So simple.
I picked up a December issue of Road & Track last week when we went to Milwaukee to do errands, and I needed to kill time while Wes got his hair cut. Peter Egan amazes me. His writing is so fluid. He goes off on a tangent and right when I think he's lost his entire point, he seamlessly transitions back on topic in a way that makes me realize he never was off topic.
I'm insanely jealous.
Lately, I've been digging this girl who writes for AutoWeek. Apparently, she and I are very close in age; I think she may even be younger than I am. And she's AutoWeek's road test editor, as well as being a phenomenal columnist. I spotted her with her AutoWeek entourage at NAIAS; all the journalists were in suits, dressed to the nines, and she was perfectly content in baggy khakis and some cute, chunky shoes, crawling all over the interior of the new Mitsubishi Evo. Because she writes for AutoWeek.
I'm sitting in my new apartment in the northwest Chicago suburbs, wearing a purple flannel robe and sipping mango green tea, staring at the same page of the same Corrado feature I've been staring at all day. I've been staring at it for weeks, in fact.
Where's my inspiration? Maybe it's keeping my car company, the car I haven't driven since November. Maybe my muse is actually hanging out in a cement-floor barn in Wisconsin. Maybe my muse can go make sweet love with Peter Egan's muse.
Damn Wisconsonites.
Now I'm getting ridiculous. But I'm having my mid-life crisis two weeks short of turning 25. I'm entitled.
Now where's my mid-life-crisis car?
I'm insanely jealous.
Lately, I've been digging this girl who writes for AutoWeek. Apparently, she and I are very close in age; I think she may even be younger than I am. And she's AutoWeek's road test editor, as well as being a phenomenal columnist. I spotted her with her AutoWeek entourage at NAIAS; all the journalists were in suits, dressed to the nines, and she was perfectly content in baggy khakis and some cute, chunky shoes, crawling all over the interior of the new Mitsubishi Evo. Because she writes for AutoWeek.
I'm sitting in my new apartment in the northwest Chicago suburbs, wearing a purple flannel robe and sipping mango green tea, staring at the same page of the same Corrado feature I've been staring at all day. I've been staring at it for weeks, in fact.
Where's my inspiration? Maybe it's keeping my car company, the car I haven't driven since November. Maybe my muse is actually hanging out in a cement-floor barn in Wisconsin. Maybe my muse can go make sweet love with Peter Egan's muse.
Damn Wisconsonites.
Now I'm getting ridiculous. But I'm having my mid-life crisis two weeks short of turning 25. I'm entitled.
Now where's my mid-life-crisis car?