Yes, it's another one of those lumbering leviathans whose sole purpose in life is to Hoover-up the world's precious oil reserves and belch-out planet killing hydrocarbons– until and unless it mows down a bunch of blameless economy car drivers. Actually, Nissan designed the full-size Pathfinder Armada SUV to transport seven/eight people in comfort, safety and style. So let's cut the automaker a bit of slack, delete the letter combo "PC" from the PC and get on with it, shall we?

It's not as easy as it sounds. C'mon, an "Armada"? Didn't anyone have the cojones to remind Nissan Supremo Carl Ghosn that the word "armada" has been a synonym for naval military disaster since 1588? Granted, the average American's knowledge of European maritime history is only slightly better than their grasp of nuclear particle physics. But it's still an inauspicious name– especially for families mounting an amphibious assault on their local pool.

It's common knowledge that today's auto execs are obsessed with "clinics", those allegedly scientific investigations into the public's views about a new or planned model. As in Hollywood, this fixation has sucked much of the vibrancy and innovation from the car business. For evidence of its crippling grip on the industry's creativity, look no further than the alphanumeric soup that is our new car marketplace: RX7, X3, XK8, S500, A4, SC430, F150, FX45, ad nauseam.

This pseudo-military mania stems from the widespread tenet that established vehicle names succeed at the expense of the parent company's visibility. Predictably, hired image and brand consultants wrongly view popular model monikers as a serious threat to the overall corporate gestalt.

So there we were, barreling down the highway in a Lincoln Navigator. The music on the DVD suddenly swelled, filling the cavernous SUV with orchestral thunder. The kids were watching The Pirates of the Caribbean; the bit where Captain Jack Sparrow enters the harbor on a sinking skiff. Although the scene is played for laughs, the music is magnificent: grand yet lyrical, suffused with romance and adventure. Grasping the big Lincoln's wood and leather helm, I felt like the captain of a huge vessel heading for the open sea. At that moment, the SUV's enormous size and endless creature comforts made perfect sense. I was piloting a first-class ship of the line: safe, fast and well-provisioned. The only cloud on the horizon was…

The Sierra Club. SUVs may own the road, but Gaia's guys and their media minions have captured the moral high ground. Where unlimited consumerism was once considered a good thing, Americans are now instructed that their family truck triggers global warming, kills Bambi and endangers US troops. Never mind that many anti-SUV crusaders live in air-conditioned mansions with heated pools. SUVs are bad. The bigger they are, the badder they be.

I swear I had no intention of performing a drifting demonstration outside my step-daughter's school gates. In a prior attempt to gain a little mid-corner throttle control, I'd switched off the computerized handling Nanny. And then forgot all about it. So when I attempted to merge with the after-camp traffic, I suddenly found myself laying down a good 20 feet of rubber, in a decidedly sideways fashion.

Needless to say, that was not an example of driving in the traditional Mercedes manner. One wafts in one's Merc. But let's face facts: the C-Class appeals to a younger, thrustier demographic. Turning a plain Jane C into a demented German hot rod can't piss away the model's air of emotionally reserved exclusivity– it never had any in the first place. So it's damn the brand, full speed ahead!