It is a joy to fix something. She's back, as smooth and powerful and assured as ever.
It is serene to feel a machine operate properly after almost year of stumbles and stutters. It's good for one's obsessive-compulsive balance to adjust everything back to plumb. The third string on a guitar is difficult to keep right, but it has to be in tune. The same with an Audi. I do believe Germans engineer the way they do because they suffer some national form of OCD. "Surely," they say, "there's a more clever way to make this more precise?"
I'm inspired to replace a few gaskets around the engine to see if that stops the oil which accumulates in my drip pan before making its slow, sludge-hampered migration south to ultimately slip onto my driveway and the highways and byways and parking garages of commuter airports throughout northern New England. I'm tired of my buring-oil odor-cloud catching up to me like Pigpen's dust cloud as I slow for a traffic light. There are two cam-end covers that are $5 each and apparently an hour to fix, and the oil pan itself, also an afternoon job. What are Christmas breaks for?
I'm now willing to pay the state's outrageous $350 annual registration fee and keep pushing the survival envelope until I have the cash I need to buy the replacement I want. I might even fix the power head-rests.
Car of the week is currently a 2008-2010 A8L, although an S8 with the 500 hp Lamborghini-sourced V10 would be cool:
*or at least half of them. I'm not dumb, I'm just cheap.
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