As a dyed-in-the-wool Gen X'er, who grew up watching School House Rock, who still possesses an arsenal of Fletch one-liners deployable with a hair-trigger, who worked his way through the entire Douglas Coupland canon, who saw The Breakfast Club in the theater (and looks distressingly like one of its main characters--and not one of the cool ones), I want to pause for a moment to mention how incredibly cool, and slightly surreal, it is that Andrew McCarthy--always one of the cool ones--is now doing travel writing for The Atlantic, e.g., this terrific piece on the remote west coast of Ireland in the new issue. (Check out also the slide show McCarthy narrates.) Actors not your thing? Then let me refer you, slacker, to Liz Phair's travel piece on a road trip to Phoenix in the March issue.
I keep hoping I'll bump into them at some Atlantic social function, even though I'd surely embarrass myself. But so far no luck.
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