See, there's a little miscommunication here. There are a million kinds of people in the world, but somewhere near half of them deal well with machinery, and somewhere near the other half don't. You guys know how to work on cars. Cars make sense to you, in the same way that it makes senses to me to render an image in the form of a million tiny dots. Me, though I understand the principles of internal combustion, and have built the "Visible V-8" and numerous plastic model cars, I'm still a guy who, when the car stops working, will only attempt valour for a minute or two: open the hood, check the oil and water, and then start walking. Everything I've ever taken apart, never (NEVER) goes together again quite right. There may be even more to it than that: Cars I've owned have developed problems that stymied mechanics all over the county. One problem with the Celica got me free water pump, points, several hoses, and hours of labor because NOBODY ever fixed it. I replaced the front disk brakes once on a car, and it seemed to work. For you, an hour or two, tops. For me, a friggin' epiphany.

Once, in the 4-way intersection in the middle of the desert known as Mojave, CA, I fixed a cracked rotor with electrical tape. For you, a five-minute stop'n'slop. For me, among the proudest moments of my life.

I would LOVE to own that funky old Powerwagon, or the hearse in Paul's yard, if I had any confidence at all that I could keep it running. I could not.

But there are parallels.

You will say to me, "Troubleshooting is easy. You start here, and you follow on down to there." Faced with any trouble, you will stand there, and run through the probable diagnoses, and test the most obvious and easiest things first, working systematically down till you solve the problem and drive away. It's a point of pride with you; this car's not gonna outsmart you.

I will say to you, "Troubleshooting an out-of-balance General Ledger on a multi-thousand dollar networked accounting system is easy. You start here, and follow on down to there." Faced with any trouble, I'll stand there and etc etc etc. It's a point of pride with me.

They are the same. They should be the same. They're not the same.

And it should be in my blood. My dad was a lifelong mechanic, with a fully-equipped three-car garage, tools as far as you could see, and one or two project cars going at any time.

He bought me a minibike. A few months later, I "washed" it, by hosing it down after a long hot ride. Kee-rack! "Duh, which way did they go?"

You put me in the vicinity of machinery any more complicated than the basic wheel, lever, pulley, I become, magically, a blithering, drooling, idiot.

I don't know. I think it's one of those rogue genes. Granted, a certain amount of practice and learning is required; but my entire person is empty of the *desire* to practice and learn. I get angry and frustrated whenever I try.

So, much as I love that ol' Day-Twah (that's French for Detroit) iron, boys, I'm looking at New Cars. But my hat is off to you.

s