Ow.

It was really only a matter of time until I hurt myself. Frankly, I'm not all that bright, and I have a unproven belief in my own invulnerability. Plus, there are a whole lot of power tools around here.
Up until last Monday, establishing the front-to-back taper of an electric guitar neck was something I did on the thickness sander. I would decide on my measurements, usually .825 to .900, affix a .075 shim to the fingerboard side, and get to work. It was sort of a rinky-dink operation, moving the neck with one hand while operating the height adjustment wheel with the other ( I should mention that the thickness sander in question was built for me by some guy in a garage- prolly wouldn't pass an OSHA inspection- to keep an eye on the neck tapering process one has to kneel and look through the moving belt). You don't want to taper off the portion of the neck that will sit in the pocket (I'm talking bolt-on here, but the same would hold true for set necks) so each pass starts & stops with adjusting the height of the table- the neck moves back & forth beneath the drum but never leaves. I remember learning how to do this & thinking :"that's really fucking stupid. Someone's' gonna get hurt". I was right. Sucked the finger right in, I did. In front of my three students, to boot.

(pic is after two days- much better than freshly spurting)

Took off the nail, most of the nailbed and ripped a chunk out of the center of the area formerly known as my fingertip. Made a neat squishy pile of flesh at the end where all the ground up meat stopped. I might have said the f-word. Enthusiastically, at great volume. More than once.

Washed it off, sent Lyken out for gauze, and went back to work. Defense mechanism, mostly- can't think about the finger, got work to do. Changed the dressing every few hours until bed, much blood. It's still oozing a little as I type this, five days later. I ended the day reading a Bill Bryson book on Australia in the bathroom, with my bleeding hand resting over the sink.

The cure, however, is worse than the disease. My lovely and patient partner, Karen, is the sister of the guitar player in one of the bands I play in. (I play bass, by the way. The finger in question is the pointer finger on my right hand- you know, the one I pluck every damn note with? I have a gig in six days.) Jordan, the back to the land lovable drunken redneck hippy that he is, recommends goldenseal. Goldenseal is apparently a magical herb (not Jordan's usual magical herb) that speeds healing and has wonderful antibiotic qualities. I send Jordan to the co-op for the goods. He returns and tells me "Just sprinkle some on there- it won't hurt at all." Then he leaves. I think I would rather have put my finger back into the sander than sprinkle that wretched Satan-powder on it. It hurt bad enough that the fingers on my other hand started to throb. I suspected Jordan of substituting cayenne pepper for goldenseal- sure, he says he's happy for us, but I did knock up his sister. On purpose. In retrospect, sprinkling ground anything onto what is essentially hamburger is going to hurt a little "You said it wouldn't hurt!!!!" said I. "Why do you think I left?" said he. Bastard.