I am a dilettantish mechanic...which in so many words means I enjoy working on cars and have an amateurish grasp on the word "dilettante." Were I truly a dilettante, I would be content with changing the spark plugs on my Ferrari. However, I am as far from the description of a dilettante as I am from an Olympic swimmer.
I am more the amusingly eclectic uncle your parents avoided. I am simply the concentric car lover whose taste in cars is simply just better than yours. I am the guy who liked Zeppelin III before it was cool, and who would never be caught with a moustache.
This 1952 Buick was a dream car; my most sought-after nightmare. The story surrounding the purchase, though interesting, is a dull, boring, stupendously not enthralling read.
(But I'll tell it to anyone who wants to know).