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Posts Tagged ‘Warren Brown’

WaPo Car Columnist Plays Hooky for a Cutie

Warren Brown is the town badass.

Not only does he write a car column for WaPo called “On Wheels,” but he gets to impress his wife with really cool cars and then write about them for a living. Most recently, he got to test drive a Fiat 500 Sport subcompact hatchback and liked it so much that he took the day off and drove around the District and then took off to the Shenandoah Valley simply because he could. And because it was “beyond zippy” and “better than zoom.”

He even employs funny baby daddy metaphors in his writing and continuously refers to the car as “Cutie.” We know what you’re thinking. Is he crazy? Or, what, we have another sex scandal on our hands? Well, no, not either, yet. But that all depends on whether this yellow “Cutie” of a car turns out to be a tease. And even then we think Brown could survive the heartbreak.

He writes that the Fiat 500 Sport is a “love reminiscent of a long-ago heartthrob in New Orleans, during prom season in my senior year of high school, when a promised date with a Creole beauty was canceled … because she was pregnant … with some other boyfriend’s child.” He adds, “I want the Fiat 500 to succeed as badly as I wanted that date with the girl I’ll call Marguerite.”

But he’s worried — about Cutie’s cheap looking interior and a host of other hopefully minor details.

Read the story.

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‘Sexy Sexy Sexy’ Headline for Discreet Columnist on WaPo Car Pages

“Sexy, sexy, sexy. If you like that sort of thing.”

Here’s the headline that showed up in WaPo‘s  car pages on Warren Brown‘s “On Wheels” column Sunday in which he writes about driving the 2010 Maserati Gran Turismo Convertible.

Brown doesn’t avoid sexual references. In fact, there were several – as they related to the car, of course. The car, he writes, “turned out to be a beast of a machine. It was a sexy beast, too.”

The columnist attracted maybe a little too much attention to himself by driving the car. But that was unavoidable.

Crowds formed around the Gran Turismo Convertible in Northern Virginia parking lots. Women called out to me, especially when the car’s automatic convertible top was lowered. Some made unprintable verbal offers. My God! If they were cougars, what am I? I am 63, with rapidly thinning and graying hair.

But it’s not the one for me. I much prefer private indiscretion over public exposure, the latter of which is patently inescapable in a car with a deliberately provocative body and an exhaust note reminiscent of the call of the wild – or, in this case, the call of all law enforcement personnel within hearing distance.

I felt sheepish every time I pushed the throttle, emitting a deep, bass “varrrooommm,” appearing ready to peel rubber when all I really wanted to do was move gently from “stop.”