It’s no secret that The Detroit News (DTN) likes to cheer for the home team. It’s also no surprise that the financially challenged paper imports low-cost out-of-town talent to satisfy their product needs– just like the domestic automakers they support. So when I read Washington Post writer Warren Brown’s analysis of GM’s fortunes on the DTN website, I was hardly stunned to discover a happy clappy Pollyanna puff piece. Like his prickly personality, Brown’s nose for news is distinctly stuffy; his piece embodies and elevates mindless pro-GM optimism to new heights.

“What is it about the human condition that so delights in the negative?” Brown’s opening sentence demands. (I’m feeling you Warren.) Clearly, GM naysayers have put Brown’s nose out of joint. To avoid any accusations of dancing on GM's grave– sorry, jinxing The General’s rehab, let’s skip to the bit of Brown’s bombast that has captured the attention of the GM faithful, and do a little factual intervention.

Never one to miss an opportunity to lord it over the boorish riff-raff commonly known as his colleagues (I’m feeling you Warren), Brown chastises auto scribes for continuing to question (publicly!) GM’s viability. In fact, these know-nothing car hacks are so blinkered by their negative nature they fail to recognize that The General has “rediscovered its fighting and innovative spirits.”  

“There is proof in the new Saturn Aura sedan and the new Chevrolet Silverado pickup truck, which together swept the North American car and truck of the year honors at the show — ironically, awards given by some of the journalists who later were questioning GM's ability to survive.”

While TTAC’s reviewer wouldn’t have given the gong to the Silverado, I’ll spot Brown that one (you feeling me Warren?). But pinning GM’s future on Aura sales is like depending on an infantry assault to defeat an entrenched machine gun position. The truth is the Aura is getting slaughtered.

In its first three months, Saturn sold 19,746 Auras. If the model sustains those numbers– and that’s a big “if”– the Aura will generate roughly 80k sales per year. While the projected annual tally would dwarf ’05 sales of the similarly platformed Saab 9-3 (24,133), it would fail to surmount the, gulp, Buick Lucerne (96,515). To put that into perspective, last year GM sold 323,981 Chevrolet Impalas, 312,747 Cobalt/HHR’s, 157,644 G6’s and 163,853 Chevrolet Malibus.

To put THAT into perspective, between 34 and 60 percent of those models went to rental fleets. In other words, in the battle for the mass market, the award-winning pride of Detroit Saturn Aura is another, even smaller, damp squib.

Anyway, Brown’s nose may not be growing like Pinocchio’s, but he certainly doesn’t know a scam when he sees one. Our Capital correspondent views the press' skepticism about the Chevrolet Volt concept car as yet more evidence that GM critical TTAC-types are simply cynical bastards. Brown considers the Volt “tangible proof” of GM’s right-minded “intentions.”

Yes, well, the road to bankruptcy is paved with good intentions. While GM has hoodwinked Brown and his ilk by claiming that the lithium-ion battery-powered Volt will hit showrooms in three to five years, experts are snorting coffee out their noses.

“Lithium-ion chemistry still has issues for automotive applications,” Don Runkle told Bloomberg News. The former GM engineer and chairman of battery maker EaglePicher Holdings Inc. isn't buying GM's development timeline. “Everyone tries to pooh-pooh thermal runaway (overheating), but this is nasty stuff. If it screws up, you have a dead serious fire on your hands.”

Never mind analyzing the facts; Brown is too busy mocking the “media murmuring”: “Is GM serious? How can they afford it? Is this just a ploy to get money from the federal government? Toyota will probably beat them to the punch first, don't you think? It's a good idea but so what? It'll take them 10 years to bring it to market.” 

As the Brits would say, you gotta laugh, mate. The same man who raises a condescending arched eyebrow at the “irony” of automotive journalists handing out awards to the company whose survival they question smirks at implications that the Volt is a ploy for federal subsidies. Yet he recognizes, welcomes even, The Big Two Point Five’s post-Volt request for a $500m federal hand-out to develop automotive battery technology.

Hang on; doesn’t the fact that GM [alone] can’t afford such mission critical, company-saving research trigger any alarm bells for the Capitol curmudgeon? Nope, he’s off politicizing the debate, defending the government handout as a way to avoid foreign troop engagements.

Oh wait, that’s just me being negative again. Luckily, Brown's gonna cut us death watchers a bit of slack. “Perhaps such chatter is inevitable. It is easier to believe in failure than it is to achieve, or sustain success.” Hey Warren; do me a favor. Tell it to GM.   

As read by Robert Farago below. 

[Read the original DTN article here.]

I’m 31, single and happy. So obviously my mother is constantly nagging me to get hitched and give her grandchildren. Even my sister’s impending marriage has failed to distract her; she’ll never be content until, presumably, I am not. Perhaps she’s right. I’m the only unmarried man at my weekly poker game. My best friend is expecting his first child this summer. If I were honest, I might admit I’m at the age when oat-sowing men settle down, produce offspring and molt. I can, however, offer at least one compelling reason for not introducing my spawn upon the world’s stage: I'd fit the Suzuki XL7's psychographic profile.

What the Hell’s a Suzuki’s SX4? I know it’s my job to know about these things, but I swear the test car greeting me upon my return from Old Blighty was the first one I’ve ever seen. If first impressions last, this tall, decidedly Japanese runabout says Subaru Forrester meets Scion xA on the suburban side of town. (In keeping with the parlance of our times, Suzuki shuns the “w” word and calls the SX4 a crossover.) A quick walk around revealed four big wheels, four big disc brakes, a Prius style double A-pillar and an AWD badge. Hmmm…? Could this sub-radar Suzuki be a sleeper?

I’ve had a thing for the BMW 6-Series ever since “Spenser: for Hire” shared airtime with Mötley Crüe. While Robert Urich had a cool Mustang, Avery Brooks had a vehicle worthy of his icy-cold demeanor: a white BMW 635CSi. Could there ever be a better vehicle in which a man could do the right thing by any means necessary? There is now. The BMW M6 has tons of M-tuned street cred and many of the right moves. Many, but not all.

As much as I enjoy vigorous debate, I abhor pseudo-science. From The Bermuda Triangle to past life regression, I just can’t deal. If the subject matter in question is faith-based like, say, a talking salamander's role in the development of Mormonism, I’m good. But the moment an aspiring conversationalist tries to deploy scientific explanations for a fundamentally irrational belief system– aliens sucking up Air Force planes from the Gulf Of Mexico for anal experimentation or Joan of Arc reborn as a 42-year-old housewife in Hackensack, New Jersey– I’m out. So when I read that insurance quote provider Lee Romanov says your star sign affects your chances of having an automobile accident, I just had to ring her up. Yes, it's been that kind of day.

You can hear my righteous indignation on the podcast below. Truth be told, I've got no truck with Ms. Romanov’s basic assertion that automobile insurance industry rates seem capricious (even if she seems particularly oblivious the existence of actuarial tables). Certainly, one can understand the rational basis for mandatory car insurance: ensuring that drivers can pay for their mistakes. But in practice, the business is rife with greed, fraud, inequity and counterintuitive logic.

Here in Rhode Island, a state only slightly less corrupt than Botswana, insurance fraud is as common as people who drink their java with five sugars. I remember the first time I took a bent motor to a local auto body shop. The “repair specialist” took one look at the damage and asked “How ‘bout we claim $500 and I’ll kick you back a hundred?” Talk about a trick question. I don’t think the idea that his customers might put a higher value on the quality of the actual repairs than their ability to make a quick buck ever occurred to him. Or, for that matter, most of his customers. 

According to a recent study, one out of every three Americans thinks it’s OK to pad their insurance claims. In dollar terms, insurance fraud costs the industry $30b a year. While health care and personal property fraud account for the lion's share of this thievery, the automotive part of the program racks-up some $8b (not including actual automotive theft). For example, on Saturday, the owner of Louis and Sons Auto Body in West New York was convicted of defrauding insurance companies out of $10k. Like tens of thousands of body shops across the nation, Louis Rivadeneira inflated claims and charged insurers for parts he never bought.

If you’re thinking “…and never installed” you’d be dead right. (Perhaps literally.) All those Americans happy to top-up their insurance claims might want to think about Louis’ “de-contenting” (i.e. leaving out parts or substituting inferior parts) the next time they drop off their car for repair. Never mind; the man received a fine, a slap on the wrists and promised never, ever to do it again. So policy holders and auto body shops can continue to commit fraud on an epic scale without fear of hard time. Of course, the insurance companies themselves complete this unholy trinity.

For example, all the safety equipment for which the major automotive insurers have lobbied so hard have added extra cost (not to mention weight and complexity) to the average automobile, without which your premium may be raised, with which you may not be any safer (e.g. ABS braking). Of course, all the safety-related bells and whistles don't lower drivers’ premiums that much because the cost of fixing them raises the cost of repair, which the insurer must then pay, which gives the auto body shop another chance to commit fraud, which raises premiums. 

To be fair, the insurance industry’s major players shell out big bucks to try to crack down on fraud and protect their assets. Meanwhile, they stand by while the government gives driving licenses to people who can’t read a warning sign or, in fact, drive. And there are plenty of independent agencies– many with big name insurance company stickers on their doors– that are ready, willing and able to pocket premiums and not provide insurance (a growing scam for new and illegal immigrants) or sell policies by the month (just long enough for drivers to get their cars registered or their licenses renewed). Clearly, car insurance is a racket for many people on many levels.

In fact, the situation's so nuts that charging people premiums according to their astrological sign makes about as much sense as the current set-up. And while I believe that astrological readings are simply a combination of observation, guesswork, playing the law of averages and picking-up on psychological “tells,” I’m not against using the practice to get people to drive like responsible adults. “The moon is in Uranus– and so is your head if you talk on the cell while driving. And your son… Lenny? Liberace? Leo? Leo is getting retrogrades; don’t let him drive without an adult on any day with an ‘a’ in it.” Works for me.

[A free copy of Ms. Romanov's book "Car Carma" for the first person who can identify the astrological car referred to in the song with the lyrics "WELL SHE ISN'T!"]

Whenever I show up at my weekly poker game, the boys (being boys) are always interested in what I'm driving. How much? How fast? Not this week. This week, all my friends piled into the driveway and laughed. Can you blame them? Ford's new Expedition EL is so large I had to park it diagonally to keep its butt off the street. The wheels come up to my thigh. One 6'5" friend couldn't see the roof. Remember King Kong Bundy? He now wears dubs.

A small bump in the road traversed at the slightest discernible angle on dry pavement at 50mph will send the Shelby GT500’s rear end sideways with enough violence to engage the traction control. If you don't care, God bless you. I fully understand and appreciate your perspective: muscle cars are about power, not finesse. Finesse is for people who aren’t willing to risk their childrens' future to experience a few moments of high horsepower hoonery. Fine. But include me out.

The sex industry has a motto: if you don't get it, it's not for you. Never mind all those activities involving non-reproductive bodily fluids, military fatigues and/or extra-legal restraining orders, I don't get hookers. I'm not saying I don't understand why other people employ prostitutes, and I'm not saying I've never paid for sex (and not in that "one way or another" sense). But if I had done so, I am saying I probably would have found it an incredibly unsatisfying experience. (Can you imagine the tortuous language OJ Simpson must use in his non-confessional confessional?) Same goes for rental cars.

I am fully aware that many pistonheads relish rentals, safe in the knowledge that there won't be any long-term consequences for any motorized misbehavior (provided they tick the right boxes). But I can't stand them (rental cars, not my beloved pistonheads). I suppose I might change my mind if I ever rented a car worth driving– as opposed to the asthmatic pre-beaters the rental companies foist on their suspecting customers. Ford Mustang V6? Chevrolet Impala? Toyota Vanilla? You gotta be kidding. Quite simply, I've never met a rental car I liked.

And while I will never compromise my commitment to calling it like I see it, I have just about enough tact left in me not to want to return someone else's car in pieces. That said, it happens. I've knocked the wing mirror off a Land Rover, watched an electric gate crease the side of a Civic and woken-up to an Infiniti sitting on milk crates (as opposed to tires). And I've seen journos crash press cars. In all cases, the PR flacks involved trotted out the "as long as no one was hurt" shibboleth. Which says a lot about PR flacks– one way or another.

When it comes to lunching a rental car, I reckon the paperwork must make it worth not crashing. Sure, you only pay the deductible, but insurance companies know all too well that traumatizing all parties involved with endless, excessive, obsessive bureaucracy is the best way to prevent future accidents. And, of course, you have to fill out a police report. "I was driving at a safe and reasonable speed when the car's front end suddenly and inexplicably began to understeer. The vehicle plowed nose-first into the curb, at approximately 25 miles per hour." Thankfully, I can only imagine the look the trooper must give drivers of recently creased automobiles when they hand over the rental car agreement. 

In short, I don't like breaking cars. It runs against my nature, imprinted into my subconscious mind during all those times I broke my own car with one stupid ass stunt or another. [Note to self: check road for leaves before testing tire adhesion.] And while I can appreciate the skills involved in driving a really horrible car really fast, I find that the really horrible cars that rental car companies provide are so horrible that driving them fast is, well, horrible. And for me, defying death is not half as satisfying as trying to find my way where I'm going without wandering into the middle of a 3am drag race in the wrong part of Philadelphia (no, really).

Anyway, JD Power reckons the rental car industry is getting better: faster, happier, shinier and more customer friendly. Well, good for them. And good for all the poor sad bastards who must take their laptops to places where people couldn't care less if they died in a horrible car wreck, never mind whether or not they made a compelling PowerPoint presentation. I’ve seen those haunted faces in the rental shuttles. I’ve heard their loud locker room talk with their cohorts, as they prepare their egos to drive a car that grinds them down with the mechanical equivalent of an endless loop of Pink Floyd’s The Wall.

I know there are exotic car rental companies that will loan you a Porsche, Ferrari or Merc. And the mainstream players are beginning to catch on that people are willing to pay extra for a car that doesn’t suck-out their soul. But until and unless Hertz et al rent out an Audi S4 for the price of a V6 Mustang, I’m always going to regard that walk to space H8 as a stroll down death row. They can wash them, clean them and de-cigarette smoke them, but rental cars will always be a kind of automotive purgatory, always endured rather than enjoyed. Which probably accounts for so many enthusiasts’ desire to punish their rentals. And that, my friends, is kinky.

Of all Ford's Bold Moves, the fact that the automaker continues to provide Jonny Lieberman with press cars is easily the most impressive. Despite Mr. Neundorf's take-no-prisoners Ford Death Watch, despite Mr. Mehta's ceaseless accusations of core model neglect, despite Mr. Lieberman's withering reviews of Ford products, the automaker seems perfectly willing to afford our West Coast wheelman major seat time in their latest offerings. JL reports that The Blue Oval Boys wanted him to sample his latest loan– a Fusion four-banger mit stick– 'cause it's the sportiest variant of their front wheel-drive mid-size sedan– not because it's the most unloved vehicle in their press fleet. [FYI: Plenty of pro car hacks can't drive a manual transmission.] That's OK with us (the loan part, not the fact that a car journalist can row his own boat). Many of TTAC's most popular reviews center on garden variety machines, rather than mortagage level luxury cars or expensive exotics. We look forward to reading Jonny's take on the "base" model's dynamic capabilities. Even when– I mean "if" Ford goes belly-up, we will remember this mitzvah, knowing that somewhere within that giant organization someone has their priorities straight. When all is said and done, that still counts for something. 

I suppose it was only a matter of time before some video maven caught site of The Truth About Cars (TTAC) and thought, hmmm, that might make an interesting TV show. Obviously, any program along those lines would A) have about as much chance of landing a major sponsor as a Kansas fisherman pulling a swordfish from the Keith Seblius Resevoir and B) would boldly go where Top Gear has gone before. With pay-per-view channels and YouTube, the first objection is surmountable. The second is more problematic. Top Gear is a well-funded (via the UK's TV tax) program with all the best toys and… Jeremy Clarkson. Yes, even from that tiny, cold island in the North Sea, the semi-journalistic stylings of "Jezza" cast a long shadow over anyone who seeks to tell the truth about cars with rhetorical flourish. I think TTAC TV would have one main advantage over Top Gear: no Jeremy Clarkson. While I admire the man's wit, prose and telegenic charisma, he's a first class bully and a meglomaniac, with bells on. If Lieberman, Johnson, Farago and Spinelli ever get it together video-wise, more than half the fun would come from the "happy talk" interplay between the different personalities. Bottom line: we all respect each other enough to provide the open space for our natural creativity to emerge. That said, this podcast is a celebration of Jonny's virtuosity mit de RS4. Another Clarkson? Please God no.  

So Jonny tells me that he's returned from a first class junket to The City by the Bay and by the way his new best bud ace auto scribe Dan Neil's coming over to his for a poker night. Suddenly I'm feeling like I'm on the outside of the carniverse looking in. Then Andrew Dederer submits a rant condemning The Big Two Point Five for insularity that makes Rhode Island seem like it won the genetic sweepstakes– instead of earning itself the ancient and not-so-venerable nickname "Toad Island." I suppose commentator Humourless is more than a little right: the internet subordinates physical geography to psychological geography. But that does not make me feel 100% clued-in, nor does it excuse The Big Two Point Five for their bunkering. Ever, since I began the GM Death Watch, I've tried to get The General to write a rebuttal. To say my requests have fallen on deaf ears is like saying that TTAC's scribes won't get access to the GM press fleet until cold fusion (the nuclear event, not the Nebraska-based Ford sedan) becomes a practicable proposition. Surely by now there's someone with power within The Big Two Point Five who reads our stuff, who wants to "set the record straight" (a.k.a. spin the company line like an F5 tornado). Yes but– if a domestic mover and shaker took on his or her critics in this e-venue, they would face The Wrath of Khan: the humorless bastards within their organizations who brook no breach of corporate omerta. Well guess what? The new media will win. The truth will out. And when it does, I'll be the first to say I told you so. of course, none of my neighbors will give a damn. Which is exactly how it should be. 

I'm of two minds on this whole hoonage business. One one hand, it's entirely possible to hoon about in a high speed car at significant velocities without endangering anyone save yourself and/or your insurance premiums. I'm thinking here of hormone-crazed kids burning rubber in parking lots, or more mature pistonheads practicing a little tail out action on a familiar and appropriately deserted stretch of road. But there are limits, even if they're not posted. As someone who's been fortunate enough to mash the gas on an Enzo, Zonda and Carrera GT, I can tell you there's a moment in the accelerative process when anyone other than a professional race driver is just hanging on. It's a kick-ass Zen sort of thing, and it accounts for the war whoop issued by the pilot of Heffner's twin-turbo Lamborghini Gallardo . But it's not what I would call safe. In short bursts, maybe. Through traffic, no. While I'm reasonably sure the Heffner folk know the limits of car and driver, common sense suggests no one in their right mind would capture 100mph++ balls-out sprints down a public road on videotape– especially if it shows the driver's face. That's what we call evidence. In fact, the tape pretty much proves that the hoons involved forfeit the benefit of the doubt. I rest my case. Now, where are my Boxster S keys? 

For many years, US President Abraham Lincoln thought that deporting slaves was the only workable solution to an intractable political issue. In 1861, a “colony” was established off the coast of Haiti for this purpose. Black families with no common language suddenly found themselves living together. The former slaves created their own language, complete with unwritten (but rigid) rules of grammar, tense, appellation, the lot. Semanticists have used this example to suggest that our brains are hard-wired to create shared linguistic constructs. I would suggest that the same genetic predisposition applies to tuner cars. Something new and wacky appears on the automotive scene, like low-riders, donks or VIP style. The next thing you know, a growing number of participants exert their collective unconscious on the movement, creating unwritten (but rigid) rules for what’s acceptable, what unacceptable and what’s da bomb. Strangely enough, the same process applies to vehicles that haven’t been tuned. After all, who decided what makes a Merc a Merc? Maybe that’s why I like my cars bone stock: I figure it’s the purest expression of the manufacturer’s aesthetic. Either that or I’m boring. But then I have owned Ferraris. As discerning rappers will agree, why would you want to mess with that?  

A four wheel-drive Ferrari? On one hand, it sounds like a bald-faced betrayal of Ferrari's brand proposition: extreme rear wheel-drive performance cars prone to lurid oversteer slides into solid objects and/or mid-engined marvels that snap into gyroscopic spins that scrub off a bit of speed before sliding into a solid object. Ferrari claims their new system won't detract from their products' traditional balls-out driving dynamics. But one wonders if Ferrari buyers will soon be talking about "the good old days," when you had to be a "real man" to drive a Ferrari at speed. Remember: it took Porschehiles years to get over the fact that their ass-engined 911's were no longer magnetically attracted to the scenery. Still, as I pointed out to Mr. Spinelli in today's talkfest, it's in Ferrari's best interest to keep their customers alive. Besides, Vee Dub's Bugatti Veyron proved that putting power to all four wheels is an excellent way to make a 1000hp car go in the direction its driver intends. Does this mean the new four wheel-drive system will help Fezza make an even more monstrous car than the Enzo or, maybe, the big Bug? Count on it.  

My first car was a golf cart, courtesy of The Ocean Reef Club. Actually, props to the parental units. They handed me the key to the open-sided electric conveyance, slipped me a charge-worthy room card and gave me the run of the joint. The cart was surprisingly peppy and the freedom it imparted almost got me laid by a startlingly attractive college girl– an astounding piece of happenstance given that the average Club member was older than cuneiform. And as I returned to our bungalow after this almost getting laid experience, Homone-Crazed Endorphin Boy over-cooked it in a corner and crashed. Neither cart nor driver were damaged, but the accident taught me a valuable lesson: avoid vehicles with three wheels. Of course, the new Mitsubishi electric car is likely to have four wheels, reasonable acceleration, respectable range and some airbags. How great is that? Maybe not as great as a gas-sucking AMG monster, but in certain circles, well, you'd be in like Flynn. Life's funny that way.