The clutch cable arrived on Friday, and after clawing my way out of bed very late on Saturday and then a leisurely breakfast I made the final attempt. It all went spectacularly well, I pulled the old cable out, taking pictures along the way in case I forgot how things went (Mitzy’s idea). The pictures proved unnecessary, but when undertaking a new endeavor it is always prudent to exercise safe guards. There was one bolt that gave me trouble as I put the new cable in, but as I understand it there is always one bolt that will give you trouble. I had been most concerned about the cable’s entry in to the bulkhead, or firewall, and how it would find its path to the pedal mechanism (there’s a name for it, but I don’t recall at the moment.). That proved unfounded as after I had fitted the cable into the firewall and assumed the position to view the pedal in the floorboard, I found the cable end dangling there. I still can’t work out in my head how it made it there, but it was there and I affixed to its necessary location, so I was not in position to ask questions.
So that was it, I have now repaired my car on my very own, and I was quite pleased with this victory. I am now eying replacing the headlights. They’ve become quite worn and encrusted over time, and something needs to be done with them. I’ve found the part, and an instructional video, now I just have to order the part and give it a go. If that goes well I may consider doing the convertible top myself. I’ve been hemming and hawing over that for a long time now, and I’m still not sure where I stand on it. Again the scenario presents itself that I can order what I need from the Internet, and I’ve found instructions on it, but I’m more timid since this would be a much more intricate process. Still, it would be a boon to my self esteem if I were to pull it off.

The Rude Pundit usually says it better than I can. And more rudely.

We on the left used the rhetoric of battle during the Bush administration. But we used it when people were actually being killed and tortured by our nation. There’s a vast qualitative difference to saying you are going to fight against people who lied us into war and saying you are going to take down those who are trying to get health care to poor people.

I expected the wailing and gnashing of teeth, but I admit to being a little taken aback by the openly hostile language being thrown around with so little concern. Some of the things I’ve read have left me thinking that someone will indeed be killed over this, life will be lost, because while it is a dog and pony show to so many of these jackasses there are people out there absorbing their bile.
I grew up conservative, I grew up believing in state’s rights and small government. I went through a very devout neo-Confederate period, not advocating a return to slavery mind you, but as a way to express my desire for more power in the states. Now while there were other factors, it is without a doubt the rise of this fundamental insanity at all costs mentality of the conservatives that did more to push me to a liberal ideology than anything else. I have to imagine there are more people like me, because I just don’t comprehend how people can stand to be even associated with the hypocrisy, hyperbole, and hatred that the right/conservative/republicans are so casually doling out.
I am really afraid that this tactic of inciting fears in people to formulate their political base is going to lead the Republicans down into an abyss of madness that they’re not going to be able to pull out of. I see them painting themselves in a corner, and I wonder when someone is going to get hurt, and I’m afraid that even then it will be too late.

Perhaps giddy from the health care passage I have decided to undertake a perilous project. It has admittedly been a bad few months (maybe years) for the Mustang, my poor adherence to maintenance and procrastinating ways has perhaps born ill fruit. A brief history is in order, for posterity, it all started with the second top slashing a few years ago that I’ve never properly addressed, this led to my shattering out the back window a few months ago, that yet added another concern that I could mull over for an indefinite amount of time. Then the exotically named serpentine belt imploded on itself, the shreds of which are still evident inside the engine compartment, laid about in a kind of automotive crime scene splatter pattern. Then an oil leak appeared from the front of the engine, and this coincided with the clutch’s hydraulic kit needing to be replaced as well. Not long after all of these things were remedied I found that my radiator had voided itself and was parched. The contents laid out on the pavement in an embarrassing display. More repairs were made in exchange for my U.S. Federal cash monies.
This brings us up to a more recent history. I was beginning to feel optimistic, beginning to scheme of a plan to finally have the convertible top repaired. That’s when it happened. As Mitzy and I were about to back out of the drive way to enjoy some weekend breakfasting I heard a breaking noise as I depressed the clutch pedal, then everything went flaccid. It swung limply too and fro, the clutch pedal, as well as my cheery outlook on life. I became despondent, and I’m sure Mitzy became loathsome of my sulking. I was in denial refusing to accept this poor turn of fate, I pouted with firm determination. I was wroth to consider another tow-truck summoning, and I was of muddled conscience on sending the car back to the same shop. The hulk is now ten years old, but it seems folly to not consider that I’ve had several problems since taking it to the same shop, even if good sense would point out that the problems haven’t been particularly connected. Could they be that clever?
Unwilling to deal in a wounded fashion with my current scenario I have morosely been trying to hatch a plan wherein the problem would go away, and impact me in financially insignificant ways. I pondered calling those I hold to be authorities, but that path didn’t hold much hope since there are limits to expertise especially under such myriad variables and circumstances. And besides, a man can only call out for help so many times before he begins to loose something innate, however deeply buried. I had initially investigated the symptoms of the clutch pedal’s plight and discovered evidence. I worked the mechanism and observed its movements, though I can’t say I understood them. There was a cable that had seemingly become lax in its function, and in my probing I inadvertently pulled it for which I was rewarded with more cable. This seemed bad, and not seeing any broken plastics or other tormented structures I gave up that line of inquiry.
It was a few days afterward that Mitzy, perhaps flummoxed at my apparent inactivity suggested googling, and while apprehensive at first I decided to investigate. After some tentative first steps I progressed to more robust technique, and then marrying my physical discovery of the cable and knowledge stumbled upon I discovered a possibility. There was indeed a clutch cable, and it could in fact wear out and break. I then found an instructional document with descriptions, and pictures. So last night, feeling emboldened by my newly forged knowledge I jacked up the old girl and perused her undersides. I was very well pleased to find that the pictures from the interwebs matched the undercarriage displayed before me as I lay on unyielding concrete. I loosed a bolt, and removed a cover. Fruit was born and there I gazed upon a snapped clutch cable. Oh yes, torn quite in two and at once I had found the source of so many lamentations.
I have since ordered a replacement after inspecting the general terrain and avenues of removing the lost cable. My confidence is shaky, but I feel eager to make the repair myself. It appears to be within my grasp. I’ve never attempted an auto repair all by myself, so this will be new and hopefully fertile ground I shall tread upon. The new cable is an aftermarket, described as being more apt to performance, and it should arrive in a few days. I will update you with the results. I imagine you there on tender hooks in anticipation. However, if you should see a story of man found pinned under car in driveway, well I would appreciate your sorrowful wails of pity.