Yesterday as the gloryweather begin to fade into storm, my check engine light came on. I went straight to the new mechanic and got an appointment for 9 AM, St. Valentines. Then today I got up at eight.
At nine the street here on the hill was still glare ice. So I called. It went to voicemail, which didn’t surprise me at all, because I know the shop owner lives 13 miles south on Burro Mountain. I left a message.
By eleven, the pavement had gone from snowpacked and icy to very nearly dry. Our friend Mr. Sun has great power in the Southwest, even in February. I put on my urban hiking shoes and my big gorgeous Christmas coat, drove over and dropped the truck, and walked back.
I went through downtown on the way. A new restaurant called Roxy’s had opened. I took one look at the menu in the window and saw the word ‘chilaquiles’, and didn’t hesitate.
I was expecting something akin to migas. The plate came and it was nothing of the sort. It actually looked pretty disappointing. But then I started to eat.
It was the best red chile I can ever remember having. Ten bucks. Pure savory fire. I’d do that again.
I went home and waited. They called, with a sort of confusing story–it was gonna be $450.
When I got there, the owner said goddamn son–it’s a good thing you didn’t wait to bring it in.
Seems that at some point, the whole wiring harness had been improperly secured. It had broken loose and fallen on top of the transmission, and the wires in the harness had just started to melt.
So it was not throwing just one code, but dozens. He showed me the list. One of them said that the clutch needed adjustment. There is no clutch. It’s an automatic.
I guess when your main electrical system starts to turn into a puddle, its own interpretation of the situation starts to get a little fuddled.
I’m thinking about HAL9000 in the movie 2001, as it is being shut down. “Daisy … Daisy …”
So. Replacing the most damaged wires, and securing the harness–four hours labor, and four fiddy. On the one hand, it seems a bit much, but on the other–this could have turned into a catastrophic loss if I didn’t have these guys on speed dial. Pretty sure the dealer would have charged me twice that much at least, on top of muttering about delays for officially sanctioned ancient parts that might not even exist.
It stings, but in reality luck was with me. Happy happy V-Day.
***
A short chronology.
Around about this time a year ago, several administration officials, including The Joe himself, were quoted as being very unhappy about the existence of the Nordstream pipelines–they made our little Germany just far too dependent on Russian oil (instead of the good old USA stuff)–and Biden himself said that ‘if Russia invaded’, the pipelines would definitely go away. The interviewer followed up: Whaddya mean go away? Biden turned all shifty-eyed and cagey.
Six months ago, to pretty much no one’s surprise, the pipeline(s) exploded. Or maybe “were exploded” is closer to the truth. The Americans immediately blamed Russia for … blowing up … Russia’s own pipelines? Well that made no fucking sense. But regardless, that was the evidence-free claim.
Since then, the UN has categorically refused to look into it, for some murky reason …
Several concerned governments, including the US and Germany, conducted “investigations”, and then promptly classified the results. The entire West suddenly turned into Sergeant Schultz: “I see nussssing …”.
A week or so back, 85-year-old Seymour Hersh published an article pointing the finger at the obvious culprit. Of course the Empire did it, with a little help from Norway, and moreover they did it not with Special Forces, but with a group of Navy divers. Why? Because that way Biden didn’t even have to tell anyone in Congress what he’d done. Plenty of facts and detail in the story, although it was based on anonymous sources within Washington who leaked to Hersh.
You might not be old enough to remember Seymour’s first blockbuster story back in the Sixties. It revealed the existence of a little incident known as The My Lai Massacre, a genuine American war crime.
Hersh is also the reason that the world knows the name of the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, scene of many incidents of torture and prisoner abuse at the hands of Americans. You remember smiling and then tearful young Private Lynndie England, right?
(“In 2012, following her release, she stated that she did not regret her actions. ‘Their (Iraqis’) lives are better. They got the better end of the deal,’ she said. ‘They weren’t innocent. They’re trying to kill us, and you want me to apologize to them? It’s like saying sorry to the enemy’.”)
Oh Murica my Murica.
Anyway, this time, old Hersh is largely being ignored to death, but on the rare occasions that his story does incite comment, by the alleged journalists of the MSM, or indignant congresscritters, it’s only to bray about what a washed-up hack he is. Glenn Greenwald, one of the few actual journalists in Seymour’s league, has covered this phenomenon extensively. But today, you just get a smaller taste, courtesy of a third real journo involved in a rhetorical battle with some Rep. Shitlib (D-CT).
Aaron Maté DESTROYS Dem Lying Senator Chris Murphy Over Nord Stream Explosion
Enjoy.