As a kid, I instantly "got" James Bond: look cool, kill the bad guys and the girl's yours.  I was a little vague about what you did with her afterwards, but the British secret agent still made perfect sense.  Dean Martin's riff on 007, Matt Helm, was a different story.  As far as my crew was concerned, the American booze hound super spy lech didn't even qualify as a junk Bond.  In fact, I got the same feeling watching Matt Helm movies as I did I seeing local Catholic boys dress up like girls for their "father."  And while Bond's Aston was the business, I didn't know until this morning which wheels Matt Helm graced with his cinematic presence.  Well, here it is: a George Barris modified 1966 Mercury station wagon.  Figures.  A station wagon is about as cool as The Carpenters, maybe, no, definitely, less.  My mom drove a station wagon.  (There's that icky thing again.)  Turns out the Volo museum snagged this formica and plexiglass shag palace for their collection.  Lucky them.  I rang up the museum and spoke to their Director about Dino's Sex Wagon and the museum's more, um, salubrious whips.  

Once a pistonhead, always a pistonhead.  Even as the paramedics were dragging my sorry ass through the meat wagon’s side door, I felt a scalding blast from the turnouts and thought there’s got to be a better way to vent the big rig’s exhaust.  Even as I thrashed on the gurney like a freshly-landed marlin, I wondered why the manufacturer hadn’t fitted the ambulance with air suspension.  And then a nice lady gassed me up so a bunch of highly-trained anal retentives could cut my stomach a few times, insert some surgical steel, dice my gall bladder, suck out the remains and dump the diseased bits into a bio-hazard bag.  Ah, but did they leave me with enough bile to lead TTAC into battle?

Despite Toyota’s “when does a car become more than a car” zenvertising, Camry folk treat their rides like a household appliance: use, admire occasionally, forget.  For the 2007 model year, America's favorite four-wheeled conveyance has become… a stylish appliance.  That said, the new Toyota Camry is no Sub-Zero ‘fridge or Dyson upright.  For all its extensive improvements, the model has sacrificed much of its traditional depth of character on the altar of style and profit.  In fact, the new Camry raises an important question: has the perennial mid-size sales champ finally let down its guard? 

As a pistonhead of independent means, I’ve been lucky enough to own and sample a vast array of automotive hardware.  If I had a car for every time a friend, associate, colleague or innocent bystander asked me to name my favorite car, I’d see Jay Leno’s aircraft hangar and raise him a Space Shuttle shelter.  Of course, drilling down to one top whip would be like asking Angelina Jolie to name her least favorite husband—in reverse.  Still, in the interests of stimulating debate, here are my four faves.  I make no apologies for the fact that they’re all German; in the grand TTAC style, I call it like I see it and let the lederhosen fall where they may. 

Everyone has deeply buried secrets they hope no one ever exhumes. You know exactly what I'm talking about– the gang banger who listens to REM when his posse's out of earshot, the televangelist who retains the services of hookers after darkness falls, or the occasional FBI director who enjoys nylons and high heels. Gearheads have their clandestine thoughts too. Your friends consider you an expert on all things automotive so you'd never want them to know your true desires. Your dark side is there just begging to see the light of day. Now is your chance to come clean and cleanse your karma. We want to know: What cars are you embarrassed to admit you like and secretly covet?

In addition to more and more horsepower, automobile manufacturers are seemingly locked in a desperate struggle to load their vehicles up with more and more, well, stuff. Supposedly to help you drive better. After all, modern supercars are essentially porky Le Mans racers with power windows. But which feature is the most oversold, the most useless? Which does nothing but fill promotional material and empty your wallet? Is it AWD used mostly in dry conditions? The empty promise of 50/50 weight distribution? Manumatic gearboxes (or dare I say it… DSG?). Ceramic brakes that catch on fire and cost more than other cars? Nav systems that point out the nearest casino? Carbon fiber door inserts? Massaging seats? What? You tell us: what is the most oversold and useless car feature/characteristic currently on the market?

Obviously, we're all here reading TTAC because we fell in love with Farago's vision of what an automotive publication should be; honest, funny, insightful and when necessary, brutal. While our dear leader is on the mend — and he is on the mend —  the staff here at TTAC has decided to conduct a "best of" post, compiled by you, our readers. If the mood strikes you, please post your favorite TTAC car review, rant or podcast and then explain why. Bonus points will be awarded for selecting the correct answer (hint: Flying Vagina!).

The mighty Farago has taken ill. As our editor in chief is even more of a tenacious bastard in real life than he lets on here, we predict Robert will be back to full strength within a few days. Unfortunately for you, dear TTAC reader, that means no updates for the next couple of earth rotations. Until then, enjoy the archives.

Frank Williams came to TTAC's attention after he cc'ed us on an email to Car & Driver.  The long time C&D reader was all het up about Brock Yate's summary execution– I mean, dismissal.  Reading Williams' take-no-prisoners diatribe against the banal buff book, I immediately recognized Frank as a kindred spirit: a car guy with fire in his belly and an itchy keyboard.  Since his TTAC debut, Frank's gone on to become one of our most prolific and entertaining talents. Today's anti-nostalgic deconstruction of a 70's icon offers yet more proof that the net is giving voice to a whole new generation of automotive writing talent– even if it's not exactly a younger generation.  And speaking of voice, here's Frank's…

“The older I get, the better I was.”  Those of you who were in high school before Neil Armstrong baby-stepped for mankind know what I’m talking about.  Time has a remarkable way of enhancing our memories of days gone by.  More specifically, we tend to idolize automobiles whose once questionable joys have been filtered and sanitized by the mists of time.  Occasionally we need a good old whack from the reality stick to jar the truth loose from the cobwebs of our cloudy minds.  I got mine today.

Noticed any Sprinters lately?  Not the kind that burn-up your local running track; the boxy, diesel powered Sprinter vans sold by Dodge and Freightliner.  If you’re a typical enthusiast, these vehicles are less likely to appear on your automotive radar than a Toyota Camry.  But the Sprinter should have been on Ford’s radar.  The commercial vehicle represents a rapidly growing market segment that DaimlerChrysler is busy claiming for itself. That’s a couple of hundred thousand trucks a year, with good margins.  Gone.

I’m not a big fan of segregation.  Obviously, US car culture splits into distinct niches: hot rodders, low-riders, urban gangstas, tuners, etc.  Equally obvious, these niches attract adherents from specific ethnic groups.  But just as communities throughout my home state meet down at the markets as they root around for fresh ingredients for their ethnic cuisine, there is an element of respect and inter-mingling between these petrol-powered fraternities.  Anyway, I don’t get the male – female automotive divide.  I seriously doubt that there’s a female automotive perspective– even when it comes to child safety and minivanning.  So when I saw a press release about a new female-oriented automotive website, I decided to do what it said on the tin: ask Patty.  Turns out “Patty” is a male invention and the company producing the website makes its money sensitizing dealers to “women’s needs.”  I quizzed Jody Devere, President of www.askpatty.com, about the statistical justification for the segregation.        

After carefully considering the potential benefits of a GM – Nissan – Renault alliance, auto industry analysts have concluded that the deal makes about as much sense as Finnegan’s Wake.  Well duh.  Anyone even vaguely familiar with GM’s current crisis knows there’s only one thing the General needs right now: vehicles that people want to buy, at a price that makes the company a profit.  This they don’t have.  And guess what?  Nissan – Renault can't give it to them.  Even if Nissan and GM and Renault could work together (a completely preposterous concept), you’d see a second gen Chevrolet Camaro long before you’d see a hit product.  No, there’s something else in play here…

Sometimes the photos don’t do a car justice. This is one of those times: the 2007 Chrysler Sebring is even uglier in the metal than it is in the photos. Hunting for a parking space last week, I had the bad luck to come upon a parked black 2007 Sebring in full production trim. Chrysler’s PR flacks gush that the new sedan is a “strikingly beautiful design” that’s “poised to inspire.”  They got the second part right. Chrysler fans are warned to look away as I share the fruits of my inspiration.

There has been a little throw-down among the TTAC writers of late regarding the benefits of the DSG paddle shift transmission vis-à-vis the gold-standard fully synchronized five, and six-speed marvels of metallurgy, casting and machining.  I have to conclude that some folks just can’t master the manual shift manipulations to the point of self-satisfaction.  Well, I can’t play guitar by ear, so I like those electronic effects that help cover up my musical shortcomings.  But Chet Atkins and Van Halen like straight axes.  So what’s up with all the happy talk about automatics?