Cheat Seeking Missiles

‘m writing this in my usual spot in the kitchen nook, the good Lord having returned our little expedition safely home. The last day was like the others in that I was completely, blessedly, out of the news loop with VP selections not even approaching my consciousness. Lucky me. But it was entirely unlike the other days, as well: One of high-tailing it down a freeway, not arcing through curves along the shore and through the redwoods. Out of the foggy forests we flew, across wine country, through a traffic-choked San Francisco, into the Silicon Valley, on a flight, and home.

But against that benign backdrop is this: I will shortly reveal Bookworm’s identity. The secretive Bay Area conservative blogger has been masked for far too long!

But first, a tale prefaced by this: Incredible Daughter #1 is a serious BMW fanatic. She tracks her Z4 at various raceways, regularly goes to meets and drives with other BMW owners, and is a moderator at Bimmerforums, a very popular BMW page. So yesterday, when the drive turned out to be less engaging than on the earlier days and we found the conversation lacking, we made the simple decision to play “spot the German car.”

Even including Volkswagens (think VW bus in NorCal) the pickings were few, and after 20 or so challenging minutes, our count was around five. A VW or two, an old and a middle-aged Mercedes, a BMW 3 series. Then after a long-ish dry spell, we came down a hill and onto a straightaway through a little, picturesque farming valley, when suddenly there appeared a vision: A glorious 1930s vintage burgundy and cream BMW roadster. This is almost certainly the same car, from a photo I found of a 2004 vintage BMW rally.

It was immediately followed by a silver 507, a 1950s era luxury sportscar BMW put up against the Mercedes gull-wing coupe. It almost put BMW into bankruptcy, but is achingly beautiful and technologically hyper-advanced. It was easily worth $500,000 and who even knows what the vintage roadster would command.

Incredible Daughter #1 was making sounds I’d never heard from her before: Squeals, screams and ooohs strung together in a very easily understood if not particularly well articulated expression of delight and shock. There followed another classic roadster from the 30s, plus various newer models. The count of German cars soared to the teens, and the rest of the game, which ended in the 50s as we approached the wealthy Bay Area, was a let-down.

It turned out we had stumbled upon the BMW Vintage & Classic Car Club of America’s Aptos to Eureka to Tahoe to Aptos rally. Read more here.

Discounting the visit with Bookworm, which I’ll get to next, the next most exciting thing was seeing a Prius - a Prius! - in Marin County - Marin County! - with a McCain bumper sticker on it. Albeit, a small one, but still …

So we (Incredible Daughters #1 and #3 and me) carried out our stealth meeting with the secretive proprietress of Bookworm Room in a coffee shop somewhere in Marin County. She is delightful, as expected. We had a wide-ranging discussion on everything from history (she’s reading about Einstein, I’m reading about the American West) to stealth conservatism, to raising kids and how acorns may or may not fall far from the tree. Talking to Bookworm is something of a cross between electroshock therapy and a perfect hot fudge sundae. Your brain gets quite a work-out, but it’s a fabulously indulgent pleasure. Blogging can make a good friend out of someone you’ve never even met - and I see the feeling was mutual.

So why would I destroy Bookworm’s confidentiality and expose her secret identity? Why would I put my blogfriend at risk of negative social stigma, of being treated like a leper in her home town?

It’s simple, really: Once a journalist, always a journalist. You really can’t trust me with a secret.

Besides, what right does she have to write about public persona while keeping her own persona secret? The public has a right to know her identity that overpowers her right to keep her identity secret.

And no, it doesn’t matter one whit that the public will not benefit much at all from the considerable harm I’m about to cause her. The only important thing is the relentless rush of knowledge, and knowing her identity is just one more piece of the puzzle; one of little consequence purchased at great price for sure, but I’m willing to hurt her in the name of the public’s right to know.

So,

without further delay,

here is a photo of me

with the until no longer unrevealed

Bookworm: