Photo by Randall Cordero
Letter from the Editor: The Right Tool for the Job
June 2, 2004
After much anticipation, Saturday arrived. I had set aside the day—and late into
the night—to spend time with a new machine. Given the many complex mechanical
procedures that an enthusiast can undertake, it is the simplest activities that
often offer the greatest pleasures. Chief among them is the changing of
lubricants and coolants, a ritual that is a metaphor for the cleansing and
renewal of man as well as machine.; function voidFunc() { } voidFunc();)
The best garages are places of
tranquility, and even modest ones should be equipped with sufficient amenities
so that one can live out there for quite awhile. Air-conditioning and heating
are a must, and carpeting is a plus for activities that are performed
horizontally. Classical music or jazz promotes calm and patience, although
packing a bearing to the Goldberg Variations is a capital crime in some high
courts. Comfortable furniture—a dumpy couch or lounge chair—is requisite for
perusing manuals, schematics, or thinking through problems that go beyond the
removal of a drain plug. Abetting thought and relaxation are food and drink of
varying strengths, kept in sufficient quantities to make oneself and the
occasional guest feel very much at home. (Click image to enlarge)
Of course, an ample assortment of
tools is key, and without them, even the simplest project is doomed to
frustration. But like religion, politics, and Scotch whisky, it is best to avoid
arguing over specific brands. Delicate fingers may chafe when handling anything
other than the smoothest Snap-on, while some recoil at the effete finish and
demand the grainy, honest surface of Craftsman. Regardless, what gives pleasure
is having the right tool for the job, however modest that tool or job might
be.
It is my lot in life that even the simplest jobs have a way of becoming
not so simple. And not so clean. Despite the best-laid plans to maintain
spotless order of space and self during the exchange of vital automotive fluids,
the weekend mechanic was soon bespattered with oil, grease, graphite, anti-seize
compound, coolant, and assorted stuff that comes from containers with skulls and
crossbones on them. Halfway into the evening, the garage resembled Pollock’s
studio and I looked like one of his canvases.
And I was starving. I had gone
the entire day without eating, save for morning coffee. Engrossed in fruitful
activity, one frequently overlooks essentials like food and cocktails, and I had
been too long without either. But while I opted to enjoy a victory Scotch in the
wee hours, the matter of food was more urgent, and I remembered a Styrofoam cup
of instant noodle soup gathering dust in the dark recesses of a shelf populated
with solvents and aerosol cans.
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