By naterisch
11/18/2014
The Los Angeles Auto Show is a big deal for several reasons, but it remains the Rodney Dangerfield of car shows. In a romantic comedy, the LA show would be the leading lady’s wisecracking best friend: attractive enough, and fun to be around, but when you get right down to it, she ain’t gonna get the guy.
By naterisch
11/18/2014
In response to last week’s eleven-car enumeration, CCA member Bill Schaefer e-mailed me his list, which included a vintage Fiat 500. It made me think about the 1974 Fiat 128 we had when I was in high school. It wasn’t the car that I learned to drive in—that distinction goes to our beloved ’69 Plymouth Satellite, the first car my mother bought by herself after my dad passed away.
By naterisch
11/10/2014
It’s an interesting time to be an automotive enthusiast. On one side of the car coin, we can purchase—for an admittedly substantial sum of money—a nearly-600-horsepower M5 sedan that is capable of transferring copious amounts of rubber to the ground while coddling its occupants with heated seats and multi-zone air conditioning. You can even simultaneously blast the a/c and crank up the backside warmers—just for fun. Don’t worry, your car won’t judge you.
By naterisch
11/10/2014
Last week, I brought home the Shark, which clicked the car-counter into the unprecedented nosebleed territory of eleven. For the record, the basic enumeration is this: There are, as I like think of them, the Nixon-era triplets: the ’72 2002tii, the ’72 Bavaria, and the ’73 3.0CSi. There are the Zs: the ’99 Z3 and Z3 M coupe. There is the recently purchased E30 ’87 325is I wrote about in Roundel.
By naterisch
11/03/2014
I hear Led Zeppelin’s “Trampled Under Foot”  playing somewhere in the distance. I hear the sound of fluorescent lights humming overhead. I see on my calendar that it’s fall. All of these things pile a heap of depression the size of a large sedan on my brain.

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