Growing up near Flint, everyone's dad worked for GM. Not all of our fathers brought home a GM paycheck, but we all lived on GM money. If your dad was a plumber, a shopkeeper or a mortgage broker, GM's wages paid the bills. If your dad was a dentist, GM's health plan paid his patients' bills. That's just how it was. GM was one of your parents, the UAW was the other. We had no idea we were destined to become orphans.

My dad taught shop at Flint Central High School. Since everyone's dad worked for GM, everyone took shop. It was the ideal time and place for teaching drafting, auto repair, woodworking, metallurgy, welding and other productive skills. People believed in those fields. People respected those talents. In the beginning, his classroom was a shrine to hard work and craftsmanship. His students knew they were opening the door to a comfortable life. By the time Dad retired in 1991 the promise had become an empty shell. The excitement and the discipline had simply drained away.

My automotive odyssey began in a Ford Pinto. I didn't need Ralph Nader to tell me that The Blue Oval's first sub-compact was a death trap. The Pinto was so nasty on so many levels I'm surprised it didn't spontaneously combust in shame. Then again, why would it? Ford had no shame. Like the rest of the Big Three, their greed, arrogance and incompetence handed the small car market to the Japanese. As far as I can tell, nothing much has changed in the last 35 years. Once again, gas prices are squeezing cash-strapped motorists. Once again, domestics don't have a compelling answer. And once again, Toyota does: the Toyota Yaris.

Do without any optional frills (power windows, remote keyless, a radio) and an autobox Yaris Liftback will set you back about twelve large. If the repo man has never darkened your drive and you have a grand to put down (or are willing to also do your own shifting), payments are within spitting distance of $200. That's to own the car, not a lease with a phone book's worth of fine print. And not just any car, but a brand spankin' new, made-in-Japan, everyone's-sister-knows-it'll-never-break Toyota. A Hummer driver spends twice as much just to keep the tank topped off. Speaking of which, you get over 35 mpg in a Yaris, with a three-year bumper-to-bumper hakuna mutata.

Mitsubishi Motors is on the ropes. US sales are in the basement. Aside from the new Eclipse and the niche-market EVO, they haven't got a winning product in sight. A line of forgettable sedans and me-too SUVs does not a viable car company make. DaimlerChrysler's decision to pull the plug on future financial aid doesn't bode well either. In fact, Mitsubishi is knocking on the door of bankruptcy. Desperate times call for desperate measures. It's time for them to build a "real" pickup truck: a Mitsubishi Freightliner.

Despite the recent surge in gas prices, the US pickup truck market remains relatively robust. And even if it's contracting slightly, the profits aren't. The average profit on a pickup is $13,000 per unit. No wonder Nissan threw their hat in the ring with the Titan, and Toyota's promising all-new Tundra is due out next spring. Mitsubishi's entry, the Raider, is a badge engineered Dodge Dakota, but not nearly as memorable. It has some of the right stuff, including a V8, but cowers in the darkest corners of the marketplace, ignored and little missed. To make the grade and mint some money, Mitsubishi needs a full-size competitor to the Ford Super Duty.

Now that General Motors is poised on the brink of disaster, the smallest setback could send the The General sliding into bankruptcy. What will be the straw that breaks The General's back? Most of the world has focused their attention on New York federal bankruptcy court. They're waiting to see if Judge Robert Drain voids bankrupt parts supplier Delphi's union contracts, and what effect that will have on GM. After all, there's so much to think about…

Will the United Auto Workers (UAW) react to the judge's ruling with an immediate strike at Delphi, starving GM of vital parts and driving The General into Chapter 11? Or is UAW boss Big Ron Gettelfinger secretly scheming to use the judge's decision to scare his members into accepting an otherwise unpalatable 15th hour compromise? Does Big Ron still have enough juice to make it so, given that he's up for reelection in June? Will a more radical union leader emerge and convince members of the rank and file to stage wildcat strikes? Will the larger number of Delphi retirees overrule their hotheaded "active" brothers and sisters to save their health care and pension payments?

There's a great deal of controversy in automotive circles these days regarding the advantages and disadvantages of parts-bin and badge engineering. Parts-bin engineering has been hailed as an efficient way for manufacturers to fully utilize their mechanical resources. Badge engineering has been demonized as an automaker's attempt to pull the wool over consumers' eyes. Although that analysis isn't a million miles from the truth, further explanation is in order.

A manufacturer practicing parts-bin engineering builds more than one model using the same basic components. Examples of parts-bin engineering include the Honda Civic, Del-Sol (1990s) and the current CR-V. On the home front, parts-bin engineering usually means sharing platforms, engines and drive trains. Chrysler was famous (or infamous) for developing a wide variety of vehicles from its "K" platform: family sedans, wagons, minivans and the Daytona sports coupe. Today's Daimler-Chrysler consumers can order the same Hemi engine in a wide range of Dodge, Chrysler or Jeep products.

It was one of those glorious English days: cold, dark, windy and damp. Confidence was not high; RF had dragged me to yet another industrial building in the middle of nowhere to check out yet another piece of automotive history: the Aston Martin DB5. As a woman raised in South Africa, the whole Bond thing had passed me by. Sure, I love Aston. The Vanquish is my number one all-time favorite car. But I'd driven enough classics to know that most of them are like male models: great to look at but incapable of a quick, intelligent conversation. And yet, there she was, and my God, she was beautiful.

I walked around the car a few times admiring its presence. The strange combination of its Volvo P1800-like rear end and bulldog nose, those perfect pipes and wire wheels, that rakish roofline– it all worked a treat. I was deeply smitten with the DB5, ready to fall in love. The interior kept the flame alive with its sweet-smelling leather and aircraft-style gauges. As always, RF had the first go. His real-time report warned me of the driving difficulties to follow. I told myself that his standards were too high; I wanted to like driving the DB as much as looking at it.

Procreating pistonheads must give up many things: impromptu sex, driving nowhere in particular, sleep. Unfortunately, twisty tackling and stick shifting are also on the parental hit list. Even Dads or Mums with a sports car tucked away in the garage end up spending virtually all their driving time schlepping their brood in a slushbox-equipped family hauler. Yet all is not lost. A three-rowed three-pedaled bespoilered people-mover survives in clutchophobic America: the Mazda5. This vanlet offers pistonheads hope they can meet their needs and satisfy their desires with a single set of wheels. Or not.

Way forward. Bold Moves. Screw that. If America wants a bold, innovative car, they'll buy a Toyota. If they want something honest, inexpensive and comfortable, they'll buy a Ford. If they want an honest car with added spizzarkle, they'll spend a little more for a Mercury. Well, that's how it used to be, until Ford started building sub-par Japanese wanna-be's. Thankfully, the Blue Oval offers at least one rear-wheel drive automobile that stays true to the company's roots: the Mercury Grand Marquis.

Park the Grand Marquis next to its foreign counterparts and it's clear that the American luxobarge ain't livin' large no mo'. Snout-to-tail comparisons with a Camry require measurements smaller than a foot; millimeters differentiate their relative heights. Fortunately, the Marquis' ping-pong table hood and aircraft-carrier rear deck survive into the new millennium, while its broad shoulders continue to evoke memories of Officer Badass. Although the Marquis' police-a-like shape sends shivers down the spines of Boy Racers, the car's basic design is wildly inoffensive. This despite a new-for-'06 schnoz that blends-in about as well as a Speedo-wearing fat guy in Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue.

Before you can buy a firearm in Rhode Island, you have to finish a gun safety course. My instruction consisted of a pot-bellied ex-State Trooper telling war stories about ballistic incidents and accidents. It was a strangely effective education. Not only did I learn that you shouldn't shoot a crack addict with a .22 ('It just makes 'em mad'), but I also had Rule Number One drummed into my brain: if you draw your gun, use it. Which is why I'm sure that The United Auto Workers (UAW) is about to bring GM down.

On Thursday, UAW Vice President Richard Shoemaker told all locals unions covering bankrupt GM parts supplier Delphi to conduct strike authorization ballots by 14 May. The chances of the vote going against the union's request are about the same as Zimbabwe's electorate voting out Robert Mugabe. In other words, 24,000 union workers are about to chamber a round in their Delphi destroyer. The first bullet was loaded by 8500 members of The International Union of Electrical and Communications Workers, who authorized a Delphi strike back in February. The next four rounds will come from the United Steelworkers, the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers and the International Union of Operating Engineers.

When gas prices spike, hands are wrung and fingers are pointed. A frantic, politically volatile search for the "cause" of the whole mess follows. With gas prices hovering round the $3 mark and enough carping to please a Tennessee fishing tournament; the question has entered the forefront of our national consciousness. The answer, for once, isn't supply, though there are some logistical hiccups involved. Oil (and thus gas) prices are climbing to new heights as a result of two "highs": high-demand and high-finance.

High-demand is easy to understand, and even pleasing in a backhanded sort of way. Capitalism has won the economic war; a lot of the little economies are picking up (including the sleeping dragon surrounded by all those "tigers"). More factories and more cars equal more demand, demand exceeds supply, price goes up. It's basic economics. So did all those Chinese buying cars cause this? (A small fraction of a billion plus is still huge). Well yes, partially, but there's also the financial angle.

Last year, TTAC named the Boxster S Car of the Year. I found the award ludicrous. A decade old, under-endowed Porsche-lite trumping the best and the brightest from the US, Italy, Britain, Japan and the rest of Deutschland? It's like arguing that the "S" in "SUV" stands for "sport." With the possible exception of my misplaced belief in the longevity of love with a certain young, deceitful woman, I have never been more wrong about anything in my life. Last week a "regular" Boxster painted in "take my license, please" red showed up at my house. I have lost my ability to not smile.

Clocking the new Boxster is like checking out the teenage daughter of your old high school crush. Everything that attracted you to the roadster is still there, only fresher, perkier and more… streamlined. From most angles, the Boxster resembles Ye Olde 996 Turbo, chopped and dropped. From the rear though, and especially with the beefier haunches, the Boxster still appears as if someone is bent over and spreading 'em. If you think this is a coincidence, you haven't watched enough German porn.

Anyone remember Buick? You know; "doctor's car", big, expensive, highly-styled, just this side of a Cadillac? Well, today's Buick is going head to head with… Hyundai. No really. Even Hyundai's website knows the truth. It compares their new Azera Limited to a Buick LaCrosse. And here's the really strange part: the Buick kicks the Azera's ass. This triumph would be all well and good for GM if anyone was actually buying a Buick, but they aren't. At last count, on average, each Buick dealership sold eight new cars per month. Eight. Something's very right here, and something's very wrong.

Let's look at that comparison again. At $25,535, a Buick LaCrosse is cheaper than the $27,495 Azera Limited. That's almost two grand less than the import before you begin bargaining with the dealer (So Ricky… how many new Buicks did you guys sell this month?). And don't forget that GM sweetens the deal with 2.9% financing. Or how about Buick's flagship, the new Lucerne? At $25,990, it's still about $1500 less than the Hyundai. The Lucerne has features Hyundai hasn't even thought of (yet): rain-sensing wipers, heated washer fluid, OnStar, etc. The Lucerne also has a much larger cabin and the quietest ride this side of a casket. And portholes.

What's worse than farce? Political correctness. When farce ends, people look around and say, "Wow! That was stupid." With political correctness, the stupidity never ends. It moves from stupid to bizarre to delusional to dangerous to destructive. Yesterday, the Attorneys General of California, New York, New Jersey, Maine, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Mexico, Oregon, Rhode Island and Vermont filed a joint suit against the federal government, trying to increase CAFE (Corporate Average Fuel Economy) light truck standards. By doing so, they placed the entire fuel economy debate on the far side of the PC arc. First the science…

The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) sets, monitors and enforces CAFE legislation. The agency does NOT, however, calculate the fuel economy figures. That job falls to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). The EPA makes its determinations by measuring the amount of carbon dioxide coming out of a vehicle's tailpipe. (The higher a vehicle's fuel economy, the less CO2 it expels.) The federal government does not classify carbon dioxide a pollutant. Environmentalists do. They consider CO2 a planet-warming "greenhouse gas." Now, the politics…

You see, the truth is that muscle cars are the internal combustion embodiment of the people who build them and buy them. They are the bull in the china shop, the ugly American, the crass and careless houseguest. The thinking man's nothing. They are rolling thunderclaps a step out of time – unapologetic and incongruent products that answer only to passion and pavement, defying the nanny-state know-it-alls in whose face they kick sand. They're muscular (of course), loud and indulgent – the kind of machine that would feel at home on Tony Soprano's payroll.

They brook no compromises and offer little nuance. They mean business, though their business is pleasure. Muscle cars are a black and white, all or nothing proposition, with super-hero exteriors belying the Spartan comforts to be found behind the glass. They enjoy a kind of gladiator luxury – the extravagant expense buying not power windows, power seats and power steering, but power. Pure and simple.

In an act of enormous generosity, a fresh-from-the-farm fraternity pledge offered to drive the Polo-clad seniors around in his car—a restored 1967 GTO with Centerline wheels. "No one in Independence (Missouri) ever beat it," he proudly declared. "Worth over 20 grand." That was in 1990. The older fraternity brothers winced. "We'll be seen in that?" Showing maturity beyond his years, he stabled the Goat and returned next semester with a beat-up Tercel. This was, ironically, the more socially acceptable choice at my upper-middle-class fraternity.

Muscle cars are cool. They're tough. They're American. But they're not for up-and-comers. Refined? Well, no. Sophisticated? Hardly. A technological tour de force? Save them words for androgynous Europeans with little glasses. If you're the type who understands opera or worries about the safety of dolphins or includes "tofu" on your grocery list, don't even try to understand.