Maybe after some serious psychotherapy will I be able to realize why I find it so gratifying ordering parts from Japan for my car that cost an ungodly amount compared to a US version, takes about 6 months to arrive, and is produced by never heard of companies such as Night Pager, Burn Up, and Dog House.
I think it might be inadequacies experienced as a young-un that I never quite got over. While the rich kids on the block had garages full of stretches of Tyco or AFX race tracks or rooms full of Star Wars scenes, such as Kevin Breen who had the complete Hoth set with multiple AT-ATs, Taun-Tauns, and Snowtroopers, I was at home with my single G.I. Joe figure "Snow Job" sitting in the middle of a comforter draped across the couch simulating a mountain where he was getting chased by Cobra.
