Pimp My '97 Subaru Forrester

I dropped my car off at The Farm to have a fog light added and my headlamps rewired to meet British specifications. The Farm is an old barn converted into a car garage, but it looks mostly like a junkyard. To confound any attempt at classification, there's a propeller-less gyro-copter grounded in the front lawn. There are always cars on the elevators, but I've never seen another customer there.

They say The Farm is the best place to have work done on American cars. The head mechanic is Filipino but speaks English, supposedly. He asks me questions and I wait for Charlie to translate, but Charlie is more interested in passing along advice for shagging Scottish women. I told him I'm not interested and that I'd rather hear about my car. Then I told him that I was engaged, but Charlie spends a lot of time in the garage. The Filipino pops off the headlamps of my Malibu and traces the wiring into the engine. He is something of a legend in the world of Fife garage grease monkeys. Charlie defers to him.

I'm fairly certain that they're charging me more (roughly 250 pounds total) than I should be paying, but they are the only mechanics in the area experienced with wiring conversions like this. They also lent me a car for the next day or so and agreed to take the Malibu down for an MOT certification on my behalf. I've put too much into this relationship to back out now. "Watch out for those girls, lad! They'll work you over if you give them the chance," Charlie hollered at me as I left. I think of the bumper sticker I noticed yesterday, ["If You're Going to Ride My Ass, At Least Pull My Hair"], and wonder if there isn't a cultural lesson to be taken from this.

My loaner '97 Forrester is a right-seat drive manual transmission AWD station wagon. It took her a while to get up to top speed, especially with the parking brake on. By this time, I had already left the garage, but I still felt stupid. Sometimes you worry about the big things and forget the little ones. [By the way, Jolene, thank you for teaching me to drive stick.]

I really enjoy driving this car. Manual cars handle better on these roads. Sitting on the right-hand side, without Texas plates heralding my arrival, is also much less conspicuous. I'm no longer 'that American asshole,' but a a regular hard-working asshole who probably had a long day just trying to make an honest living. In general, the experience is less stressful this way, even though I haven't driven manual in a few years.

I went to St. Andrews today to 'matriculate,' or register as we would say. Thankfully, my West Point classmates streamlined my experience, guiding me to attendants that were familiar with our NATO status, etc.  I'm enrolled in the National Health Service as of early this afternoon. "NHS membership is mandatory," she snapped. "And free," she said, smiling.

My colleagues and I then went to an informational meeting for international students. In summary, you can't take a shit in the UK without the Home Office knowing about it. And dental care is prohibitively expensive, so good luck (the Americans laughed, but she still doesn't see the punchline). At the conclusion of the meeting there were brochures and informational memos to pick up at the front of the auditorium. Suddenly, there was chaos, as if the tri-fold leaflets were iPads or something. It felt like the Chinese Consulate all over again, if you get my meaning. The international post-graduate student body seems to be roughly 20% American, 60% Oriental, and 20% non-British European (mostly French, it seems). Each demographic advanced on the memos in their way.

West Point teaches you many things, but She never taught me to cook. This is to say, I eat one meal a day, maybe two. I would love to eat more, but 'no one does any cooking around here.' My chef is lazy and my nanny sleeps all day.

And so, the highlight of my day was finding a Subway restaurant on Market St. I love Subway, don't you? Everyone should love Subway- you'd be a fool not to. Come, live with me for a week, let me do all the cooking. You'll be beating down the doors to worship at the altar of Jared in a few days, tops.