This is going to be long. Because it needs to be long.

     “Overwhelmed” is the word I keep typing in each and every “thank you” message I write. I've spent the last hour writing them to people that have chosen to offer their support (financially and otherwise) for this insane road trip in a crusty old car.

     I'd like to state publicly and for the record, that choosing a fund raising site for this cause was not an easy task. The world is so full of injured and damaged lives. Inequity. Need. True need, that asking for help in the pursuit of my own ridiculous travel goals seemed almost insulting to those that use such fund raising websites for softening the absolute devastation that comes with life's pain and loss. I've experienced loss. I'm intimate with it. I'll leave it at that, for now.

     While formulating the plan to raise funds for this epic adventure, I decided to do a quick “self Google” - just to see what kinds of things people might find, if they didn't already know about me or this weird little car I chose to save and drive. What I found was heartbreaking in the finest manner imaginable. There, six or seven links down, was a GoFundMe site started by someone I have never personally met, dedicated to raising money so that I could fix up my car. The BMW 2002 community is a tightly knit one. Given the kind of support I've witnessed, over the last few years of ownership of this particular rat, I can't say I was thoroughly surprised by such generosity. Our little group is famous for it. I guess it was just my turn to be on the receiving end. From what I could tell, the GFM site hadn't ever gone “live” and was sort of a pipedream of good karma, perpetrated by a fellow, former 2002 owner. I was floored, and forced to think about a few serious issues, regarding the frivolity of such fund raising, and what I really wanted and needed out of this road trip and why it was important. I'll get to that another time, but here's the thing I need to share with you all, and what became the weight that tipped the scales for me, when pondering the guilt of using a fund raising site for my little adventure.

     The man that started the previous GFM site on my behalf, himself benefitted from such a fundraiser. Organized and perpetrated by the very same 2002 owner group that I consider family. His needs were different than mine. Very different. About 12 years ago, his wife was in an absolutely devastating automobile accident. The impact of her head and brain against the door glass of her own car, left her in a state that can only be described as “shattering”. I cannot dictate with accuracy the condition of her mental, emotional, or physical condition in the days, weeks, and months that followed her injury, but I can tell you I was given a small window, through which to see the emotional destruction, and eventual, never ending process of rebuilding, this event had on her husband and family in every aspect of their lives...minute by minute.

     I am reminded almost hourly, that my problems are so very small. Let me assure you – I have them. And I am not very skilled at asking for help. This later point was made very clear to me in recent weeks.

     The fact that a human being, who himself, had endured such a life eviscerating experience, and who turned to the generosity of others to help heal some of the wounds, chose MY SELFISH CAUSE to champion a few months ago by creating a GFM site dedicated to me, razed me level with the earth. He writes poems about his feelings and frustration and gratitude, that his wife is still alive. The kind of poems that made me cry openly when I read them, yesterday. If he thinks I'm worthy of this generosity, that's good enough for me. 

I'll just leave this here...

This is what $2.2 Million dollars sounds like.

     The car is a 1963 Ferrari 250GT Lusso. One of 350 manufactured between 1963 and 1964. It was Ferrari's attempt at building a "luxury" coupe'. That means it had a heater fan and a cigarette lighter. This machine was purchased by its current owner in 1979, and has been in our shop for nearly five years undergoing a complete nut-and-bolt restoration. Countless hours have been invested in making the sheet metal and body even better than the original product. The interior has been completely re-done, and I took responsibility for building its 3.0 liter, V12 powerplant, and subsequent tuning.

     As an automobile mechanic.... this a dream come true. The task was a mixture of both hilarity *and* terror in building such an iconic engine, complete with three beautiful Weber carburetors. Little reference material is available for these motors. What you learn.. you learn from old skilled hands and kind hearted advice from those well versed in Italia.

I work with some astoundingly talented and conscientious people. The end result of all this earnest work and extreme effort is nothing less than stunning. Hours upon hours were spent making sure the grill fit flawlessly. The door shells were re-made by hand, from aluminum. Even the tapered spark plug looms were made from scratch, as were the clamps holding the foglight rings to the bodywork. Every fastener was re-plated and re-installed in its original location, on the machine. 

     Perhaps the thing I love most about this car, is that it will be DRIVEN. It will not be immediately put up for auction, nor will it hide in a garage, languishing for years. It will be enjoyed. And loved. And flogged. 

   


I'd like to dedicate this post to Mr Walter Spak of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. Walter specialized in Italian machinery from the 1950s-60s, and was a kind and thoughtful human being. We lost Walt last year and the world is a bit sadder without him. I wish he could have seen and driven this car.

Ferris ain't got nuthin' on me. I get to drive it again today!

I could totally sell the shit out of that shit.

As often happens while driving a boring vehicle down the road, my mind wanders as I start reading the names off the back of various cars on the highway. This morphs its way into a minor fit of ADHD as thoughts clang off the innards of my noggin. I start thinking about the process used to come up with the names of new car models.

How *DO* they figure out what they'll call the next motorized appliance? Here's a few things I picked up that might aid in illuminating my dear readers, and a few thoughts I've added on my own. I figured all I need to do in order to be a successful automotive marketing genius is throw a bunch more hair gel in, wear some metrosexual black T shirts and stop wearing socks with my slip on shoes. Oh...and I have to be completely disconnected from the actual appreciation of automobilia. That's absolutely crucial. 

FIRST: Buy a thesaurus. Look up synonyms for words like "speed", "fast", intimidating", "sexy" and other things we want our cars to be. 

SECOND: Make it a Masculine name. Nobody wants a car named "Muira","Ginetta" or "Fulvia", right? Of course not. Those cars all suck.

THIRD: Get the thesaurus out again. Look up words that promote trustworthy engineering. Words like "precision", "accuracy", "heartiness".

FOURTH: Pick a good country of origin for your imaginary car company. Italy and Germany are good ones. Stay away from tiny Asian or Eastern European countries that get invaded a lot.


FIFTH: Close your eyes and pick up the nearest book written entirely in Latin. Open it up and put your finger on the right side page about 1/3 of the way down. Write down that word. (It doesn't matter what it means, it's not YOUR language after all, right?) Stay away from medical books that discuss things like lung infections and glandular cysts.

SIXTH: Make sure the name ends with a vowel. Words like "turd", "weasel", and "grunt" don't end in vowels... see how this works? Avoidance.

Now.... pick a word from each step. Take three letters from each. Put them together in a random order and make it three words somehow. 

OK I confess. This doesn't really work. I'm just making a point here, ok?

What happens when you don't follow the rules? You end up with names like the "Lamprey Flatus Mk IV" or the "Bowl Clinger 5000".

If all else fails. Pick a city. Name your car after the last native resident kicked out or the first white man to invade it. Never fails. And be sure to mention something patriotic.

So my sideshow has a sideshow!

It's been a busy week! I'm in full speed production mode for a few Art festivals this spring and working out the details on some custom commissioned work.

Here's the latest work as of March 27th:

I had a lot of fun making this one, but almost lost it in the beginning phase.

"Fallen"

For the wine savvy gardener. Stand stakes in to ground or a large planter.

Metalsmith and Jewelry maker Aileen Lampman's presentation concept for the "steel twigs" is brilliant.

To see more of my work, visit
my WEBSITE 

The overwhelming power of Beauty

     My father suffered a heart attack this week. I found him face down on the carpet of his apartment on Wednesday. He was conscious and fairly alert, but shaky and extremely weak. I am unable to fully comprehend the idea that he may have been there for hours, helpless and alone.

     For the last few days, my brother and I have been by his side at the hospital, where he appears stable and is being moderately sedated. It will take some time before we can make any decisions about his long term care. I've been back and forth to his apartment in a retirement community several times, cleaning and sorting through things in an attempt at summarizing the final hours of his presence there and preparing the space, hopeful for his eventual return.

     Last night I had a truly profound experience. In the lobby, assembled near the lit fireplace were 20 or so of his neighbors and fellow residents. They urgently asked me to provide them with details of my father's condition. At first I was just going to stand and tell them that he's stable and should come through it, but then I decided to sit and truly speak with them.

     I filled them in on many of the details. Perhaps too many. Each and every one of them expressed how much they've missed him in the last few days. How they grew to really love him, and how much they appreciated his often off-center outlook on things. These people love him in much the same way as my brother and I do. At this moment, I began to realize how much interaction he really had with people where he lives. And how he affected them by being there. A part of their community.

     Until last night, I had only provided information on his condition to the staff and one other resident with whom he appears to have a wonderful relationship and friendship. I wanted her to know he was alive and seemingly stable. Though I don't know her feelings for my father, I do know that he adores her character, her experiences, and her completely on-point and razor sharp intellect.

     The residents in the lobby said they had been asking her for as many details as she could provide, and that she was especially concerned for my father's health. I could no longer keep it together. I lost it completely and broke down in the elevator as it graced it's way up to the third floor, where his apartment is.

     I've learned that the things that trigger my tears, are from beauty and love and caring. Whenever I think about how much my father is appreciated or adored, or loved... my emotions overflow and I begin to weep.

     When I think about all the things that my father loves and cherishes, the same wave of overwhelming emotion hits me. His love of music. Of brilliant women. The beauty of Jellyfish. The fragility fossils. Of automobiles. And of my late mother.

     I hope to get him back in the coming weeks. I want to shed tears for his recovery next.

Breaking Mental Bread

     It seems I'm destined to be surrounded by a shit ton of independent thinking and creative people with vastly different skills and interests than myself. I'm not sure if this a conscious decision or something else entirely. It's not luck or destiny. But I'll take it.

     Cabinet makers, metal smiths, wood workers, potters, contractors, film makers... the list goes on. Every time I peer in to one of their worlds I learn something new and gain an even greater appreciation for whatever their alien craft might be. There's always more beneath the surface of these people I tend to encounter, than one might imagine. What makes each of them the object of my intrigue and affection, is the way in which our common interests and passions tide in and out in our day-to-day being.

     The man that fixed my leaking ceiling tonight and I talked about Latin and South American food. He's a middle aged white guy in a small rural Pennsylvania town just like me, and yet he spoke of his love of Argentina and Brazil (particularly the music), and his affinity for Cubans.

     I winked and showed him a photograph of the most stunning Paella I've ever seen. One created by my "second family's" mother. A woman of Cuban descent I've known for over three decades.

     Immediately he gasped and asked me to e mail him the photograph. He's the second person that's made that request of me after seeing this image (photo courtesy of George Lampman) and yet I hardly know him. This plumber / carpenter / apartment maintenance savior / world traveler in my living room. 

     Apparently there's a market for serious food porn. I should probably start a website and sell advertizing to chili enhancement pharmaceutical companies. 

     I really don't know. I just fix cars.

     So... as a test of the ether's ability to enable lusts of all kinds, I now present it to you all.

Remember: This is an experiment. A social one.