If it's broke, don't fix it

I LIVE BY the saying, "If it's not broken, don't fix it." I also live by the saying, "If it's broke, don't worry about it. Unless it's the TV remote."

We were driving back from the dog cemetery run this morning. Sheryl turned on the windshield wiper and pushed the lever for the spray. It didn't work. It hasn't worked in a long time. "I can take a look at that if you want," she said. "Or you could look at it."

I could look at it? Oh, the enormity of the futility of that statement. Wait. Enormous Futility would be a great name for a band! Never mind.

I don't drive that much, to work a mile a way, to gigs on the weekends, to the grocery store. I can see fine out of my windshield. Does it need to be cleaned? Yes. Am I getting antsy thinking about my dirty windshield? No. Once in a while I look around the inside of my Jeep and see how filthy it is (from often wet and smelly dogs, mostly) and I get motivated to vacuum it out. But that's usually before I know I have to pick up band members on the way to the gig.

There are a lot of things that are broken that I need to fix. The ceiling above the shower. The back door to the garage. My back after I picked up a box at work the other day. Use your legs, dumbass. But they don't always work, either.

If I break a guitar string, it gets fixed right away. If the lawnmower goes kaput, I think about hiring goats to see how long I can go without getting another lawnmower. 

The late Frank Haxel used to talk about a long list of things he had to do and fix at Vancil Performing Arts. He'd complain about it and use it as an excuse to not do something else. Then he'd say, "Hey. It's Friday!" And happy hour(s) would commence on the Second String Music sidewalk.

It's the way we are wired. It drives normal and respectable people crazy. To them I say, too bad.

I gotta go vacuum my Jeep. Or at least think about it. When it's clean, I'll look at the windshield wiper thingy. Promise.