My car is overdue for an oil change, plus the “Service Engine Soon” light is on (I’m absolutely 100% positive-certain that those two things could not possibly be related). So the beast slumbers in a service bay up the road while I sit here in a WiFi-studly donut shop and bang out a Macworld column. I started it last night, blessed with an idea that I immediately knew was going to be fun to write. I’m enjoying myself, I seem to be making some sort of point with this, and it’s going to be a fun read.
Lots of columns go this way and I’m thankful for that. It’s like jumping behind the wheel of a…wait, let me look up the name of that cool buglike little car that was on “Top Gear” a while ago — ah! Yes, the Caterham R500:
…and driving from Boston to Nashua in something under 20 minutes, deftly finding every opportunity for acceleration and smooth lane changes, while the cops see me only as the memory of something they convinced themselves they never saw in the first place.
Lots of columns end this way, too: I get to the last two line-items on your list of driving directions and waste a whole hour circling the same three streets, searching in vain for “72 Perseid Lane (on right, red house).” There’s a Percy Lane and a Perseid Street, but neither of them have any red houses on them and neither one even has a house with a #72 on the mailbox.
Oh, I’ll find the end to this column shortly. I just need to abandon the car and start the embarrassing trick of knocking on doors. Not exactly a dignified ending but hey, so long as I get this pizza delivered in 30 minutes or less, I don’t really care.