At 9:30am this morning, a group of lawyers representing bankrupt auto parts supplier Delphi will appear in front of Federal Bankruptcy Judge Robert Drain. The lawyers will file legal motions for Sections 1113 and 1114. It's a legal request to void Delphi's current collective bargaining agreements with the United Auto Workers (UAW). The moment the judge says the word "granted," he will terminate the wage structure, post-retirement health care and life insurance plans for the company's 33k US hourly workers. The UAW will respond with a strike against Delphi. Starved of its former subsidiary's parts, GM's assembly lines will fall silent. The General will begin its final slide into Chapter 11.

There will be a gap between Delphi's filing, the judge's final ruling (May 9th) and industrial action. During this highly fraught interregnum, Delphi President Steve 'Quotation Marks' Miller may make a fourth wage and benefits offer to the UAW. The proposal would fall somewhere between the workers' current compensation ($27 per hour) and Miller's last last stand ($16.50 per hour). As we've said before, the UAW will accept nothing less than the status quo, and that's somewhere where Miller won't go– at least not without GM footing the bill. Common sense says if GM CEO Rick Wagoner was going to ride to Delphi's rescue, he would have done so already. Chances are he can't.

Grizzly Pete owned a Jeep. My college roommate's idea of a relaxing weekend: drive into Death Valley with a handgun and a knife and forage for food and water. Pete didn't need GPS; he could navigate via stars reflected off tortoise shells. Heated seats? He'd rub two Gila monsters together until they burst and spread their warm innards on his chair. Parking radar? Pete was the master of the dry lake reverse bootlegger's turn. And if Pete gouged his truck on the razor sharp spines of a Joshua tree, so much the better. A Jeep looked more like Jeep with trail damage. Amen.

Flash forward (mumble) years. I've spent a week putting (15 MPG) and blasting (8 MPG) around Los Angeles in a Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited. Yeah, it's got a HEMI, complete with cylinder deactivation/vasectomy. It was also equipped with a six-disk in-dash changer, Sirius satellite radio, a rear seat DVD player, adjustable pedals, heated leather seats, dual-climate zones, auto brights, a GPS navigation thingy, ParkSense (backup beeping), traction control, a manu-matic gear grabber and blingy chrome rims. I'd no sooner take this luxochariot off-road than I'd take Pete's battered Jeep down Rodeo Drive.

Remember when the words 'luxury' and 'pickup' went together like "reality" and "television?" Well neither does Ford. These days, Ford offers the F150 in three levels of lavishness. There's the understated luxury Lariat, the b-b-b-bad to the bone Harley-Davidson and the steakhouse on wheels known as the King Ranch. So when Lincoln charged its badge engineers with creating a replacement for the ill-conceived, ill-fated Blackwood pickup based on a pre-swanked F150, they figured– sensibly enough– that the road to success was paved with bricks of bling.

To distance the Mark LT from its genetic twin, Lincoln's retrofitters substituted a gigantic version of their "waterfall' grill for the F150's demure nose. The end result is bold– in the same sense that a sledgehammer slamming through a plate glass window is aggressive. Just in case you missed the big Lincoln's spizzarkleprow, the LT also rolls with half-chromed side mirrors and chrome appliqués running from the front bumper along the entire length of the lower body sides. Ditto the oversized badges on the grille, fenders and tailgate. If you're a pickup driving homie who thinks that too much of a good thing is a good start, you can option-up 18' chrome wheels, shiny bed rails and dazzling step bars. It's OEM pimpery, Lincoln style.

Testing a Gallardo SE in Miami is like sipping Chateau Lafite Rothschild in a public urinal. The little Lambo was born to annihilate the twisting mountain roads surrounding Italy's supercar valley, or flirt with V3 on a derestricted German autobahn. Miami's geometric streets and traffic-choked highways offer the Gallardo driver nothing more than a sinuous onramp and an occasional half-mile sprint– which is plenty damn exciting but about as satisfying as red wine slammers. So, whilst fending-off a frantic flackmeister preoccupied with the definition of the words "driving impression," I guided the baby bull towards the nearest race track.

As I quick-quick-slowed through the cars clogging I-95 North, I was taken aback by the lack of stare and attention given the Gallardo. With its strange combination of diminutive footprint, cab forward stance, drop snout, near horizontal windshield and unrelenting angularity, the Gallardo lacks what native S-Class owners call "uberholprestige": that indefinable yet unmistakable car-isma that convinces fellow road users to move the Hell over. Either that or Floridians are fed-up with the automotive tastes of Bolivian drug lords. In any case, we now know what happens when a Belgian designs a supercar for a legendary Italian nameplate under the wary eye of a German conglomerate; and it ain't what I'd call pretty.

German filmmaking giant Werner Herzog speaks often about our culture suffering from a 'lack of adequate imagery.' This means that you walk into the dentist's office and there's that same damn picture of the Grand Canyon or a Moulin Rouge poster. Since Herzog now lives where I do, I'll take his theory a step further and proclaim that we are really suffering from a lack of adequate sound imagery. If I ever hear the Beatles again, I'll slit my throat. Gwen Stefani? Your throat. Thankfully, Steve Jobs solved this problem by developing the iPod.

As predicted, the American Family Association (AFA) has renewed its boycott of the Ford Motor Company. The move comes after The Blue Oval reneged on a private pledge to the AFA to stop advertising in gay and lesbian media, and end direct financial support to gay and lesbian events and organizations. When the story broke back in December, Ford denied the AFA deal. They claimed the decision to pull Jag and Land Rover ads from gay-oriented publications was "strictly business." When that didn't fly with the gay, bisexual, lesbian and transgender (GBLT) community, Ford reversed itself and kept the cash flowing. Thus the AFA's retaliation for their alleged betrayal. Now what?

This time 'round, Ford has taken a sensible line on the AFA's boycott: ignore it and hope it goes away. Yesterday, Blue Oval Spinmeister Kathleen Vokes issued a written statement more generic than store brand soap. 'Ford is proud of its tradition of treating all with respect, and we remain focused on what we do best — building and selling the most innovative cars and trucks.' Ignoring Henry Ford's vicious anti-Semitism and the brand's spurious claim to technological supremacy, the official pronouncement left little doubt about Ford's current perspective on the AFA's goals. Not to put too fine a point on it, Vokes' words were multi-national corporate PR speak for "fuck off and die."

I've been formally instructed never to put numbers into a lead paragraph. So let's just say I've been lucky enough to own roughly as many cars as there are basic cable channels. While I've enjoyed every single one of my motors for at least a month, I can state without a moment's hesitation that I didn't enjoy buying any of them. I find the car buying process only slightly more enjoyable than colonoscopy, yet remarkably similar. (No anesthetic, though.) In fact, I'm hoping this car reviewing thing will wean me off my ownership addiction. 'Cause if you haven't figured it out by now, let me tell it to you straight: buying cars is a beeyatch. And I swear it's getting worse.

For starters, there's been a wholesale change in the decision timeline. What once was a late summer/early fall dramatic new-model reveal has become one dazzling, continuous roll-out of new steel. Los Angeles, Detroit, Chicago, Frankfurt, Geneva, New York, Tokyo… it's one damn car show after another, all instantly available on-line. Once upon a time, Harley Earl fans had nearly a year to settle in with their purchase decision. Nowadays enthusiasts experience buyer's remorse before they buy. You just know that whatever you settle on today will be superseded by something better within days. And if you actually buy a car it's gonna be… If only I'd waited just a little longer… I wonder what it would cost to trade…

When Chrysler unveiled its PT Cruiser in 2001, it was hailed as a fun, versatile retro-mobile. While sales have remained relatively robust, virtually every automaker in the Cruiserweight class has introduced a new or reworked small wagon: the Toyota Matrix/ Pontiac Vibe twins, Mazda 3 and Chevrolet HHR (a.k.a. 'Me-Too Cruiser') among them. Even the […]

Brian Wilson is a genius. Back in the day, he'd craft a pop song that etched itself deep into your brain, change a few chords, alter the harmonies and… brainwash you again. Bryan Nesbitt was the chief designer of Chrysler's phenomenally successful P.T. Cruiser. After switching to the Chevrolet label, Nesbitt has picked up his […]

Ward's Automotive recently profiled Pete Gerosa, GM's former Vice President for Field Sales, Service and Parts. Although Gerosa's heading for retirement, he's still on the road, selling the company line to GM's dealer network. Reporter Steve Finlay painted the 42-year industry veteran as a living link between GM's past and professed future: selling the vehicle, not the deal. While Finlay pressed Gerosa on GM's so-called value pricing, the scribe failed to confront the exec about GM's recent sales incentives or The General's March Madness campaign. In any case, Finlay's feature contained a telling tale.

At a dealer conference, David Latshaw, finance director at Shaver Pontiac in Thousand Oaks, CA, asked Gerosa why GM can't build enough Solstii to meet demand. "Our dealership had 600 initial orders and only got thirteen cars,' Latshaw said. "What is the right number?' Gerosa answered. 'Too many, and you discount. Too few, and there are waits. But thirteen is too low." Ya think? Latshaw: 'We put a sold Solstice in the showroom just to display it, and people were saying, 'I want to buy that car!' They got mad when we told them they couldn't. They were freaking out. We had to hide the car in back." Before we file that one under defeat, from the jaws of victory snatched, note Gerosa's inability to accept responsibility for the company's screw-up or promise any kind of resolution to an ongoing problem.

Harley-Davidson has been making obsolete, inefficient and technologically deficient motorcycles since the 60's. Despite an unrelenting onslaught of technically superior Japanese product, the Harley-Davidson brand has stayed true to its roots (however inadvertently). They've never stopped building bikes that maintain the charm and character of old-fashioned American motorcycling. Or, put another way, Harley makes its living convincing otherwise responsible adults to pay premium prices for old technology. This transition– from cutting edge to outdated to nostalgic to a way of life– is a perfect model for the American automobile industry.

It's already happening. Consider America's love of big dumb SUV's, or, better yet, its best-selling vehicle, the F-150. Ford's perennial sales leader is a tried-and-true workhorse built around fundamentally simple (if highly evolved) technology. As personal transportation it's incredibly inefficient. Compared to a Japanese or Korean car, it's laughably basic. And yet the F-150– and American pick-up trucks in general– are thriving. They're style icons that remind drivers of a time when American culture was dominant and cast iron V8's ruled the roads. The modern F-150 is as "authentically American" as any '50's hot rod or '60's muscle car.

Picture the scene. We're sitting at the kitchen table in the PAG household (that's Ford's Premier Auto Group). Disgruntled father Ford, stressed with bill payments, pounds the table with clenched fist, stares young, seditious daughter Jaguar square in the face and demands, "Why can't you be more like your sisters?" He points to her snide, adopted siblings; vixen Aston Martin, rugged Land Rover, and pudgy little sister Volvo, who with a mouthful of meatballs chimes in, "Ja, vhy kan't you? Dumhuvud."

No wonder Jaguar CEO Joe Greenwell is feeling unloved: Volvo and Land Rover are both doing solid business. There's a December waiting list for Aston's V8 Vantage. To avoid articles like this one, Ford doesn't break out profits according to individual brands. But according to British regulatory filings, Jaguar lost $1.1b in '03. The British marque's losses for '04 and '05 easily match– if not exceed– that figure, capping a sixteen-year flow of red ink. Jaguar's highly-touted plans to sell 200k cars a year? Gone. Last year, Jaguar built 120k cars. US dealers were flooded with 21k off-lease cars; these three-year-old Jags retained just 40% of their value.

Badge-engineering. You know the drill: take a run-of-the-mill bog standard plain Jane vanilla sort of car, add some external bits and internal pieces, tweak the ride, slap on a more prestigious badge and jack-up the price. More specifically, the "new" Lincoln Zephyr is a Ford Fusion with a modified grill, wood trim, floatier ride, Lincoln logo and an inflated sticker price. So rather than badge engineer my Ford Fusion review, I'm going to tell you what Ford– sorry, Lincoln, should have done with this car.

The obvious answer is nothing. Lincoln needs a front-wheel-drive mid-size sedan like Hummer needs a camouflage SMART (unless they use it as an H2 escape pod). Even if we ignore Lincoln's illustrious past– first betrayed in 1936 by a funny-looking car called a Zephyr– the brand's recent history sets the standard. Exhibitionist A: the Lincoln Continental Mark IV: a huge, thirsty, poorly-built, foul-handling beast from a time when jeans had bells at the bottom. While the infinitely smaller [modern] Zephyr is so safe and reliable it Hertz and boasts twice as much everything room than the old Mark, Lincoln's '70's luxobarge holstered a 7.5-liter V8 with more swagger than Ludacris at a Kapp Alpha Theta. Now THAT'S what I'm talking about.

As GM fast approaches the day when it surrenders its world's largest automaker title to Toyota, it's important to remember that we're still talking about a corporate colossus. If you include fleet sales, The General makes one in every four vehicles sold in the United States. Obviously, GM's problem isn't volume. It's profitability. GM's US operations are still designed to cater to a third of the US car market. That's Hell of a lot of fat to trim– especially with a union that hears "efficiency" and thinks "downsizing". Meanwhile, The General has an even bigger problem: it doesn't have a heart.

An automotive brand's "heart" is the car that the average customer associates with a given brand. It's the vehicle whose character most clearly personifies the brand's values. Toyota has the Camry. Honda has Accord. Nissan has the Altima. Ford had the Taurus (and demolished it to push the Explorer). GM has nothing. More importantly, Chevy has nothing. Remember "the heartbeat of America"? It's on the crash-cart, waiting for a transplant.

Mercedes-Benz makes a lot of cars for customers with serious aspirations. Just out of college, looking for bit of respect? C-Class. Mid-level manager aspiring to the next rung on the corporate ladder? Take an E. Mr. Got it All looking for a set of wheels for the woman who isn't his wife? CLK cabriolet. And a car for the woman who is? The SL. The clear link in all this is badge snobbery. In fact, if class consciousness has a symbol, it's a three-pointed star. So what's one of the brand's current campaigns for their $96k CL500? "Mercedes-Benz: For Everyone." Right.

Post-modern irony aside, it's true. Mercedes-Benz wants to sell a car in every automotive niche. (Not to mention the ones they invent.) Mercedes can get away with it too. If Mercedes produced the equivalent of Europe's proletarian Ford Ka and slapped a MB badge on it, the automotive press would slam it and tens of thousands star struck buyers would go straight out and buy one. Oh wait, they did. Mercifully, US buyers were spared the rolling atrocity known as the A-Class. That said, it may be only a matter of time before the entirely inappropriate B-Class finds its way into trendy loft livers' assigned parking spaces. Badge snobbery über alles.