The Tourist
Banned
In my area, they played the movie "Kill Bill" on our cable system. I know better, I shouldn't watch it, but I always get caught up in the story. Yes, I know the plot. I suffer a bit for the sword maker, and the idea of "the curse."
I am not a cutler or a polisher. I am a tinker. I use the tools of a Japanese polisher and modern sharpening items to refine and sharpen tool edges. In short, that is all I do.
The problem is that life is never as simple as one would design for himself.
My skill is to hang a shingle and provide a service. And there is no way to discern where my edges travel. Or where they serve. Or who they benefit. Or if a benefit is gained, at all.
Many years ago I decided to work for myself and foolishly took the curse. As is my OCD nature, I made the boastful decision to become "the best sharpener in the world." And oh, did I apply my craft! I now bring polished Japanese kitchen knives to Japanese chefs to cook my dinner, and they lay their own edges aside...
Boastful. And foolish.
As is the curse of any craftsman, and the dire thoughts of the cinema swordmaker, is that the best works of his hand may bring the destruction of others. Granted, several soldiers have taken my edges to Iraq. At the day's end, this is a childish veneer to assuage my other deeper concerns.
But the stark reality attached to this admittedly decorative polished edge is that anyone ignorant enough to face a trained aikido/kendo master is going to die.
Yes, I am careful on how I produce. I sharpen for hunters. I seek out chefs. I sharpened a real-deal tanto for a martial arts student--once. I once refined the edge of a konjo to my best abilities, and then thought the worse for actually having done it. That knife now sits in a collector's showcase where it will never see any use, good or bad.
And then this movie "Kill Bill" will make the rounds. It will be re-broadcast for a few weeks, and I get a tad melancholy. And being the holiday season, this is never a great aid.
The master swordmaker hands the katana over to "The Bride" despite his own demons and vows, knowing full well where and how his craftmanship will see its end.
But I will never know. However, there is now a faction of police science that claims to be able to study and trace the tool marks used in crimes. My wife and I have discussed that "knock on the door" when a dour faced officer comes calling about a Tourist's edge.
It's this facet of the craft that has no humor or romance. There is no 'woosh' of steel proffered in fantasy to mask reality.
I'm told there's a famous, more aptly infamous, school that teaches clients how to fight with Bowie knives. It's a legal pursuit, and certainly a customer has the right to spend his money in any pleasure he wants. And I have sharpened Bowie knives.
Don't ask me to take any pleasure there.
I am not a cutler or a polisher. I am a tinker. I use the tools of a Japanese polisher and modern sharpening items to refine and sharpen tool edges. In short, that is all I do.
The problem is that life is never as simple as one would design for himself.
My skill is to hang a shingle and provide a service. And there is no way to discern where my edges travel. Or where they serve. Or who they benefit. Or if a benefit is gained, at all.
Many years ago I decided to work for myself and foolishly took the curse. As is my OCD nature, I made the boastful decision to become "the best sharpener in the world." And oh, did I apply my craft! I now bring polished Japanese kitchen knives to Japanese chefs to cook my dinner, and they lay their own edges aside...
Boastful. And foolish.
As is the curse of any craftsman, and the dire thoughts of the cinema swordmaker, is that the best works of his hand may bring the destruction of others. Granted, several soldiers have taken my edges to Iraq. At the day's end, this is a childish veneer to assuage my other deeper concerns.
But the stark reality attached to this admittedly decorative polished edge is that anyone ignorant enough to face a trained aikido/kendo master is going to die.
Yes, I am careful on how I produce. I sharpen for hunters. I seek out chefs. I sharpened a real-deal tanto for a martial arts student--once. I once refined the edge of a konjo to my best abilities, and then thought the worse for actually having done it. That knife now sits in a collector's showcase where it will never see any use, good or bad.
And then this movie "Kill Bill" will make the rounds. It will be re-broadcast for a few weeks, and I get a tad melancholy. And being the holiday season, this is never a great aid.
The master swordmaker hands the katana over to "The Bride" despite his own demons and vows, knowing full well where and how his craftmanship will see its end.
But I will never know. However, there is now a faction of police science that claims to be able to study and trace the tool marks used in crimes. My wife and I have discussed that "knock on the door" when a dour faced officer comes calling about a Tourist's edge.
It's this facet of the craft that has no humor or romance. There is no 'woosh' of steel proffered in fantasy to mask reality.
I'm told there's a famous, more aptly infamous, school that teaches clients how to fight with Bowie knives. It's a legal pursuit, and certainly a customer has the right to spend his money in any pleasure he wants. And I have sharpened Bowie knives.
Don't ask me to take any pleasure there.