Our detractors are sure to take that headline literally. So be it. If you judge a man by the quality of his enemies, TTAC's about as good as it gets. In any case, I apologize to TTAC's Best and Brightest for the extended site crash. We're just as addicted to posting the truth as you are to reading and commenting upon it. In fact, I was apoplectic today at a certain website (who shall not remain nameless) that smeared Frank Williams, and enormously frustrated that I couldn't let loose the dogs of TTAC on the rat bastard who dared allow such an unsubstantiated, poorly-written piece of libelous garbage onto his corner of cyberspace– without even bothering to read the article in question. There. I'm feeling better already. On a more General Motors level, the interruption of service ruined our product cadence. Which is a fancy way of saying we've lost our mojo. For a bit. 'Cause when it comes to automotive journalism, we're the new generation, and we've got something to say. If you've got ten minutes, have a listen.

The problems at Chrysler are immense: lackluster products, development cutbacks, a hugely bloated dealer network, cash flow issues, you name it. And don't forget Chrysler Finance. Although the former cash cow is now behind the veil of private ownership, the lender is in deep doo-doo. Not as deep as GMAC's ResCap. If GMAC's mortgage unit goes down, it'll take GMAC with it, and, potentially, sink GM. Even if GMAC somehow makes it though this incipient recession, GM's supplier problems– including the unresolved strike at American Axle and the ongoing debacle at Delphi– are looking more and more like a Gordian knot making love to a black hole (thank you Jonny). In fact, taken as a whole, GM's problems are worse than they were in late 2005. Oh, did I mention that the window for Chrysler owners Cerberus to sue Daimler for fraudulent conveyance ends in early August? Folk, it’s getting ugly, and we're not even calculating Ford's woes or the simple fact that Detroit's manufacturing jobs are leaving the country. We will be here through these dog days. When the excrement hits the air re-circulation device, just remember: we told you so. And we will take no joy in what happens next. 

Justin's got a job. A real job. Of course, TTAC's Managing Editor and myself excepted, everyone who writes for this website's got a real job. But props to Justin for landing a government gig. The position will pay-off his student loans, put a roof over his head, keep him off the streets and give him an opportunity to be glad-handed by President Bush. Although I fully expect this work to lead to a world-class whistle-blower moment (and, thus, a six-figure movie deal), I'm glad my tax dollars will soon be supporting Justin in the lifestyle to which his girlfriend is accustomed. Justin's a tireless worker with a sardonic sense of humor (regular listeners and readers will know that already). He'll be relocating to LA, and continuing to contribute news, reviews and blog items to this website on a need-to-know basis. Of course, the podcasting will have to cease (which is ironic, considering his Question of the Day). I'll be auditioning contributors for a suitable replacement. But Justin will be missed.

Sometimes I am astounded by how much content we generate on this site. Astounded in the sense of blurred vision, caffeine jitters and Daaaaaaddddyyyyyyy! Come NOW! Not to mention (although you know I'm about to) an inability to produce coherent thoughts. OK, a more-pronounced-than-usual inability to tap these keys in some kind of entertaining, informative, auto-oriented fashion. In my defense, I write plenty o' blogs, the odd editorial [sic] and edit every single word before it enters our little corner of cyberspace– other than our commentators' efforts. Whose entries I read without exception. Well, I take exception to a few, but you get my drift. Which is what I'm doing now, I suppose. Anyway, yesterday, I ran out of podcast posting time. This week, the news bear has been chasing us (Frank, me and the boys) like we're smothered in honey (as if). Even as I type, Frank's catching-up on the remainder of yesterday's posts– a tactic we normally leave to Autoblog. And I have miles to go before I sleep. But I wouldn't have it any other way. Front line web work is not for wimps. I salute the troops and resume command (in a completely non-arrogant but still alpha dog kind of way). That is all.  

When The Robb Report decided they didn't want to work with me anymore (surprise!), the Managing Editor cited my unauthorized off-road excursion in a Cayenne as one of the prime reasons I was persona non grata. Of all the shit I'd got up to, this was my cardinal sin. Huh? What red-blooded American doesn't harbor a deep-seated urge to not do what a bunch of heavily-accented Germans tell him to do? And what automotive journalist who's been on a meticulously-timed press launch doesn't understand the compulsion to leave the "designated route" for, somewhere, anywhere else? And it's not like I broke the thing– although, at the time, I thought I had. I'd simply embedded fist-sized rocks into the Cayenne's tires in my [ultimately successful] attempt to rock the SUV free of knee-deep mud, that I'd mistaken for a hard surface. Still, I genuinely liked Robert Ross, and miss working with him. I appreciate real talent, and understand the stresses that serving two masters can put on a man. I broke my Porsche IWC watch that day, clearing the mud away from the tire with my bare hands. Somehow, I can't bring myself to fix it. Go figure. 

When I was growing up, my father constantly reminded us that his customers put food on our table– both literally and figuratively (he had a weakness for Mercedes). The man who was THE alpha in my life was no such thing in front of his customers. He was polite, attentive, deferential and charming. At the tender age of 48, I think I've mastered attentive. But I learned the general lesson well. I never forget that you, dear readers, don't have to spend your time or talents here. I work hard every day to earn your patronage. I never take it for granted, or assume I know better than you– about anything. I fully consider all your criticisms and do my level best to fix bugs as and when they're brought to my attention. I'm never too busy to answer your emails. OK, I am. But I do it anyway. Because without you, nothing. And whenever I'm at a bookstore, I introduce myself to buff book readers and discuss their literary and internet habits. I'm constantly asking car owners I meet on the street what they think of their "ownership experience." If Chrysler thinks that they're going to be a better company if 300 execs talk to one customer each per day, they deserve to go out of business. And will. It's as simple as that. 

Sorry about that. But I spent a good part of today listening to two of my young daughters singing songs carefully selected to rattle around my brain like a marble in a glass jar. It left me with a strange desire to infect others with any piece of music with more hooks than a bridge full of anglers. It's a world of laughter, a world of… Oops! And that TV ad really bothers me– not just because a Vegas-class hypnotist would have trouble extracting the tune from my subconscious. Or the fact that there's no such thing as a free anything. But what really annoys me: the ad's anti-hero bemoans the fact that his failure to check his credit report means that instead of "a cool convertible or an S-U-V," he ends up "driving off the lot in a used sub-compact." I'm thinking this ad is WAY out of whack with the times, as plenty of SUV drivers would dearly love to ditch their gas-guzzlers for a compact car. Unfortunately, depreciation means it's harder to get out of an SUV loan than stop hearing that damn song. 

It's kinda hard for me to get my head 'round the fact that anybody reads TTAC. I know that sounds strange. But you've got to remember I started this website with exactly no readers. And for the first couple of years, there wasn't a comments section. These days, I still read every comment. Yup, all of them. So I kinda sorta know TTAC's Best and Brightest are out there, somewhere. But it still freaks me out when the people we write about, like Business Week's David Kiley, comment on our coverage on the site. Our server stats tell me automakers and their camp (and not in the original Batman TV series sense of the word) followers are reading us. But it's different to get actual online under-the-post feedback from the horse's… mouth (sorry David; I couldn't resist). Which reminds me. Will someone, anyone from GM please respond to our [collective] work? The Truth really does set you free. Ask someone who owns one. 

I received a dozen emails today inviting me to check out Jalopnik's new sponsor. Sure enough, the words "Presented by Acura TSX" are now prominently displayed next to the site's name. While searching for the footnote "no definite article need apply," I noticed that Jalopnik is festooned with ads for the Acura TSX. So I called Gawker's main man, Ray Wert. I asked if the new deal is a New Deal for the site's editorial independence. Ray assured me the Acura gravy train would have "no effect whatsoever" on his ability to run "positive or negative coverage" of the manufacturer in general, or the model in specific. Ray pointed-out that "presented by" is not the same as "sponsored by." And Jalopnik launched with Audi's sponsorship (the TT reflected in the logo lollypop sucker's sunglasses). He said Audi never yanked Spinelli's chain. Only they did. And, eventually, after a negative review, bailed. Ray's got integrity all day. But it's not enough to BE independent. You have to avoid the APPEARANCE of being Acura's bitch. Those of you who know Ray will know that the aforementioned comment will assure the man's fierce examination of everything we do to sniff out the slightest whiff of hypocrisy. We welcome the scrutiny.  

TTAC is a content machine. Our [barely paid] team of writers is as prolific as it is talented. Our [unpaid] commentators are the autoblogosphere's Best and Brightest, and they're not shy about coming forward. And whatever you think about my literary skills, my OCD makes me one keyboard tapping fool. Of one thing I am especially proud: although TTAC was late to the blogging game and don't have a tenth of the resources of the big sites, we kick ass. We blog the big ones, and blog them according to our branding remit. It occasionally annoys me that my competition doesn't. Just the other day, Justin took a shot at Autoblog for being a "press release funnel." I thought it was a bit OTT. And then I read AB's blog about Subaru's new ad campaign, which (not-so-coincidentally) we covered here. AB republished the entire Subaru press release. No biggie, I thought. Fills the space. And then I rethinked. Why would AB hand deliver its audience to Subaru like that, without any filtration? Its antithetical to my idea of what blogging is all about: added perspective. Exercising editorial judgment. Less poetically, or perhaps more, it's about NOT kissing ass. I remain committed to this vision. So, how are we doing?

O.K., after we recorded this daily podcast, Jonny Lieberman and I figured-out who's who in terms of brand positioning in the U.S. market these days– if only to make Matt Hardigree jealous. (Pay no attention to my branding statement in the actual 'cast.) We reckon… Lexus is the new Mercedes. BMW is the new Audi. Audi is the new BMW. Mazda is the new Honda. Hyundai is the new Ford. VW is the old Hyundai. Kia is the new Mercury. Toyota is the new GM. Chrysler is the new Studebaker. As for the rest, I need one. Feel free to complete the picture, argue the points or just listen to us schmooze.

Did you know that Martha Stewart has a horse farm? Well, duh. A wealthy WASP without a Connecticut horse farm is like a Detroit executive without a Gulfstream. To her credit, Suzy Homemaker on Steroids takes that old "I had a farm in the Constitution State" thing to the next level. According to Vanity Fair, the animals inhabiting Stewart's antebellum mansion equivalent are all black. Goats, sheep, dogs, cats, horses– all black, all the time. Get this: because black horses' coats can turn auburn in the summer sun, Princess Tippy Toes II has instructed her horse people (as opposed to horsey people) to keep the equines in their stables until dark. Now that's something with which this OCD automotive website editor can identify. So when I saw Martha Stewart vintage chardonnay at the package store, I just had to quaff. It was/is immaculate. And bland. Boring. As fundamentally characterless as a Toyota, Lexus and, yes, Scion product. Which got me thinking. If Detroit has anything left to add to America's automotive scene, it's soul. The Chrysler 300C had soul. The Ford GT had soul. Other than that, what? Mustang? Nitro? Malibu? And if American soul isn't a gas-guzzling V8, as it can no longer be, what it it? While you're contemplating that conundrum, Justin and I discuss the day's car news. 

A Brown University business professor once told me that one of America's greatest strengths is its ability to assimilate anything. While Bill O'Reilly rants on and on about our capitalistic society's moral degradation– like one of those nose hair-infested codgers who starts every sentence with "Back in MY day"– our profit-driven culture is actually extremely healthy. It takes the worst possible elements, sanitizes them and sells them into the mainstream. White suburban teens listen to gangsta rap while studying for their SATs. The gangstas end-up on Cribs, showing the world what's in their closet-sized Sub-Zero. SUVs are following a similar pattern. These planet-killas are gradually being domesticated into CUVs. The new Honda Pilot's obvious visual reference to its "no gallon of gas left unguzzled" SUV ancestors is just window dressing. I'm sure it's suitably frugal and considerably cleaner than Bill O'Reilly's phone calls. Of course, that opens a hole in the market for something "real;" a car that appeals to the street cred set. SUVs are done. Muscle cars are Avenged. What's next? Combat-styled EVs? Whatever it is, TTAC will be here to share the love. Whatever love is.

Cammy Corrigan had me all a dither yesterday. The TTAC commentator sent an email asserting that “I like TTAC, I really do, but I think it’s starting to lose its way.” God I hope not. Sure, we may have lost a bit of edge here and there. Maintaining our current output AND editorial quality is a daily make that hourly challenge. But it’s kind of hard to “lose your way” when the name of your website is The Truth About Cars. I never have to wonder, hmmm, what should we cover today? And whenever we write about something– from a story about the auto industry to a used car review– there’s never any doubt how to play it. We stick our tongue in our cheek, speak from the heart, call it like we see it and let the chips fall where they may. The Truth About Cars is who we are AND what we do. In addition, I promise you this: we will never take ourselves too seriously or take your concerns lightly. If you’ve got a beef with us, follow Katie’s lead and let us know. Your vigilance and passion makes us stronger, and there is always room for improvement.

I'm sure LA scribe Dan Neil's extraction from the U.S. Top Gear team came as no surprise to anyone who's ever seen The Player, or any other Hollywood movie about how Hollywood movies are ruined by Hollywood executives (who probably ruined the movie about how Hollywood executives ruin movies). It's the rare creative venture that can survive the cold dead hand of executives working for a deeply-entrenched, publicly-owned media company. From the moment that an American Top Gear was first mooted, American pistonheads (gearheads?) suspected the worst. They just knew that Top Gear's anarchic yet elitist spirit couldn't survive the jump into ad-sponsored network hypespace. Still, some good will come of NBC strong-arm tactics. As TTAC commentator Tom Anderson points out, Neil's dismissal saves him from the possibility, perhaps probability, OK certainty of an ignominious loss of credibility. Dan's automotive criticism is too important– as recognized by Lilly Pulitzer, I mean the Pulitzer prize people– to suffer a massive loss of face. This way, his work will remain unsullied; a literary gift to future generations. Meanwhile, Justin and I try to show that goofing around has its place in the autoblogosphere. We kid, you deride.