Why Blog? Incessant nagging by friends and loved ones. I will try not to embarass them. Too much. I thought of my father the other day. I was working on the car and it was hot, in the 80's. I was sweating. It was my stink that made me think of him. We have the same stink, Chuck and I. Flashbacks of adolescence: yard work, moving furniture, and working on the family microbus; nostalgia never smelled so bad. Despite sometimes drastic attempts to be unique, I've turned out to be my father's son. What was stranger, the similarities, or differences? I suppose I use the past tense because I've noticed the latter of the two, recently. At our respective ages, I have yet to start a family. My career has been not having a career (or any of it's attendant aspirations). Ditto any formal education attempts. And I don't have the luxury of having at arm's reach the useful diagrams and advice of the Idiots Guide to Volkswagen Repair to ignore. And yet despite the slight shift away from a slightly metallic tinge that has faded from this olafactory sheen we share, here I am, wrenching away at another aging V.W.; chain smoking, cursing out loud, looking for a non-nonexistant wrench... Sometimes, looking back, life gone by seems less linear and cinematic as flashbacks or the near death flash-by may seem. At times like yesterday, it looked more like a map of some kind. And in it I saw not an answer, but another clue. Thanks Dad. Even though I turned out to be an Asshole, thank you for making me NOT want to grow up to be an Idiot. Sometimes the questions are better than the answers.