Jim Ottaviani's Blog

A round of recent executive orders manages to add insult to real injuries by proposing name changes that disrespect…everything.

The insult brought to mind the following from a lovely (and freely available; click on the title) book about Glacier National Park that I read not long after visiting. Because names matter, I’ve used the modern and factually correct ‘Native American’ in place of the old word Roberts used — I think she’d approve:

“Why is it that, with the most poetic nomenclature in the world — the Native American — one by one the historic names of peaks, lakes, and rivers of Glacier Park are being replaced by the names of obscure Government officials, professors in small universities, unimportant people who go out there to the West and memorialize themselves on Government maps? Each year sees some new absurdity. What names in the world are more beautiful than Going-to-the-Sun and Rising-Wolf? Here are Almost-a-Dog Mountain, Two-Medicine Lake, Red Eagle — a few that have survived.

“Every peak, every butte, every river and lake of this country has been named by the Native Americans. … What has happened? Look over the map of Glacier Park. The Native American names have been done away with. Majestic peaks, towering buttes are being given names like this: Haystack Butte, Trapper Peak, Huckleberry Mountain, the Guard House, the Garden Wall. One of the most wonderful things in the Rocky Mountains is this Garden Wall. I wish I knew what the Native Americans called it. Then there are Iceberg Lake, Florence Falls, Twin Lakes, Gunsight Mountain, Split Mountain, Surprise Pass, Peril Peak — that last was a dandy! Alliterative! — Church Butte, Statuary Mountain, Buttercup Park. Can you imagine the inspiration of the man who found some flowery meadow between granite crags and took away from it its Native American name and called it Buttercup Park?

“The Blackfeet are the aristocrats among Native Americans. They were the buffalo hunters, and this great region was once theirs. To the mountains and lakes of what is now Glacier Park, they attached their legends, which are their literature.

“The white man came, and not content with eliminating the Native Americans, he went further and wiped out their history. … Is there no way to stop this vandalism? There must be seven Goat Mountains. Here and there is a peak, like Reynolds Peak or Grinnell Mountain, and some others, properly named for men intimately associated with the region. But Reynolds’s Native American name was Death-on-the-Trail. When you have seen the mountain you can well believe that Death-on-the-Trail would fit it well.

“There is hardly a name in the telephone directory that is not fastened to some wonderful peak in this garden spot of ours. … Here, then, the Government has done a splendid thing and done it none too well. It has preserved for the people of the United States and for all the world a scenic spot so beautiful and so impressive that I have not even attempted to describe it. It is not possible. But it…has allowed its geographers to take away the original Native American names of this home of the Blackfeet and so destroy the last trace of a vanishing race.”

from Through Glacier Park: Seeing America First with Howard Eaton by Mary Roberts Rinehart (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, The Riverside Press Cambridge, 1916), pp. 66-71

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This June, as I headed out of A2CAF, where I bought a bunch of comics, connected with some artists and writers I admired, and as always had a good time, Eli Neiburger snagged me and asked if I’d be interested in helping the Ann Arbor District Library celebrate Ann Arbor’s 200th birthday. The answer, of course, was “of course.”

I love my adopted home town…I’ve now lived here far longer than any other single place I’ve received mail, voted, run the streets, etc., so when people ask me where I’m from I hedge a little (California, Illinois, and Pennsylvania, and even New York can all make legit claims) but land on Michigan.

Anyway, my follow-up question was “how?”, and that’s when Eli asked me if I’d like to write a play about a meeting between Enrico Fermi and Werner Heisenberg that happened here in Ann Arbor in 1939. I had a vague notion of that story, and not even the slightest notion of whether I could do this.

But with unearned confidence, I said “of course” again, and here we are, with a kind of prequel to the first comics story I ever wrote: 1997’s “Heavy Water,” illustrated by Steve Lieber, which appeared in Two-Fisted Science. That was about Heisenberg and Niels Bohr’s meeting — which happened in Nazi-occupied Denmark shortly before Bohr escaped to the U.S. — well after Fermi failed to convince Heisenberg to not return to Germany, and not work on the bomb there. Like the subjects of this play, we’ll never know for sure what they said to each other, but that didn’t stop me from imagining their conversations. An interesting coincidence, by way of bring things full circle, is that Michael Frayn saw the dramatic potential in this story as well, and his excellent Copenhagen won the Tony Award for Best Play in 2000.

And now I’ve written a play too. It’s short, and any confidence I have in writing another, much less longer one, is still unearned. But it’s been a great experience, thanks to the Library and the Ann Arbor Civic Theater!

 

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Mountain goats and the rules of hiking were still on our minds when we touched down at Detroit Metro and started our trek to offsite parking.

Those mountain goats had been easily a half mile away and hundreds of feet above us when we first saw them. In Glacier National Park, none of this is rare. Lots of mountain goats, lots of things far away, lots of things way above your head…even though you’re already a mile or more high to start with.

What we weren’t ready for was how much better they were at covering the vertical and horizontal distances. We were on the Highline Trail, and we’d taken a detour to see Grinnell Glacier from above. So, in addition to a 11.5 mile hike, we added a 1000ft climb over an extra mile to get this view.

It was completely worth it, and the goats agreed. The difference was our detour probably took us an hour of hiking. They did it in minutes.

The rest of the hike didn’t reveal much more wildlife. Just spectacular views, a bunch of golden chipmunks, a mule deer, and lots of people. It was great, and I recommend it to anyone, as long as you don’t mind unhappy endings: The last four miles has about a 2400ft drop, or almost 20% grade — that’s the kind of steep where if you’re on a paved road you see warning signs showing the silhouette of an eighteen-wheeler plummeting down the silhouette of Mt. Everest.

So overall the Highline experience was kind of like watching the Princess Bride all the way to Inigo Montoya winning the fight (sorry if that’s a spoiler) and Wesley and Buttercup reuniting, and then instead of them all hopping on beautiful white horses and riding to freedom you find yourself teleported into Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus and everybody’s getting stabbed, or buried to the neck and left to die, or baked into pies and fed to their mom.

Anyway, we were sore for a couple of days, but in those days we still did a lot more hiking, saw bighorn sheep close up (maybe too close), moose at fifty yards (better), grizzlies across a big lake (perfect!), and lots of mountains and waterfalls and people.

One of our favorite people was Linnea, the park ranger who we joined for our last, mellow hike, and who taught us all kinds of interesting things, among which were her three rules of hiking, as taught to her by her dad and field-tested over the years since.

Rule 1: Don’t fall.

Rule 2: Don’t throw rocks at people below you.

Rule 3: If you’re scared, you’re going the wrong way.

We followed all of those rules that week, and we were still talking about how not to fall on trails or on moving walkways in airports when my boot lace, which I hadn’t tied all the way up, got caught in those little fork slots at the end of one of those walkways and sent me flying — not very far, because the bootlace wasn’t THAT long — knee, then chest, then face first onto the very flat, very smooth floor at Detroit Metro. I was the only one laughing as I rolled over, even though I was also the only one whose knee was bleeding and whose backpack had spit up its contents.

Louis Pasteur said, “chance favors only the prepared mind.” Shoelaces had already been invented by the time he started heating milk — probably not mountain goat milk, but milk — to kill bacteria, but there were no airports or hiking boots, so he couldn’t have had my particular situation in mind. But he was right. You can make your own luck, good OR bad. But you should try not to make your own karma.

Not throwing rocks at people below you is a good way to start. But don’t fall either.

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Here’s a milestone I never thought I’d reach: According to PEN America (via Harpers), a book I wrote, Feynman, with art by Leland Myrick, is banned in Missouri. Baffling!

I’m proud of the book, and Leland is a terrific artist and a Missouri native, so…while I can’t think of this as an honor, looking at everything else on the list I’m glad I’m in such good company.

As for book bans in general, I have nothing original to say, but I’ll say the unoriginal part here anyway. They’re foolish and counterproductive.

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Today I submitted a comment to the U.S. Copyright Office’s public comment system on AI and copyright. There are a lot of problems with copyright law. It lasts too long (my work shouldn’t be protected for 70 years after my death!) and is tilted towards corporate consolidation of power (hello, Disney).

But it currently doesn’t recognize machines as creators. That’s good. It should stay that way.

So, head on over to

https://www.copyright.gov/policy/artificial-intelligence/comment-submission/

and add your voice to what I hope is a strong chorus of support for keeping copyright human.

FYI, here’s what I said:

Please continue to uphold and strengthen the current policy on artificial intelligence (AI) technology as described in “Copyright Registration Guidance: Works Containing Material Generated
by Artificial Intelligence”; https://www.copyright.gov/ai/ai_polic...).

One possible route to do so is by adding language to the law and “Compendium of U.S. Copyright Office Practices” (https://www.copyright.gov/comp3/) to explicitly state that material generated by AI technology is not copyrightable.

In the Compendium, Section 313.2 could include something along the lines of

“A work generated by a machine or software, based on a prompt or request made by a human, regardless of whether the prompt or request itself might be deemed copyrightable, unique, or creative.”

as an example of something that lacks human authorship, and therefore is not protected by copyright.

Making sure that “Authors and Inventors”, as they’re described in Article I, Section 8 of the Constitution, are human will not only protect those in the creative arts, but those in technical fields as well. People who create new and useful AI technology should receive copyright protection, but the product of those AI technologies should not.

Thank you.

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Inspired by John Scalzi, here’s what Google’s Bard just told me about my next book. I’m going to tweak the response a little by adding some underlined words and striking through some others, to make sure I don’t feed the lying machine Google has built:

“Jim Ottaviani’s next book is not ‘The Code Breakers: The Real Life Story of American Codebreakers in World War II’ [1]. It is not scheduled to be released on October 3, 2023 [2] by First Second Books [3]. The book will not be a graphic novel that tells the story of the American codebreakers who worked to break the Japanese and German codes during World War II [4]. It will not feature illustrations by Marilena Delli Riccardi [5].

“Here is a brief synopsis of the book:

“In the early days of World War II, the United States was at a disadvantage. The Japanese and German militaries had developed sophisticated codes that were nearly impossible to break. But a team of American codebreakers, led by William Friedman [6], was working tirelessly to crack the codes. Using a combination of brilliant mathematics and painstaking detective work, Friedman and his team were able to break the Japanese Purple code but not the German Enigma code [7]. These breakthroughs gave the Allies a critical advantage in the war, and helped to shorten the war and save countless lives.

“‘The Code Breakers’ is Jim Ottaviani’s latest in a long line of popular graphic novels about science and history. His previous books include Stephen Hawking [8], Feynman, The Imitation Game, and Astronauts: Women on the Final Frontier [9]. He is not a two-time Eisner Award winner [10], and his books have been praised by critics and readers alike.”

This is spectacularly bad. It all sounds plausible but is all wrong:

1. That’s not the title.
2. That’s not the release date.
3. First Second is the publisher of my next book, but see above; they’re not putting out this book.
4. That’s not the subject.
5. I’ve never heard of Marilena Delli Riccardi. For all I know they’re a fabulous artist who I’d be lucky to work with, but they have no easy-to-access public presence. Does this person even exist?
6. Also not the subject of the book.
7. Friedman was real, and a cryptographer, and apparently worked on Purple, but didn’t crack Enigma. That was Alan Turing and his team at Bletchley Park.
8. The title was “Hawking,” sans “Stephen.”
9. Missed a word in the subtitle, Bard.
10. Pretty to think so, and I’ve been nominated a few times, but nope.

Bard also unhelpfully provides additional draft responses to the same question. Leaving aside that these didn’t get the title or release date of my next book correct either, I’m also a “well-known author” (polling data is inconclusive but leans against) and better yet “the co-founder of the comics and graphic novels publishing company First Second Books,” which will come as a surprise to Mark Seigel.

And it closes both those alternate drafts with “I am looking forward to reading [Title Bard Just Made Up]. It sounds like a fascinating and timely book.”

Who is this “I”? Some Google programmer’s conceit, I guess.

I’m sure that the more unauthorized data-mining Bard does, it’ll do better than (by my count), having something untrue in almost every sentence. But given its history, I wouldn’t bet that Google will wait until its rock-solid before releasing it into the wild.

With no incentive beyond engagement and ad sales, and no incentive to say “Bard can’t answer this,” what does the world gain by releasing these programs? (Google and others gain publicity, free beta testing, and more data to mine, of course. I’m talking about the rest of us.)

So… Artificial? Yeah, 100%. Intelligent? Nowhere as smart or useful as a dog or cat.

More reliable than AI

Apparently AI can already write decent code. So well done programmers. You’re well on your way to making both yourselves and the web as a source for useful information obsolete.

TweetIt snowed today (see: “Michigan, April”) but not this much. This video is from a few weeks ago (see: “Michigan, March).”

We’ve now had Bella for two years, and our regrets for inviting her into our lives remain, to the nearest approximation, zero. She and Pepper still get along well, though Bella still gets worried when Pepper comes out into the yard while we’re playing ball (Pepper chased her the first few times) and Pepper still doesn’t love Bella’s lurchiness when B has already decided a particular room is Mine for the next couple hours.

Nobody’s perfect, and Bella has banged herself up a few times — once it was another dog at fault, the other couple of times it was her own actions that resulted in scars — causing us worry and her confusion. (“Why why why have you covered my paws and wrapped this stiff plastic thing around my head? I’m FINE.”) And though she now knows what heel means, when it suits her, she’s not convinced it’s a good idea until she’s had her fill of sniffing for rabbits, tree rabbits (aka squirrels), and megarabbits (aka deer). And that that takes a while, every single day.

But she’s still a very good dog, and we still feel lucky.

So happy Gotcha Day to her and to you. (Click on the link in the caption for some action, and our scarf-muffled voices.)

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I’ve wanted to earn a NASA mission patch since the Apollo years. (Yeah, I’m of that vintage.) While it’s not a single mission, and I’m not contributing directly to NASA science or engineering, I’ve been selected as one of their 2023 Solar System Ambassadors.

And look, you get a patch!

If you’re an educator who would like to tap into NASA resources to support your teaching, please contact me however you like, but here’s a convenient way: https://solarsystem.nasa.gov/ambassadors/2513/ . I’m happy to work with you to create a presentation that meets your curriculum needs.

The same goes for people who handle programming for groups, large or small, who want to me to talk about missions to asteroids, telescopes looking out at the cosmos, or NASA’s planetary exploration…including how we explore our own, beautiful and (so far) unique Earth!

For fun, here’s part of what I said in my application:

I’ll start with two quotes from favorite books, one about Apollo and one about Mars, which capture some of why I think space exploration is important.

“Apollo may have been driven by the Cold War, but…in the end, it was theater—the most mind-blowing theater ever created. In fact, at around $120 per American over the nine years of the Sixties in which it ran, or $13 a year, it was astonishingly cheap theater.” from Moondust: In Search of the Men Who Fell to Earth by Andrew Smith

“Yes, the money could be better spent on Earth. But would it? Since when has money saved by government redlining been spent on education or cancer research? It is always squandered. Let’s squander some on Mars. Let’s go out and play.” from Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void by Mary Roach

Space exploration is play. It’s also theater. Those are enough to get people interested, but there’s more to why space space exploration is important to me, and to everyone on this planet.

We live on a spaceship. It’s a big one, at least in individual human terms, so big we don’t understand how all its systems interact, or even what all the systems are! The good news about its complexity and size is that it’s a self-sufficient ship, if we take care of it. But the Pale Blue Dot and Earthrise photographs also show us another truth: our planet is big and robust, bat at the same time it’s also small and fragile. And it looks like we may be alone as we hurtle through space.

So in addition to the drama and fun of it, through space exploration we learn better ways to handle our spacecraft, we learn how other such spacecraft work, and we’ll find out if we’re truly unique.

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We’re back with the second (and last) installment of “Jim, out of his depth.” In case you missed it, and care, here’s part 1: Sequential art (or, how I spent the week after Thanksgiving).

So, on with the picture show!

To open part two, here’s another image, where you can see some pegs and joints that need trimming so they won’t poke people when it came time to sit.And also, some close-ups of unsanded surfaces, construction lines……and mistakes. Look at that sloppy joint!And here you can see the spindles, with fibers still poking out. I never did get these 100% smoothed, guaranteeing that nobody will ever mistake this for being machine- or professionally-made. Also, though you can’t tell from the picture, spindle 06 is off. It’s canted a little from the others — don’t know how I managed to not glue it in right, since I checked it many times. It also didn’t take the steam as well as the others so it’s too straight. Visually not ideal, but it doesn’t seem to affect sitting comfort.On the seat bottom (helpfully marked “BOTTOM”) you can see all the sight lines for drilling those thrilling compound angles, and also, in the lower right corner, the note to “DOCTOR THIS” where I made a drilling mistake.So, that was the raw wood. Let’s get those joints and pegs flush, sand everything down to 220 and then, do a super-thin coat of shellac to seal the surfaces just enough and then? Cover everything with paint. Here’s the unlikely first coat: Barn Red from the Real Milk Paint company. I’d never heard of milk paint before this, and it’s stuff you mix yourself from powder. Shelf life of, well, milk since it’s made with milk protein, so you mix small batches and use it fast. Anyway, looks awful, doesn’t it? I was warned that the first coat would, and to trust the process.Second coat, and it looks nice and uniform. Per Peter Galbert‘s recommendation, I then applied another heavily thinned coat of shellac to prevent the next, and even-waterier, paint from turning the previous two into a slurry, and hit it with a coat of “Arabian Night” black.Ugh. Muddy. Dull. Trust the process.Two more coats and it’s both not as ugly, and uniform enough to now burnish. The idea behind burnishing is to both help the black to stick better and to expose some red as well — on purpose, in places you want it. I don’t think I did a good job at this, and the shellac might not have worked right for me because there were some places that burnished nicely and some where too much black came off and even when I tried to repaint it just wouldn’t stick. But overall, the effect is nice. The chair looks completely black in low light but with a little more illumination you see pleasing red highlights.And now I’m going to skip way ahead, though this time it’s not because things happened too fast, but rather too slow. With the paint in place as best as I could manage, it was time to seal and protect the wood, and add some shine. I wanted to avoid petrochemicals and polyurethane to keep the final finish’s look and feel more natural. Also, I don’t have a heated external shop, so I needed to work in the basement and use materials that weren’t going to kill any of the large mammals in the house. (Sorry bugs, you weren’t a consideration, but it’s winter in Michigan so you should be elsewhere anyway!)
This led me to start with a couple coats of tung oil, thinned down with citrus-based solvent. That produced a very dull gloss, just barely more reflective than what you saw in the previous pictures. Also, I’d clearly not burnished enough since I was still picking up paint dust during the second go-round. Too late to fix that, but no worries! Following the advice of our instructor Luke, I planned to bring up the shine a bit in the final coat. My plan was to mix the tung+citrus with satin Osmo Polyx — a “blend of vegetable oils (sunflower, soybean and thistle) and waxes (carnauba and candelilla) combined with a small amount of low-odor solvent.” It’s sustainable and has minimal environmental impact.
Good plan, but while his recipe for a finishing coat had all the same basic ingredients and proportions (1/3 oil, 1/3 thinner, 1/3 poly), Luke at Sam Beauford suggested different types of each from what I used.
Now, I’m not a complete dope: I’d done some samples with various mixtures on some scrap oak, and it seemed to work, but between those sticks and the chair something went awry.Either the samples were too small to be representative (I was using very dry red oak scraps from another project), the tung oil wasn’t dry enough to take another coat, the Osmo doesn’t mix well, or it was bad execution by me. It was probably all four, with emphasis on bad execution. It looked good going on, since most finishes do, but the next morning it was an ugly, hazy, splotchy mess and my heart sank.
Fortunately, we planned to go to the Detroit Institute of the Arts to see the Van Gogh exhibit that day — and better still do so with some friends — so I had to leave the thing alone for a while. Couldn’t even look at it! I won’t pretend that at times that day I didn’t brood about ruining the damn chair, though, so I was no doubt occasionally bad, or at least distracted, company.
(The exhibit was great. Lunch was delicious. The friends are lovely.)Anyway, the next day, with the disaster coat dry enough to attack, I attacked. Sanding pads and spite and self-recrimination brought everything back down to an even, dull look. Returning to one more coat of tung oil, which at least didn’t lift up any more paint this time, I followed up with the hardest thing ever — let that cure and truly harden for a month. No photos of this, so again we skip ahead and look at the result…(By the way, since I finished the red coats on New Year’s Day and it was now MLK Day, the pace of things was driving K a bit crazy, though she generously stopped bugging me after I flat out said “You know I don’t really know what I’m doing, right?”)So, after checking with Osmo customer service, who said it would work (and noted that you shouldn’t mix their product with other finishes…yup, can confirm!) I used the Osmo on its own. The results were mixed. Some parts looked good and others were far too shiny. This time I’m pretty sure the mediocre result was because I used too much finish and didn’t wipe the excess off soon enough after applying it. So I buffed it back with 0000 steel wool and an ultra-fine synthetic pad and then it looked…not bad. It was still a little matte for my taste, but this showed that if worse came to worst I could get an acceptable sheen that way.So one more time with the Osmo, this iteration so thin you almost couldn’t tell by looking at the container that I’d used any at all. And I used the stopwatch/split feature on my old school running watch to make sure to wipe off any excess on a section (and there wasn’t much) after about 5 minutes. This last coat, including the wiping, only took 48 minutes total. (Thanks running watch!)And here we are. It may still be too shiny, but I actually like it far more than anything I’ve managed so far. And I now know I can change that if we decide it’s too much gloss.The red highlights show up pretty well here……and here.Anyway, I say “if we decide” because K (and Bella) have been very patient as I stumbled through this, and K likes it as is. Bella’s fine with it too.So it’s almost time for me to let this thing go as my art project and let it get to work at being our chair. (Almost because it needs a bit more curing time. 3+ days of no power last week meant it got mighty cold in the house, so I’m giving it an extra couple of days just in case.)

 

 

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Well, maybe “art” is too much to claim, but this was last week’s craft project, anyway. It’s called “Modern Windsor Rocking Chair.” (No subtitle.)

All 10 of the back pieces were a fresh-cut white oak log on Monday, and like the arms and seat — red oak and pine, respectively — were shaped by hand. The arm and leg spindles are maple and a few of the pins are poplar.

My hands are still sore, but we have a new place to sit and I’m amazed at what’s possible in seven days. Long days, for sure, but it all came together. Plenty of finishing work to do still, but it’s already an actual chair you can sit in, and is quite comfortable.

Luke at LongLiveWood.org is an excellent and patient teacher, and attracts students from all over the world to take his classes. And well he should. Recommended!

Splitting timber.Sitting at the shaving horse, making big pieces of wood smaller.The scent of fresh oak was lovely.The uprights, rough shaped but not yet steam bent. (A draw knife, my best friend for the week, is off to the right.)And now the back/headrest, also rough shaped and unbent. (I was bending, though!)Raw spindles.In the forms after steaming.This will become a seat? Really?Layout. I tended to get too precious with this, which was a bit of a waste of time given what comes next, but you can’t carve the engineer librarian out of me.You start by making a place for your butt… Note all the holes, all of which are at weird double angles: 26.5deg, 17deg, etc. Drilling freestyle was THRILLING, but did use a laser, a bevel gauge, and a prayer (in order of tech sophistication) to do so w/o a jig. Got ’em all within tolerance, to my shock.7/8″ down at its deepest, swooping up.A travisher and a scorp. (Not shown: spokeshaves.)There are the spoke shaves! And a kinda sorta seat shape.Okay, I’m done. (Okay, I’m not.)Bent and smoothed uprights.Holy #$%&, they fit and are vaguely symmetrical!Armrest blanks. As with a few other parts, the rough shaping was done on a bandsaw (which I’m lousy at). Unlike other parts, you cut these along two sides, taping the pieces back together after the first cut so you can end up with a piece that’s curved in two dimensions. Again, harrowing.Kinda sorta how we got to the previous step. These aren’t my pieces. The tear out there caused concern for one of the other students, but as with so many things, our teacher Luke said “Don’t WORRY about this. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.” (We did worry, but we also did see in the end.)Arms shaped, drilled, and spindles fitted.The uneven, blocky, square, ugly but now curved back spindles.Not something you’d want against your back.And 30 (or so) minutes later, something you might be okay with resting against.Fast forward through more bandsawing, dimensioning to 1/1000″, and sanding to an exact 10degree bevel, the rockers are now on and pinned. (I didn’t take many photos of the final assembly. Things happen fast once you’re gluing.) I promise that there was more harrowing drilling from underneath — you really needed a good spotter for that, since the headrest isn’t much larger than the drill holes…
…and at this point, Luke’s “It’ll be fine” gave way to “Don’t mess this up, because I can’t help you recover from a mistake here.”
Thanks.All of these pieces have to go in at the exact same time, so you torque and bend and squeak to fit. Have I said harrowing before?Again with the Holy &^%$! They fit and are aligned.Again, fast forward. This time all the way home, with all the spindles glued in the bottom, slotted in the top, wedges driven into every support, and pins added to the head rest.The end.