GM’s September sales figures are out. Despite generous Labor Day incentives, zero per cent financing to anyone with a pulse and an easy year-on-year comparison (GM was in the post-Fire Sale mode last September), vehicle sales are down seven percent. Given GM’s upcoming production cutbacks, there’s only one way sales can go from here: down, taking GM’s declining market share with it. Never mind. According to GM Exec Maximum Bob Lutz, "Whatever our market share stabilizes at in the US— 22, 23, 24 percent— I don’t really care. The idea that GM… has got to get back to 30 percent is a wacky notion with all this global competition we’ve got."

It’s been a while since my description of the Subaru B9 Tribeca’s front end as a “flying vagina” got TTAC banned from… BMW’s press fleet. At the time, the German company’s PR flack promised/threatened to monitor the site and “get back in touch;” you know, when he’d decided that we’d been good little boys. Yeah right. There’s a higher likelihood that Godot will hang with Vladimir and Estragon than a Bimmer flackling calling TTAC to welcome us back into the fold. Still, we’ve managed to end run the embargo. And we’ve shown no animus or (Godot forbid) favoritism in our reviews of their products (e.g. Jay Shoemaker recently declared the 335i one of the millennia’s best motors). So I can once again state without fear or favor that BMW’s SMG gearbox is the worst gearbox on planet earth, by a large margin. Now, thanks to a generous reader, we’ve learned that BMW has bought Borg Warner’s dual clutch transmission (DCT) technology. The world’s best gearbox (known as DSG in Volkswagen/Audi world) will appear in BMW products as early as next year. So who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Speak, Rover BMW, speak!  

When I moved back to the US from the UK, I was delighted to discover right wing media commentators. After living in a country with a media dominated by anti-American, government intervention in all things left wingers, it was a relief to see that another perspective still existed. Fifteen minutes later, I realized that Bill, Rush, Savage and Sean are such egomaniacal asses that their politics don't really matter. GM's decision to hire Sean Hannity to host a flag-waving national radio promotion doesn't really matter either– except to the people for whom it does. Surfing the left-leaning blogs, it's clear they are one whole Hell of a lot less than happy about GM's choice. Hiring such a contentious commentator certainly seems like a bone-headed idea. The General needs all the friends it can get– from either side of the political divide. Still, it's bound to please the red state "heartland," who could well be GM's last redoubt. Has it really come to this, then, or am I just being overly politically sensitive? Listen and discuss. 

I like to drive fast. I don't think I'm breaking new rhetorical ground to suggest that anyone who likes to drive fast violates the speed limit from time to time. In fact, depending on your predilection for automotive velocity, "from time to time" easily becomes "all the time." There are plenty of ways to justify chronic speeding: posted speed limits are unrealistic (set low to reflect average vehicles' and drivers' capabilities), they're a guideline rather than an absolute indication of safe speed (which don't reflect variable conditions such as weather, road surface, traffic, etc.), they're relatively unimportant (compared to inattentive, reckless or drunk driving) and the vast majority of motorists exceed them anyway. Strangely, the last excuse is the most potent.

It’s funny how some things stick in your head. I’ll never forget Hispanic actor Ricardo Montalban’s satisfaction with the 1976 Chrysler Cordoba: “I like what they’ve done to my car!” My mind also reserves a mental YouTube for the actor’s penchant for “soft Corinthian leather.” Of course, the fact that the term was invented by copy writers at Young & Rubicam, and that the hides in question were equestrian in origin, helped write the ROM. It’s not clear if the Cordoba campaign was the first time a car hooked into a post-modern ironic vibe, but it certainly set the tone for the company for years to follow. In fact, you could say that the 300 is the logical inheritor of this self-referential pomposity. Well, at least that’s what I thought this morning when I watched a beige 300 with arc eyes chrome wheels, a mesh front grill and a dark tan fake Landau roof (complete with matching trunk lid and, wait for it, gas door cover) roll into the local Amazing! porno store parking lot. Does that mean that Chrysler products aren’t just badge engineered, but somehow deeply forever faux? I know: let’s ask Jonny! 

Yesterday, Automotive News reported that octogenarian GM investor Kirk Kerkorian is "frustrated with CEO Rick Wagoner's lack of enthusiasm for an alliance with Nissan-Renault." That's like the DEA saying it’s frustrated with Bolivia's inability to curtail its cocaine exports. Kirk knows that Rick would sooner pull the ripcord on his [bankruptcy proof] golden parachute than green light a hook-up with the French. Which is why the Lion of Las Vegas responded to Wagoner’s “no deal” comments to the Parisian press by threatening to buy up even more shares in the ailing automaker: to force Wagoner into a corner.

Why? Why in the world would Chrysler release another gas-guzzling SUV into the domestic market? OK, sure, they probably pulled the trigger on the Aspen before gas crested three bucks a gallon and immolated SUV sales. But why bother? The official website proclaims the Aspen offers “Decadence without shame.” This from a vehicle that gets [an entirely theoretical] 14 mpg in the urban cycle? Whose shame are they referring to? Surely someone should be embarrassed.

This morning, I met with a management consultant who works for The Big Two Point Five. Back before the recent “unpleasantness,” Ford’s top brass engaged the consultant to tackle a marketing issue crucial to FoMoCo’s future. Department heads assembled. Despite overlapping fiefdoms and wildly different ideas for progress, the execs hammered out an innovative four-point strategic plan. Consensus was achieved. And then… nothing. Not one of the points was ever implemented. “These guys are scared to death of change,” he sighed. “Ford’s culture is always working against them.”

Aside from the early, dainty-looking Mustangs and their Shelby siblings, I never really "got" the whole 'Stang cult. During my formative years, the mucho macho models cruising the mean streets of Providence were bloated Pony Car parodies; great honking beasts with about as much cornering prowess as a breeze block. The late '70's and '80's Mustangs were small, slow and stupid looking. In the '90's, the design started to come right and SVO made the model into a defensible choice for power mad pistonheads. But I still couldn't understand why anyone would lionize a car whose heyday lay almost forty years in the past. And then the "new" Mustang arrived. Now that I get: a Disney-style re-imagining of an idealized Mustang pulled from our collective unconscious. But the interior! And what's with the solid rear axle? Still, the GT sounds nice, goes OK and looks great. According to Jonny Lieberman, the Shelby GT-H sounds even better, goes even faster and looks like it sounds and goes. Listen to him preach the gospel to a former Mustang atheist turned agnostic.  

Even as it struggles for its short term survival, GM has unleashed a cloud of hydrogen-powered publicity. A week ago last Sunday, GM announced that "Project Driveway” will deliver 100 Chevrolet Equinox Fuel Cell “test” vehicles to consumers in LA, Washington and New York City. The following Monday, GM unveiled their hydrogen fuel-cell powered Sequel. And last Thursday, The General delivered a fleet of fuel cell Chevys to the US Army. Does this mean that GM Car Czar Maximum Bob Lutz is finally right about something; that GM’s “moon shot” will put Toyota’s hybrids to shame and save GM?

A hypnotherapist once told me that he began every session by asking his subject to close the door, hand him a pen, move closer, etc. He said that the sooner his subjects learned to follow small commands, the sooner (and more likely) they’d follow the big ones. When I read that Michigan Representative Mike Rogers wants the federal government to guarantee $20b worth of loans to help domestic automakers develop alternative fuels, hybrids and other “energy saving technologies,” I knew it was the same deal. Rogers is training Uncle Sam to bail out the Big Two Point Five.

Jaguar is one heck of a brand. The company took the automotive world by storm, not once, but twice. The first revelation arrived just after WWII. England entered the conflict with an Empire and emerged an impoverished island nation in the North Sea with a few colonies and an Indian subcontinent to its name. Straight into Britannia's shell-shocked and austere enconomy came the Jaguar XK120. Jag's suprisingly inexpensive supercar looked like sin (and a German BMW) and went like Hell (out-performing Aston). The company's– and the nation's– future suddenly had a spring in its step. And then, eh. Until the sixties swung, and out popped another gestalt-capturing blockbuster: the E-type. Yeah baby! For those of us looking for a four-wheeled Hail Mary pass to save Ford's damaged brand, it's worth noting that both of these machines were sexier-than-Jill-Wagner-in-lingerie sports cars powered by superb six cylinder engines. And they were both reasonably affordable. What I'm trying to say is that a new Jaguar sedan ain't gonna cut it, no matter how beautiful, fast or keenly priced it may be. The forthcoming S-Type sedan sure ain't no oil spill– I mean, oil painting. Jag might've made most of its money in "saloons," but it's heart has always been in honest-to-God sports cars. 

You may have noticed that I haven't posted a precast in a couple of days. Truth to tell, TTAC contributor and former Car and Driver editor Stephan Wilkinson knocked the wind out of my sails with an email that asked why in God's name anyone would want to listen to a couple of "car dorks." As someone who's never had trouble getting laid (current status: happily married), I've never really thought of myself as a dork. Strange, sure. Over-educated, definitely. But dorky? I don't think so. At least I didn't think so until Wilkinson sent his email. Now I'm left wondering if my single-minded dedication to all things automotive, and the thousands of hours spent tapping the plastic in my e-garret about same, has rendered me a car nerd. (Webster's on-line dictionary makes no distinction between dork and nerd.) For sure, I know too much about some pretty obscure car-related things. But I console myself that you gentle reader know equally as much, and, in most cases, far more than I in this field. And I celebrate your knowledge. I respect it, admire it and defer to it. So, if I love your passion, I guess I should love mine– no matter how juvenile or "dorky" it sounds. In that spirit, I resume this audio feature. If it grates, so be it. But if you're dorky and you know it, click right here.  

I remember reading about an environmental group that argued for zero population. Not zero population growth, zero people. They figured there was only one way to return nature to its, um, natural state: take humans out of the equation. I don’t recall their plan to achieve this goal, but I don’t think it involved automobiles. After all: no people, no cars, no pollution. Done. California’s tree huggers may not adhere to the same logical extreme, but c’mon, can someone please knock some sense into the state’s eco-warriors before they do something really stupid?

Auto industry analysts have cast their beady eyes on The Blue Oval's third turnaround plan, and they don’t like what they see. Despite the fact that Billy and Alan and Mark have mashed the gas on Ford’s downsizing, there are ominous rumblings that the cuts aren’t deep enough. The assertion is almost as shocking as the cuts themselves. If asking all of your 75k union workers to piss off isn’t enough, if shuttering sixteen plants doesn’t cut the financial mustard, well, is there any end to this death spiral?  Only the obvious one.