn’t mean for you to do everything.”

He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “I know. I just don’t want you climbing the ladder.”

My first thought? I could knock this ladder over and end him right here. It’s just the two of us. I could say it was an accident. No one would ever know.

But then I remembered: I still need him to help me set up the other equipment.

With the lights installed its was time to go about setting up the workshop. But that's for the next post.