It's all too familiar. The burning lap courses demand precise driving, boosting, and turn management within a painfully narrow amount of time. The frustration of repeated denial is only compounded by the lamentations of my daughter who refuses to go to sleep.

White Mountain seems to be the most notorious of the raceways. Whether it is within the Criterion Racer GT or some other turbo-installed conveyance, the outcome seems to be all the same: an AWESOME Silver medal. Hardly enough to provide the perfection required for another achievement or an excuse to do something else to drown out the cries of the progeny.

So here I sit, crashing, burning, dropping, or scattering my virtual components across the unforgiving raceway in search of a gold medal and another 25 points. As the shrapnel flies every direction I just think I could be the one sequestered in the crib for a pleasant nap instead of throwing up my hands in disgust at another egregious piloting error.