If Mom and Dad had it, we don’t want it. The principle has been an article of faith since homo sapiens first stalked the savannah. Bouffant hairstyles? Brylcreem? Gedoutta here. Eighteen-hour girdles? Puh-lease. When it comes to vehicles, there’s nothing stodgier than Mom's old station wagon. If thirty or forty-somethings think about the genre at all, it’s with mocking derision. From National Lampoon’s “Family Truckster” to That 70’s Show’s Vista Cruiser, the station wagon is the ultimate icon of suburban conformity and, well, blah. It really IS your father’s Oldsmobile.

So, BMW develops a flex fuel gas/hydrogen powered vehicle and we're supposed to give them tree-hugging props? I don't think so. I give them far more credit for perfecting and selling the diesel engines in their European sedans; cars that are are clean-running, quiet, efficient and powerful. While pistonheads are generally considered selfish bastards whose love of speed, comfort and style is a luxury our country– indeed the entire world– can no longer afford, I say bollocks to that. There is no reason why this country can't develop its own sources of energy– so we can burn it as we will in our choice of automobile. Anyway, that's my warm-up for my September 11th column on America's national energy policy as it relates to your car or cars. If you have any thoughts on the matter, you can help me out by dropping them here. Meanwhile, enjoy the pre-rant precast. 

FULL TRANSCRIPT (by Frank Williams) AFTER THE JUMP 

Saturn was born “A different kind of company, a different kind of car.” Talk about post-modern irony; GM created the Saturn division to copy Japan’s products, management techniques and manufacturing dexterity. Needless to say, it worked. Friendly Saturn dealers created devoted customers with a “no dicker” sticker and a pretty good range of plastic-paneled cars (the S-Series). And then… nothing much. After leaving Saturn to twist in the wind, losing billions in the process, GM eventually spiked the brand’s independence. And now, finally, the Saturn Aura is here to revive GM’s "import fighter."

It's clear that GM's new powertrain warranty– 5 years, 100k miles– has set TTAC tongues wagging. To get on top of the story, I phoned Philip Reed, Consumer Advice Editor at Edmunds.com. Reed has written a book called Strategies for Smart Car Buyers, which covers the entire car buying process: selling, leasing, buying, used cars, certified cars, the whole schmeer. Reed knows what's what when it comes to warranties and, equally important, their value to both customer and manufacturer. According to Reed, GM's announcement could well be a great landing at the wrong airport.  

It's one of those happy, clappy news days when pistonheads have a surfeit of stories to investigate from the privacy of their cubicle. I sometimes wonder what creates this compulsive fascination with four-wheeled transportation. The standard take on the subject is that the automobile represents freedom. Supposedly, congestion, high gas prices and environmental responsibility have destroyed this traditional romantic association between the car and the proverbial "open road." (Personally, I think National Lampoon's Summer Vacation had a lot to do with it.) But this perceived wisdom fail to realize that the car isn't just about going towards something new and exciting, it's about moving away from stuff that drives you nuts: Mom, Dad, the Boss, Wife/Husband, kids, etc. A large part of TTAC's mission is to help aid this process of escape– if only for ten minutes and three seconds. If you haven't tried this precast thing, go for it. The only thing you have to lose is the stress of not being behind the wheel. 

You may have noticed this website tends to celebrate performance automobiles. While this predilection for dynamic distraction places us within the media mainstream, it doesn’t square with urban car culture. I'm sure you know that car owners who inflict double-dubs on their whips happily sacrifice ride and handling on the altar of, gulp, style. Even so, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve seen the light. Thanks to the Mercedes SL550, I now know middle aged white people can stunt and floss with the best (worst?) of them.

Car names are a happy hunting ground for motoscribes and headline writers. Nissan Armada? Please. Versa? Vice springs immediately to mind (and not because of any other websites I may or may not have visited recently). I'm not sure if Nissan was trying to flummox the press when they settled on Qashqai as a name for their new "cute ute," but I reckon it's a big mistake. First, naming a vehicle after an obscure ethnic tribe is a bit too me-too, what with the Toureg already twisting tongues at VW dealerships worldwide. Second, the Qashqai are a semi-nomadic, Farsi-speaking Shia Muslim tribe based in southern Iran. Nuff said? Third, it's unpronounceable. I've scoured the web, and still can't find a phonetic spelling. (Little help?) And fourth, capitalizing on a tribe's identity without paying them for the privilege ain't exactly what I'd call PC. Meanwhile, Spinelli and I kick around Mr. Mulally's appointment at Ford. Figuratively speaking. 

Why do manufacturers of high end cars think I’m an idiot? Their automobiles tell me when their tires need air, when the coolant is low and when it’s time for an oil change. They [still] remind me to buckle-up, close my door and take my key. They warn me of approaching objects (front and rear). Yes, I know: this dumbing-down suits the majority of wealthy car buyers, who’d rather read a treatise on Keynesian economics than check their oil. Still, you’ve got to draw the line somewhere. Sun visor stickers are my personal line in the sand.

Was he pushed or did he jump? Either way, Billy Ford’s resignation as CEO of the family firm is yet more proof that The Blue Oval’s in big trouble. Not that he’s been trying to hide the fact. In his Newsweek interview, Billy telegraphed his intention to fall on his sword: “I've always said that titles are not important to me… What's important is getting this company headed in the right direction." And the new man is… Alan Mulally, Boeing’s now former Executive Vice President. Not to coin a phrase, one wonders if Billy told the board, “If it’s not Boeing, I’m not going.”

I've been podcasting with Mike Spinelli of Jalopnik on a daily basis for quite some time. I hesitate to say exactly how long because then I'd have to think about the precise meaning of "hobby trading" and I've always found that term more than a bit humiliating. Anyway, Mike has graciously allowed me to air these podcasts on TTAC. So I'm going to posting them for a week or so. If they prove popular, the kid stays in the picture. If not, well, Tamora is another TVR. Or something like that.  

On my way to breakfast in the F-150 King Ranch, a box fresh Rolls-Royce Phantom cut me off. The similarities between the two vehicles are striking. Both are enormous rigs; BMW’s high-end Roller is one of the few vehicles on the road not dwarfed by Ford’s biggest ever F-150. Both machines are gas-guzzlers sold on image and luxury. Sure the prices are several hundred T-bills apart and the Ford’s a lot less dirt aversive, but the most important difference is that the Roller is an aristocrat by birth. The F150 King Ranch is Horatio Alger on wheels, an affordable icon. Or is it?

So, General Motors has pulled its sponsorship from Survivor. Flackmeister Ryndee S. Carney claimed GM came to its decision “months ago, before the show made its recent announcement." The announcement in question: Survivor will divide its competitors by race and ethnicity. Carney quashed the idea that GM pulled the plug in response to the controversial formatting in no certain terms: “I think it's just a coincidence.” Think? Carney’s comment brings into question GM’s ability to tell the truth and, thus, to survive its evaporating market share, bloated dealer network, distended brand portfolio, lackluster product lines and horrendous cost structure.

Tuscany. The name evokes images of dining al-fresco in pastel stucco courtyards watching sleek 12-cylinder convertibles cruise by, their impossibly chic passengers hiding behind oversized shades. Tuscani. The name evokes an automotive product that wants to proclaim Italian flare but doesn’t have the necessary accent or copyright. To those who delight in unmasking fake Rolexes and other pretentious twaddle, the Tuscani is an instant classic: a car that pays homage to a Ferrari 456 GT made in South Korea.  

Something, anything, is worth exactly what someone will pay for it, no more and no less. Human beings being what they are, that "willingness" has a strong emotional contingent. When it comes to cars and car collectors, all sorts of strange commercial transactions can occur. For example, the muscle car market is red hot; proper GTO's, 'Cudas and Shelby Cobras are regularly fetching triple digit prices. This despite the fact that the majority of these machines are foul-handling beasts whose power-to-weight ratio seems carefully designed to kill its driver dead. Still, you can understand aging baby boomers' desire to own the car or cars they couldn't afford back in the day. Does that mean a carefully preserved Honda Integra Type R will someday fetch serious money at auction? Or a Chrysler 300C SRT-8? I turned to RM Auctions' Terry Lobzun for the skinny on future classics.  

One Christmas, I tried snowboarding on Big Bear Mountain in Southern California. With great determination, I flung myself down the slope. Each time I started to gain a little speed, I’d have to dive into the snow to avoid running over an over-privileged rugrat. Two days of voluntary horizontal shifting left me so sore I could barely walk for a week. Driving a Daytona Prototype car in the Grand American Rolex Series must be equally frustrating.