It seems that I have become invisible to telemarketers. In the worst way possible.

• Calls from Comcast, asking me if I'd like to sign up for cable, because I don't have cable (I have cable): 2 a day every day for a week.
• Calls from the credit card company asking if I would like to do a balance transfer or sign up for their new credit protector program: 1 a week
• Letters from AARP suggesting that send them some money and become a member, because I'm fully eligible, after I wrote them a letter telling them that I was not interested, that I was not eligible, and that I was not going to be eligible for another twenty years, and was told that they were very sorry and it wouldn't happen again: 2
• Calls from Sprint on my cell phone assuring me that this was a free call, and asking if I ever went over my minutes, and telling me that I was eligible to get a second line: 4

So, as mentioned previously, I bought a car.

This has proben to be a an expensive operation, nickel-and-diming the hell out of me. So far...

• $90 - Engine diagnostic and disposal of the old car
• $3399.00 - Purchase price of the car
• $954.10 - Taxes, Tags, and MD State Inspection repairs
• $6.96 - Wiring harness adapter
• $8.50 - Center Console Pocket (Necessary to fill the extra space in the dash left by...)
• $179.99 - New stereo to replace the old one that sucked
• $1.05 - Bandages for the cuts on my hand from pulling the stock stereo out
• -$4.23 - Found in change inside the stock radio
• $29.95 - Keyless entry fob that isn't compatibile with my car
• $32.99 - Keyless entry fob that is compatible with my car
• $19.99 - Faux Suede seat cover for the passenger seat, since Leah sticks to leather.
• $7.99 - Steering wheel cover the day after I parked in direct sunlight and nearly defleshed my hands
• $38 - New power antenna that isn't quite compatible with my car but which I managed to get in there anyway
• $30.98 - Performance module
• $11.58 - SD cards for the new stereo

Previously, on A Mind Occasionally Voyaging...

My car finally melted away to nothing.

I've been driving my dad's old Volvo since then. It's not a bad car, or, at least, it wasn't in her heyday. 18 gallon gas tank, which means that I only have to fill her up once a week, even with the mileage hit it takes when the turbocharger kicks in. But it's old, and it loses two quarts of oil a week, most of which ends up on the rear windscreen. And most of the electronics are out. And there are other various things wrong with it. But it runs great, and it's a comfy car to drive.

But it's also just a loaner. Which is why I did something uncharacteristic, and didn't spend months agonizing over this decision.

I bought a car. Here she is:

For those of you who do better with statistics than with pictures, here's her vitals:

1998 Subaru Legacy Outback Limited Edition
117k miles
4-speed Automatic Transmission
2.5L H4 PFI DOHC 16V
Leather Seats
Alloy Wheels
All-wheel drive

There's a few things I'll miss: you can't get automatic seatbelts any more, so I'll be buckling up manually from now on. And the stereo has a CD player built in, so they didn't think anyone would need a line input jack. And the controls are all small and dainty as you see on most modern cars. And the speedometer is on the left, which creeps me the hell out.

But she's mine. Yay me.

For the third time this year, I find myself constrained to blog a bit on the passing of another treasured friend of the non-human variety. It really seems these days like nothing good can happen to me without some equal and opposite bad thing happening. Only by "equal and opposite" I mean "At least a little worse"

Aside from a brief stint in a rusted out Ford Escort, I've driven a Subaru all my driving life. In fact, I've driven a '91 Subaru Legacy Wagon my entire driving life. Not the same wagon, mind you: Some time late in 2001 or 2002, I traded in the old red one for a gold one with less than half the miles.

If you've owned a Subaru of that vintage, you know that they're tough cars. The red one lasted the equivalent of driving it to the moon and halfway back. The electrical system was pretty badly damaged, to the point that I had to run new lines directly from the battery to the headlights, and my tail lights plugged into the cigarette lighter. The door locks were shot, the air conditioner had died one day so violently that it took out the power steering belt. It also had a bad wrinkle in the fender where I'd lost control in the rain and slammed into a jersey wall. I replaced it shortly after the timing belt had gone, leaving me stranded at a Home Depot.

The gold Subaru was in much better shape. But not for long. There's some sort of design flaw on that vintage of Subaru that results in the driver's side ball joint breaking about once every other year. Had them replaced quite a few times. The timing belt went too once, and early this year, the windshield developed a crack. I had to have the entire exhaust system replaced in January as most of it had fallen off.

For the past few months, she's been idling rough. I replaced the spark plug wires, and then the spark plugs. And then I bought a ratcheting offset screwdriver and turned the idle up. That made it run smoother once she got started, but it also made the check engine light come on. She got harder to start -- the engine would turn over, but would die immediately if I didn't give it gas right away. And then she started to lose acceleration. Had to push the pedal to the floor to gain any sort of speed at all.

So, last night, I took her into the shop. I was hoping that my fuel injector was going to turn out to be clogged, but something in my head told me that the solution was going to include "rebuilt engine".

I got the call this morning at 10:00 AM. The engine has internal damage. There's a 90 psi drop between the left and right side.

In lieu of flowers, please send motor oil.

Some time, I don't remember when exactly, early in 1991, my dad brought Sarah home to live with us. She shipped in a cardboard crate with a blue blanket inside it, but, I am told, she rode most of the way on dad's arm. It was, I think, a good thing that the previous year, he'd traded in his old Subaru for a newer one and switched to an automatic transmission. A few years later, she would wrap her leash around the handbrake, leaving a mark in it that lasted until I finally sent the car to rest in 2002. Westies were popular at the time, and Sarah herself had the distinction of having been born on Christmas day.

Sarah was an affectionate puppy. For years, I remember her always greeting me at the door when I got home from school, jumping on me and losing control of her bladder. We were new to dog-ownership and had our various ups and downs. Bred for hunting small game, Sarah had an insatiable desire to dig holes, and I recall that she once dyed herself orange for the better part of a year as she excavated a huge mound of sand we'd had dumped in the back yard to lay a patio behind the house.

For some time, she had some sort of skin condition, that caused her to tear out clumps of her own fur. Her habit of doing this at night while she lay under my parents' bed eventually led to so much collateral damage to the carpeting that they replaced the floor in their bedroom with commercial tile. Later in her life, she took to sleeping in bed with my mom, and then eventually to sleeping on a mat at the end of the hallway once getting in an out of bed as the mood struck her became more than her hips could handle.

Sarah was for the most part a friendly, well-behaved dog, aside from her unfortunate tendency to snap when startled. She gave my sister a scar on her nose that I don't think she ever fully forgave her for. Sarah became closest to my mother, and even as she grew old and tired, would usually rouse herself from a half-slumber to follow her from room to room. Once, she changed direction abruptly, and my mother lost her footing and twisted her ankle.

But all things considered, Sarah was a good dog, and we grew to appreciate her even more when, years later, my sister would convince my parents to let her get a second dog, a lab, who still hasn't calmed down and can't be left alone for so much as a minute. Sarah and Jamie got on well -- we're fairly sure that on at least one occasion, they actually collaborated to steal a ham sandwich.

When I went away to college, dad liked to tease her that I'd fallen down a well, a little running gag that he'd repeat every time I came back ot the home of my youth.

Because she was small, it was always difficult to think of Sarah as anything other than a puppy, even as she grew old and bouts of arthritis impaired her mobility from time to time. Cataracts took most of her vision, though you couldn't always tell, except when she went running for the wrought iron gate my parents had installed at the end of the hallway to restrain the lab. Sarah could wriggle under it without much problem, but at a full run, she couldn't see it until it was too late to stop, and she'd occasionally end up ramming it headlong.

About a week ago, I'm told, she collapsed after her morning walk and had to be carried in. She vacillated between better and worse for a few days, eating little and often too tired to move. Late Tuesday night, Sarah got down off the couch (My parents didn't care enough about the furniture to keep her off of it until they bought new furniture a few years ago, by which time she was old enough that a policy change would have seemed cruel) and slumped to the floor. Her breathing slowed, and finally stopped. We do not think she suffered. Sarah passed away at about 12:25 AM Wednesday morning of a condition my sister called "Too Many Birthdays". She was 16 years old, which, depending on who you go by, is either 77 or 112 in dog years.

They laid her to rest beside Jamie. I imagine that they are frolicking together and stealing ham sandwiches in whatever sort of afterlife is reserved for pets.

Sarah Jane Raszewski, December 25, 1990-April 25, 2007. You will be missed. Good dog.

I've had something of a bimodal month.

12/31: Jamie died
1/15: Was issued a housing code violation for the Gasoline Alley-like state of my back yard. Given 10 days to repair the situation and get it inspected
1/17: Took the car into the shop on account of exhaust system noises that sounded indicative of me not being likely to pass the emissions inspection I had to have by the end of the month
1/18: Found out that the whole exhaust system had disintegrated and repairs would cost $1,000
1/19: Recieved housing code violation, realized I had much less than 10 days, thanks to the delay in my getting it.
1/20: Cleaned up and relandscaped the back yard. Despite soreness, felt strangely good for the exercise. Felt unstrangely bad on seeing the bill from the Home Despot.
1/21: Set myself on fire. No, really. Bumped into a space heater and ignighted part of my jacket. Didn't notice for several minutes as my coat smouldered. Found a Nintendo DS game in the parking lot (Mario vs. Donkey Kong 3). Finished work on back yard. I think technically I had completed the work mandatated by the city on Friday night, but I wanted to reduce the chances of this ever happening again by sealing up everything that tends to accumulate drifting loose trash. Then it started to snow.
1/22: Found out that the inspector couldn't come by today on account of the snow
1/24: Recieved another housing code violation, dated 1/22 (yes, after I'd cleaned the place up) for the same thing. Found out the inspector wasn't going to be back in the office until Friday.
1/25: Recieved letter of abatement on the first violation.
1/26: Played phone tag with my doctor and the inspector both, as he'd gotten some blood test results back (from October; mix-up at the lab), and she was in a meeting all day. Told that the second notice was the result of some bad timing, and that, though I didn't have to do anything, she had to come back and take more photos of my yard. She also told me that I had to get rid of the boxes under my porch. As these boxes do not exist, and one of Saturday's repairs was to seal up the space under the porch, I suspect she went to the wrong house (My next-door neighbors do have some boxes under their porch), but that she'd take care of it.
1/27: Turned 28. The love of my life gave me a Nintendo Wii. Got happy and forgot my troubles for a bit. Got drunk and remembered them, but only for a bit. At any rate, there was a whole lot of me being happy going around. I mean, a Nintendo Wii is one of the best presents you can get from someone, aside from a pony, and I don't really want a pony anyway. And I'd have been happy enough just to spend the day with her, so this was like ultimate happiness on top of ultimate happiness. Zelda is hard when you're left-handed. I bet this is how generations of Right-handed gamers felt trying to learn to use a thumbstick with their left hand.
1/28: Dinner with my parents, who gave me a cordless Dremmel tool. Damned fine dinner too. Still have leftovers. Sneezed violently and somehow bruised my throat. Gave Mario vs. Donkey Kong 3 to my sister.
1/30: Went to Target in search of band aids and Wii/Gamecube games. Bought a new Optimus Prime (My third in the past year, though I still regret not having bought the Energon version. This one was a bit crap, but he came with a Megatron and a Bonus DVD. Ended up with $1.68 on the Target giftcard I got for Christmas. Tried to buy a cup of coffee at the Target Starbucks with the target giftcard and a Starbucks gift card. Barrista ran them through in the wrong order, so now I have a Target gift card with $1.68 on it and a Starbucks gift card with $6 on it, and still have to tote both of them around.
1/31: I'll tell you later.

But let me tell you. The Wii is FUN. I'll upload a picture of My Mii once I work out how to get one without buying a bluteooth card for my computer.

This Christmas, I tried to be all subtle about what I wanted, thinking I was too old to go around making Christmas lists. As it turns out, subtlty is not my strong suit. Seems that after my long stint as a Person of Little Income, I'm not very comfortable asking for things I could do without or buy myself. In fact, it's really difficult for me to write this now. Just feels sort of childish.

But anyway, the point of this little story is that I've got a birthday coming up. This post is not me asking for stuff. This post is just to document some things I'd really like to have. Also, I'll point out that I've had an amazon.com wishlist hiding behind one of those little badges on the left side of the screen just about ever since I switched to Movable Type.

So, if you were a person looking to get me something but you don't know what I'd like, here are some things I'd like. Don't feel yourself constrained to this list in any way. And if you aren't looking to get me something, then please don't. The last thing I need is a perfunctory gift that gives me the feeling that you didn't want to get me anything but felt duty-bound to do so.

• A cordless dremmel tool, having burned out my corded dremmel knock-off last year
• A Nintendo Wii & the new Zelda Game, because these are so hard to get that I ought to start asking now if I want to get one in time for next Christmas.
• A Nintendo DS *amp; the new Super Mario game, the new DS Zelda game, or the not-so-new Metroid game, because every person in Japan has three of them by now, and I'm jealous
• A Bluetooth Headset so that I do not crash my car while talking on the phone. Don't care much about the brand per se, so long as it's a good unit. The kind that has a ring to clip over your ear, not the kind that holds itself up by your ear canal.
• A new car, because mine is broken
• Transformers Milennium Falcon It transforms into Han and Chewie robots. How cool is that?
• A Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle BB gun with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time --wait. On second thought, naah. I'd shoot my eye out.

In the summer of 1991, my parents brought Jamie home, concealed in a grocery sack. He cost $25. My sister paid. Jamie was a small black-and-white kitten with a spot on his upper lip that looked like a half-Hitler-moustache. He was named for a character from Doctor Who. He enjoyed sitting on my father's chest when he sat in his recliner, and he enjoyed hiding on the chairs in the dining room and swatting at the dogs as they walked by. He developed a wanderlust in his middle years and was constantly trying to slip out of the house. He also enjoyed catnip.

Jamie was personable, reasonably outgoing, and very vocal. He got along well with pets older than he was. When he was small, he had a bad habit of falling into the toilet.

Some time last year, he was diagnosed with diabetes, and entered into a slow decline. Jamie passed away at 8:45 PM on New Year's Eve. He was 15 years old.

In Loving Memory, Jamie The Cat Raszewski, July 1991-December 31, 2006