Paper Vroom.(Column)(Column)

Byline: Kevin A. Wilson

We call this an auto enthusiast magazine, with some pride in our focus on the reader who is passionate about cars and driving, as opposed to being merely interested. If you go back to the origins of the term enthusiast, you'll find it was mildly derogatory, labeling a person who enthuses-effusively-about the object of his affections. Think trainspotter, Trekkie, geek. Bore. Think anyone to whom you might wish to say "Get a life.''

There's a thin line between being passionate and being obsessed. A passion embraces life, sharing with others, whereas an obsession pushes all else aside, especially people. Sometimes, getting a job done-rebuilding the engine, entering the concours, starting the race-means crossing the line into obsession, but it's what you do after and between those intervals of obsession that determines how much control you have over it. If you're lucky enough-as many of us here are-to have your passion become your profession, the challenge of "leaving work at the office'' can be huge.

All of which leads up to a confession of a minor league geeky streak. For amongst the automotive ephemera around my house-stuff I've accumulated under the veil of "professional research'' but which Mrs. Wilson labels more directly "car clutter''-are a few books of paper cars. It's a nostalgia thing; long before I could drive, my automotive enthusiasm found its outlet in various toys and models, including quite a few of these paper things that had short shelf lives made even shorter when forced into play mode.

The ones I accumulated in my adulthood ("When was that?'' asks Mrs. Wilson) from remainder racks, garage sales and as gifts-still-from parents and family, stay between the book covers on the shelf. But not because I don't want to fold the paper and see the car. Ten years or so ago, a publisher sent a review copy of a book of paper cars to the magazine, and I folded up a few-a Porsche Speedster for my wife, ...