SCREWING AROUND WITH THINGS I SHOULDN'T UNSCREW

Tomorrow I will attempt to wrestle the Doesn't-Work-Well-With-Tools monkey off my back. The stakes are high.

My father was a bad role model. He'd hammer and curse and sweat and curse. That's about it. He cursed convincingly, I might add. A rolling, "god," A tympani hit on "DAMN!"

I'd sneak into the paint and tools and stuff we inherited from somewhere foreign to our household sensibilities, mix anything liquid and flammable with anything ELSE liquid and flammable and then go flambe' me some ants. I discovered Sherwin-Williams Napalm. I also poured acid on my hands instead of paint remover. Mistake!

That was as close as I normally got to the tools. Maybe I'd stir with a screwdriver.

So tomorrow I will - on the advice of the repair wizard in California, risk it all by taking apart my very expensive CD player to try to clean off 'the lens.' The darn thing is very balky when it plays at all. If this doesn't work or if I make a mess, the whole 60 pound CD player (right - SIXTY!) will go FedEx to California where it'll cost a ton (more.) I sure would rather not risk shipping it even though I pack it in a foam lined "HE PACKED IT IN FOAM SO LET'S DRIVE THE TRUCK OVER IT" box. And worry.