Double Hamster on The Rocks

I drove part of the BSFNC* down to New York last night. Five people in a small, boxy car with a tiny engine subjected to strong (60mph) crosswinds that sheared the car left and right on the road. The car is only a year old and it is already sounding bad. It has the sixty-year old man with emphysema sound when it idles.

Right now I’m hoping that I can make it back to Boston. After that, I can take care of the car. I’ll take it to a repair service—Streetwise— that’s tucked into a back alleyway in Cambridge, MA.

This “one last trip” syndrome is symptomatic of a larger behavior pattern. I tend to jury rig my finances, my work, and my personal life, as well as my durable household goods. In each case, I tend to patch things together until they work and then continue on until the gum stops congealing at the seams and the duct tape frays and the twine unravels.

I justify these methods in the same way that I justified the Rite-Aid cosmetic mirrors that Ty and I used to replace the drivers side and passenger side mirrors on Terese’s car when we entered California: it’s just enough to get me where I need to go and there is not enough time to stop and do a proper job.

Pull enough things together with twine and tape and you’ll spend more time worrying about the rigging than watching the road. The brakes are fifteen miles from failure, I’ll need to pay the next bill before the electric gets cut off, I need to return these calls, I need to make this job work for the next three months at least, my girl is bored, what’s this pain in my chest?

How does a jury-rigged life end? Are these the elderly women in houses with two hundred starved cats or the elderly men who are smothered under the newspapers that they were using for insulation? I’ll bet that a truly jury rigged life becomes more and more complex until the Rube Goldberg machine stops running one morning. Spontaneous personal combustion. A life blows up and gear wheels are found six block away.

(*Boston Subsection Fifth North Crew)

who was the fifth person, John? are you having delerious visions in your sickness?

Ach, four. No, wait. The fifth is the mysterious person Hammy, a mix of Hope and Tami, present in spririt, guiding all fifth north subsection activities while encouraging the consumption of Juicees.