Fond of rumpots, crackpots, and how are you, Mr. Wilson?

My plans to post about Arisia have been preempted by a Real Life Crisis: Harold, my poor beleaguered Olds Intrigue, has finally coughed up its last smoke-clogged lung.

The portents of automotive doom have been accumulating for a while. Some of Harold's issues started years ago, such as the very gradual oil and coolant leaks, the windows that wouldn't stay up until I had them fused shut, the engine that sounded like snarling diesel hate, and the persistent "check engine" light that the mechanics said would cost me to fix but wouldn't kill me to ignore. In the last week or so, however, things started getting scarier. New noises emerged, and not good ones. The vibration turned into a shimmy. That "check engine" light would occasionally start blinking. The power steering took a powder. Starting the thing up turned into a crap shoot. And yes, repairs would have been a good idea, but I was short on funds and disinclined to start pouring cash down the gullet of a beast that would be better served by not-so-early retirement. It was only a matter of time.

Naturally, the Fates being the snarky bastards they are, Harold chose the drive home from work on the coldest day of the winter to finally roll over and hack up figurative blood. The poor thing stalled out on a hill, restarted, stalled again upon being put into drive, lather, rinse, repeat until it was clear that no amount of ignition-key-and-gas-pedal-based CPR would be to any avail. Unfortunately, the spot in question was on a stretch of NH Route 9 that had marginal shoulder at best, and even though I had pulled over when it started clunking out I was still about a quarter of the way into the right lane. My only option other than leave it there was to wrench it into neutral and drift backward into a snowdrift, where it still sits. Luckily I caught figmentj on the phone before her meeting with her clients (although one nice man in an emergency vehicle did stop to check on me and ask if I felt safe), and she was able to come scoop me up and cart me back to Keene, where I hung out at Starbucks over WiFi and cocoa while she worked.

The thing is, and this is the part I can't get over, is that instead of freaking out as I usually do over such things, standing in the sub-freezing cold while awaiting my ride left me feeling grateful for such things as warmth and food and human contact, and realizing just how lucky I am in the meandering life of mine. And as I lie here in bed in a sweater and fleece pants, mentally raising a glass to the pain-in-the-arse car that served me for nearly a hundred thousand miles' worth of living, the one thought that lingers is that life is, indeed, good.

Tomorrow I start car hunting and poking about for an auto loan, and joining Jenna in figuring out how we're going to get through the coming weeks. But that's tomorrow. For now there's warmth and a full belly and a lovely woman lying next to me. Life is good.

A few random tidbits before turning in:

1) In the wake of figmentj selling her new-old Nissan a few weeks ago, we put up a Craigslist ad to sell her still-pretty-but-asthmatic Honda CR-V. This is apparently the cue for the entire known universe to throw shovelsful of unpunctuated and uncapitalized quasi-English communications into one's inbox. Good to know.

2) figmentj and I went to see The Hunger Games on Saturday with shadesong, yendi, sindrian, fiddle_dragon and the teenage daughters of above. I actually quite loved it, he said non-spoilingly, although I haven't read the books (yet); what I wasn't prepared for was getting mildly obsessed with it in the aftermath. This led me this afternoon to toy with the idea of writing a serious filk song based on the world in question—a plan that lasted exactly as long to find some of the tribute songs (pun anticipated but unavoidable) that are already out there, written and recorded by the true-at-heart fans. I am not capable of being that earnest.

3) The official Hunger Games soundtrack album, on the other hand? Shockingly good. It's got the Civil Wars, the Decemberists, the Carolina Chocolate Drops, Glen Hansard...hell, even the flippin' Taylor Swift stuff's not bad. Give a listen. (Speaking of, I seem to be developing a Civil Wars obsession to go with my Hunger Games obsession. Dig.)

4) I'm hungry. I'm going to go rectify that before I turn in. Thank you.

Never let it be said that the Eternal Deities of Auto Repair don't have a sense of humor. A warped sense of humor, make no mistake, but a sense of humor nonetheless.

Amongst the many ongoing ailments suffered by Harold the Arthritic Oldsmobile is a nonfunctioning driver's side power window. It started acting all uppity-like back in September, and stopped working altogether by November or so. Ah, bugnuts, I thought, but didn't panic, since window-opening weather wouldn't be kicking in for months yet, and although having to open the door for drive-up windows and toll booth operators was kind of annoying, I could get by.

Today, once I excavated the car from the foot of snow that had alit upon it while braving the nasty wind that showed up for the occasion, I took the car out on a few errands, and as it was past lunchtime I decided to pick up a bit of McDonald's while I was out. As I pulled up to the speaker, I absent-mindedly flicked the effectively for-display-purposes-only switch to open the window...and the window opened! Four whole inches!

"Oh, sweet!" I said, as well I may. "Does is close again, too?"

...No. No, it doesn't. EXPLETIVE.

So! Freezing weather, gale force winds, probable snow, and a partially-open window. Yay, or something. At the moment I have a garbage bag jammed over half the door just so I'm not sitting in a snowdrift next time I get in, but I need to get it fixed (which I don't have the time or inclination for) or else find a more viable kludge.

Thank you ever so much, O Eternal Deities of Auto Repair, for playing jai alai with my delicate sanity. I've got a nice finger gesture here for ya.