building your own diyPod

I first mentioned making a CD shelf three years ago this month. So it's about time I actually got around to building the damn thing.


Long experience has taught me that the success of any engineering project hinges on accurate and detailed technical drawings:

caetano minds the extension cable, as rapturously involved and helpful as ever

yeah, i just had to throw some kind of pseudo-arty thing in there

the dr. frankenstein moment

hanging out with my creation

It is inevitable that a first-generation technology product should contain a few design flaws:

my back panel

stacks of CDs i prepared earlier - a few months earlier

the classification begins - that's the fun part

alpha-chronological (by recording date) organisational bliss... for jazz, at least

I thought I'd made the shelf big enough to take all my CDs, but it's pretty much filled up with just the jazz. I'll probably end up building a similar shelf in a few months (or years...). At least now I can survey my CDs and perhaps participate in group activities such as '70s, '90s and year-best lists.

In closing, the moment you've all been waiting for:

iPod (80 Gb) vs. diyPod

• cost: 369€ vs. 53.92€ (+ two half-days' labour, and not counting tools)
  
• capacity: roughly 150 uncompressed CDs vs. over 1,200 uncompressed CDs in jewel cases
  
• time to fill: ripping included? vs. a half-day
  
• portability: as far as you can get in 20 hours vs. centimetres, with great difficulty
• metadata management: who has the time to input the bpm of every song? vs. exactly what I need
  
• probability of theft or loss: fairly high vs. fairly minimal
• coolness: high, but in a sterile way vs. high and totally authentic
  

I think the diyPod wins.

a week of getting laid

A home improvement diary (12-16/08/2006).

Days 1 & 2



I feel so hip and trendy: bamboo, baby! Of course, I didn't feel either when rushing to the hardware store to make some last-minute purchases, sweaty and hair caked with saw dust. Seeing the pretty and well-dressed (or, at least, clean) young couples who had the foresight to buy everything they needed before DIY-ing (or had not yet had the chance to have their lack of foresight exposed), I found consolation by reassuring myself that they weren't cool enough to have bamboo floors.



Trendiness aside, there's the sheer relief of finally getting rid of the horrible tiles and old, sunken wooden floor we inherited from the previous owners.



We're lucky to stumble upon the excellent idea of starting with the kitchen and dining-room, which are tiled (see below). Work continues monday and tuesday, which I have off work. So much for the four-day week-end, this is more tiring (and less blog-friendly) than a day at the office.



Day 3

Disaster strikes. The DIY gods had smiled upon us for two days, but now an ill-intentioned one has taken over (translate the Zeus-Hera relationship to the DIY pantheon). The little that had been done in the living room is torn out when we realise it isn't straight.



Very few of the walls in this house are straight, so a little creativity and grade-school geometry has to be used. Lesson learnt: it's much easier to lay flooring over tiles than old, irregular wood. A long, exhausting and frustratingly unproductive day.



Day 4

Some progress made in the living room, but even more in the bathroom, done in an evening. All that remains is the bath tub's casing, which IVN has elaborate plans for.



Day 5

It's Wednesday and I'm back at work. Work mornings are particularly painful now, as we've removed two radiators and therefore have no hot water. Spraying bone-chilling water on yourself at 6:45 AM is, shall we say, character-building. It reminds me of when we first moved in and there was no running hot water: we'd boil some water in the electric heater in the kitchen and wash in the basement with a bowl and a bucket, next to a hole in the ground (that, fortunately, can be covered) that accesses the sewer.



Actually, that just-moved-in feel is everywhere, from the empty rooms to the late-night huddling in the upstairs guest-room (if you're in Belgium and need accomodation...) to eat Vietnamese take-away or bizarre, bottom-of-the-fridge meals (e.g. half a cucumber, a carrott, half a ciabatta and two yoghurts).



When I get home I help IVN finish the living room (we finally got the hang of the nail gun and irregular floor. The nail gun is hardly the effective monster-killer Doom would have you believe). The kitchen and dining room have been sanded and given their first layer of oil. It looks stunning. I stand back and admire our handiwork.



Then I remember that we need to apply three layers of the stuff and each layer needs 12 hours to dry and that the radiators won't be back in place before that happens. At best, I'll only have one more cold shower morning.



Measuring and cutting a bunch of little planks to fill gaps along walls, chimneys and inside door frames stretches the job well past midnight. I'm yawning as I saw. Meanwhile, IVN spends a huge amount of time cleaning dry glue-encrusted tools. A necessary, yet thankless, job.