Mechanical Ineptitude

As a note on the previous entry: yes, I will be attending the voiceover workshop, because my wife is the most wonderful wife in all of wifedom. I had a long chat with Sir Ben about God's guidance and His spirit, as well as some practical matters, and the Lord has provided the means by which to attend. So your prayers for a successful—and even miraculous—event are much appreciated. This could be a big thing, and I'm rather hoping it will be.

Meanwhile, our Subaru is falling apart. Again. I've always liked Subarus and their excellent maintenance records, but apparently we got the one that was cursed. I broke the "sway bar" (a stabilizer, apparently) on the front, and the speedometer's been out for a while, so we arranged to have those replaced. While the speedometer bits are being flown in by an anime character from the Land of the Rising Sun, the car decided that those expenses are not expensive enough and promptly stopped working altogether—most likely a starter problem. So today it was towed back to Vern's garage, where it must feel at least as at home as it does here. It probably misses its hydraulic lift and the warm gasoline-y smell of the garage and just wanted to visit again.

All this, though, points up my inability to actually do anything with the car, which in itself is only a symptom of my inability to take care of most anything practical. In the past year I've done a bit more outdoor work and some woodworking, so I'm feeling better on those fronts; my currently-under-construction nature identification study is making me feel more like a woodsman. But the car is still a mystery. I actually got out my manual and my copy of Auto Repair for Dummies (no, really) and girded my loins to look under the hood and see if there was anything I could do. I was able to figure out that it wasn't the battery. (The engine doesn't turn over at all when you turn the ignition—there's just a loud click, and all the electrical systems are working correctly.) I was hoping maybe it was just a loose wire to the starter or somesuch. Book in one hand, flashlight in the other, I peered beneath the hood to at least locate the parts described.

And, of course, the engine diagram doesn't remotely resemble the mechanical monstrosity squatting there in the housing. I found the ground wire from the battery to the frame, and the wire connecting to the fuses: after that, it disappeared into sealed compartments and a wilderness of unrecognizable madness. I felt rather like I did back in biology, spending all that time opening up my dissection frog only to find, instead of recognizable (and color coded!) organs nothing but a mass of frog glop.

On my very, very long list of minor desires, fairly high up is the one about taking an automotive class; maybe hands-on work would make me feel more competent, even if I can't fix everything. (Or even most things—Father John, the most auto-smart fellow I know, can't fix half the things on modern cars because he doesn't have the computer equipment for it.. which is a little scary, actually.) I can hear Liann out there, snickering and remembering that episode of Frasier in which he and Niles take the auto class and get kicked out. I'm not quite that dandified, thank you. (Though I imagine if Devin was taking the class with me we might be ejected, as we were so often back in junior high...)

I've resolved to change my own oil next time out (which ought to be quite soon, actually). Pray that I don't blow up the car in the process.