Cars are kinda magic. At least I prefer them to be magic. Far better to be magic than the immensely complex collection of parts and technology that they actually are.
I want my car to just work, I don’t want to think about it or learn about it or care about it.
My father, and a few people I know besides, seem to love the idea of vehicle maintenance. They’re modern steeds, and their care is feeding, to the mount and rider.
I don’t feel that way, but I sort of wish I did, some times. Why’d I not wish I had another passion? If I cared, that’d be great. But at some point, passions can be comes curses.
I recall knowing glassblowers that seem weighed down by their obsession. Why glass blowing, with the enormous overhead, danger, and punishment of body, when I could’ve been a ceramic artist, or a poet.
I wonder how much of that applies to working on cars. Maybe it would be different if I had the money to own a car that was romantic, and not a car that was simply old in a way that was less interesting and more begrudging.
We’ve all gotta drive, so maybe giving a hoot is good.
I want my car to just work, I don’t want to think about it or learn about it or care about it.
My father, and a few people I know besides, seem to love the idea of vehicle maintenance. They’re modern steeds, and their care is feeding, to the mount and rider.
I don’t feel that way, but I sort of wish I did, some times. Why’d I not wish I had another passion? If I cared, that’d be great. But at some point, passions can be comes curses.
I recall knowing glassblowers that seem weighed down by their obsession. Why glass blowing, with the enormous overhead, danger, and punishment of body, when I could’ve been a ceramic artist, or a poet.
I wonder how much of that applies to working on cars. Maybe it would be different if I had the money to own a car that was romantic, and not a car that was simply old in a way that was less interesting and more begrudging.
We’ve all gotta drive, so maybe giving a hoot is good.