|My Friday pm Z drive (long, but you have time) (archive)|
Posted by Josh P on September 25, 1998 at 21:25:11:
This is what happens when you have young children, and it ain't all that bad.
It's Friday night after a long, typically unremarkable week. I managed to get my little one down by 8:30, and the wife (she's expecting), is splayed out on the couch, her pants unzipped in a not particularily sexy fashion, a Ziploc of Orville Redenbacker nestled in her groin and the clicker dangling disinterestedly from her wrist. She's watching a re-run of that made-for-TV movie about a woman who buries her husband alive (with the help of her lover), but the husband claws his way out to exact revenge on the pair via a quickly constructed plywood house of horrors. It is hardly frightening and I only wish I could make our contractors move so fast.
Anyway, I notified the Mrs. that I'd be going out for a drive while she enjoyed her Orville. Pulled on a cap, put down the top and beelined for I-95, and drove south to Greenwich to try to catch a glimpse of an M coupe at the Beemer dealer there. No such luck, but got a gander at a new 2.3, as well as a tasty Arctic M Roadster. Am I alone in preferring the classic simplicity of the 2.8, specifically, the regular gills, round spoke alloys, simpler front air dam and neater, cleaner tush?
I rumbled down Greenwich Avenue, which is like a Yankee country club version of Rodeo Drive, lots of people with whale belts and Range Rovers and Barbour coats (I shouldn't sneer because I have one, and love it, but what the hell) and was the slightly embarrassed (but somehow pleased) recipient of a few hoots and ogles from some high school kids who were digging the Z. Good thing it was washed, huh? Pulled up next to an Estoril roadster at a stoplight, and exchanged very small, discreet smiles. (Remember...this is Greenwich Ave. we're talking about here and they only smile over truly joyful things like when Powerball draws a winner so all the undesirables streaming in from across the border-land (NY) evaporate, or when their hedge funds are kicking ass (which isn't the case with one of them, if you read the Times). Then, back out to the highway, where I redlined it all the way up to speed, snicking my way through the gears. (I like the word snick because I always see it used in the buff books and it's really onoemonopoeic). I was dreaming about doing the same in an M when I flicked on the radio, and what do you know? Mick and the boys are growling out "you can't always get what you want..."
But you know what? If you drive sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.
--JP 98 2.8 Black & Tan & going under the knife Monday for a Dinan chip & airbox.