Exhaustion City here at the Stacey household. At 7am on Saturday morning, the family set off to Maine to look at a couple of Chevelles. After dropping my children off at my patient, beautiful, wonderful sister’s house in southern Maine, the husband and I drove all the way to the Bar Harbor area to look at a ’71. While it was a beautiful SS clone, it was built up for the drags and just too much car for the little wifey. .383 stroker, B&M stall converter, fender wells removed and the whole nine yards. Got home at 11, emptyhanded. (Although my sister—did I mention how wonderful she is?—took 5 kids to see Madagascar.) Depressed, I was surfing the ‘net at 1am and found a ’68 convertible a mere hour from here. Scooped her up and brought her home. She’s a Chevelle Malibu instead of the SS clone I was after, but she’s pretty damn classy in her own right. And convertible.

In other news, my column is up today at RTB. I’m pretty unhappy with it. Doesn’t really live up to the whole “cutting edge, mapping the genre” part of the mission statement. But I don’t feel cutting edge. The only aspect of the genre I may have anything to say about that everybody hasn’t already heard would be H/S, and I believe I’d walk way too fine a line there with regard to any “speaking for the company” perceptions. So I avoid talking about the one aspect of the industry I know the most about.

I get to register my baby today, though. The husband purposely didn’t add air to the front tires so I couldn’t drive it around until he got home. (Less about Neanderthal “me car guy” tendencies and more about the fact that it’s been a few years since I’ve driven a car without power brakes. It doesn’t even have disc brakes! It does have power steering, but not the kind of power steering we’re accustomed to now.

And the sound system? AM radio! Hot damn!