Somewhere in the background, a White House spinmeister is busy telling the cross-dressing Fox News anchor (if he doesn’t, he should) that his viewers should chill about the $3.6 trillion deficit generated by her boss’ budget. “The average taxpayer knows that this is an investment in America that will reinvigorate the economy and, thus, generate new tax revenues and hey, presto! It will make itself disappear!” Or some such crap. The average person knows his or her government is out of control. They are also increasingly aware that GM is doomed. As I stated in last General Motors Death Watch, as the enormity of this collapse reveals itself (-$3,529,166.67 per hour) the American taxpayer will draw a line in the metaphorical sand. In fact, the coming tussle over the Detroit bailout could be the beginning of the end of Bailout Nation. We shall see. Meanwhile, lightly used Ford GTs are selling for $130K, a 2000 Ferrari 360 is going for $90K and today’s Maserati GranTurismo (or a Quattroporte) can be had for less than $100K. At the low end, prices are also slip sliding away. And yet, it’s still not time to buy. How scary is that?

Now that Chrysler and GM have submitted their “viability plans,” the Congressional corridors of power have been eerily silent on the subject. Oh sure, the White House Press secretary said something patriotic about preserving this, that and the other thing. And the presidential clusterfuck committee charged with sorting this shit out is meeting even as I obscene. But I was expecteding a lot more public political positioning on Motown’s second round of trough snuffling. Never mind. I reckon Chrysler and GM will get their/our money and soldier on. I also predict the feds will direct Cerberus to toss the keys to Chrysler to GM. Political expediency—the need not to “throw in the towel” on any aspect of the U.S. economy—makes ChryCo inviolate. So why not lump all of Detroit’s “troubled assets” together and create a federally controlled—sorry, “supervised” American Leyland? It’s such a horrendous idea on so many levels it just has to happen. Or not. What say you?

I hopped in my Boxster and headed to the Lexus dealer yesterday. We’d agreed on a price for their ’08 2k mile IS-F. Only a single hurdle remained: Mrs. Farago. Sam thinks I’m nuts to swap a Porsche anything for a Lexus anything. There was only one way to convince my live-in lead-footed badge snob that the IS-F is the right kinda wrong: a test drive. Sam couldn’t get out of the house. Hakuna mutata. I’ll just swing by the dealer, pick-up the car, drive it back home, let her drive it, drive it back, pay my deposit and tidy-up the details. I called the salesman to give him a quick heads-up. [NB: the same salesman who was pressuring me to get the deal done by President’s Day for HIS convenience.] Nope. No can do. He was slammed. Huh? Just throw me the keys. After all, they’d lent me the über-LS. Sorry. Tomorrow or Wednesday. [Insert silence while I waited for his offer to bring the car by the house.] OK. How about . . . never? Over and out. I know this will strike a chord with many of you. I’ve heard plenty of stories where car dealers pissed on pistonheads, operating from the mistaken belief that THEY’RE doing YOU a favor selling you a car. And that’s another reason automakers and their dealers should be “allowed” to go out of business. If there’s no downside for someone selling cars, there’s no upside for the people who buy them. It’s as simple as that.

My step-daughter Sasha and I had a little chin-wag this morning. After debating my potential car “needs” with her in private, it struck me that TTAC’s Best and Brightest might want to hear an 11-year-old’s perspective on high end automobiles. As egghead pistonheads, we often forget the basic appeal of our wheels, and how people outside the autoblogosphere view the apples of our collective eye. So I present my interview with Sash, and invite you to share your progeny’s thoughts about cars in general, your cars in particular and dream machines. [NB: I know the Estoque doesn’t have scissor doors. More’s the pity.]

Once we learn the identity of the investors behind Cerberus’ Chrysler FIATsco, the “debate” will move on as if nothing happened. Even if Osama Bin Laden steps forward as the automaker’s real owner, the furore will only last long enough to confiscate his shares while the Congress restocks the multi-billion dollar bailout buffet. Remember: back when the bailout bridge to nowhere loans were going down, Senator Corker pronounced ChryCo DOA. History. Toast. Unsustainable. A blot on the landscape. A zombie. Nobody even blinked. Here’s your $3b. See you in a month. OK, ar the precise moment of Corker’s Chrysler Crucifixion, CEO Bob Nardelli’s eyelids went into Morse Code mode (translation: I paid for this abuse?). And then everyone pretended that no one had farted. Hang on; that’s not the most self-flattering of metaphors. OK, let me put it this way: the day that we learn the real story behind Cerberus’ investment is the not the day the company will face the music. Meanwhile, someone should tell the American public that Chyrsler’s CEO owns one of these.

Capn’ Mike is back from the Middle East. Our Road Test Editor has been busy looking for something tasty to take to his next posting in Germany. MS reports that the manual Mercedes 300 is a diamond in the smooth, offering more on-tap torque than its auto-equipped sib. It’s also a depreciation lover’s ideal whip. Not only is the manual transmission dead, but cars so equipped are a drug on the market, and it ain’t cocaine. In fact, I know of automotive journalists who can’t drive stick. After trying any of the new-generation paddle shifters, you can see why they don’t bother. At the risk of reigniting the debate over the zen and the art of the manual transmission, a properly sorted paddle shifter is wikkid pissa fun. Click, clack, track attack. But then, so is not getting your car stolen; and car thieves are just as stick ignorant as the general population. OK, peace of mind isn’t “fun.” But there’s nothing worse than waking up to find your car’s been lifted. Unless you paid for the service– which is very, very wrong and I don’t know a guy who knows a guy who can make it happen. And yes, the audio quality sucks today…

I’m almost due for my next car. Well, in six months. Which might as well be tomorrow. My GTI will go back to Volkswagen so that some poor clod can own it out of warranty. And this leaves me shopping for a replacement. This is where I’m in trouble. Not only do I have car-lover’s ADD, but I am picky about cars I actually will drive and don’t want anything too common. Even though I’m a jerk, I won’t drive the official car of jerks everywhere. So that means no 3-Series.  Did I mention I prefer a hatchback or wagon? All this hemming and hawing has left me thinking about a Volvo or Saab. The trouble is, despite stories of the better experiences (“My Volvo V70 has gone 400,000 miles with only routine maintenance), whatever I buy will be weird, and therefore will break down. It’s not the breaking down I mind so much, but the cost of parts and repairs. The trouble is, I’m not unhinged enough to actually think an Alfa or a Citroen makes sense to buy. So what I really want is an Alfa Romeo or Citroen with Honda build quality. And if you take away the breaking down, you take away quintessential European-car character. What this means is that I’m crazy, but not crazy enough.

I blame the Quakers. My Friends-owned alma mater’s motto is “For the Honor of Truth.” What the Hell does that mean? What for the honor of truth? And, as my father liked to say, that and 50 cents will get you downtown. From my admittedly skewed perspective, finding and disseminating truth is about more than just personal honor. It’s about providing a service that’s fundamental to society’s survival. A society that lies to itself will always be in danger of self-destruction (e.g. GM). Hence the reason why Mother Nature creates mutant truth-tellers, who love honesty so much they’re wiling to risk everything to share it. OK, maybe “share” is the wrong word. Bit too touchy-feely. “Confront liars” is more appropriate. Again, ultimately, it’s for their own good. Convincing people of that fact is a life’s work. Even so, when it comes to the public purse, the desire for the truth has a wider resonance that gives me hope. Now, let’s get out those coals and that rake…

The United States new car market is dead in the water. Sales are down 36 percent across the board. Carmakers selling (or not) in The Land of the Free could stop production for a month– at least– without threatening to reduce inventory levels to demand. Only, of course, they can’t. The car business works best when every part of the fabrication process, from mining iron ore to slapping on the Monroney sticker, is flowing simultaneously. Stopping and starting production is a bitch. And expensive. What’s more (LOTS more), fixed costs like equipment amortization and labor don’t go away. So carmakers are powerless, and bleeding out. The strong ones have lots of blood and relatively small wounds. The big ones had no platelets to begin with, and the arterial spray is like a Las Vegas fountain. One thing is for sure: it’s a great time to buy a car! Of course, it’ll be even better next month. And the month after that. And the month after that. If you feel sorry for the carmakers, a simple question: why? Isn’t it better for all concerned when the customer is King?

In today’s podcast, Jonny and I talked — among other things — about the Toyota Century (mistakenly referred to as the Toyota Crown at first). We both think the V12 Japanese retrolimo is fantastic, and that its old-school technology (curtains?!) are charming as all get out. I agree with him that overflowing technology doesn’t make a car luxurious, and if someone would make a very comfortable, isolating quiet car I’d be thrilled. In other news, we hit on the Kia Soul, had debates about the insane 16-cylinder Cizeta-Moroder V16T on Autofiends, another debate about the Avanti, and then he presented a book report about a fascinating-sounding book called “Brightwork,” which Jonny received for the Jewish festival of lights, Hannukah.

Coming of age in the 70’s (lucky me), Cadillac represented everything I didn’t like about American cars. Like its lesser-priced sibs, it was an anti-sports car. With the possible exception of Lincoln’s Continental Mark My Words This Car is as Good as a Cadillac, a Caddy was THE anti-sports car. The idea of hustling one of those land yachts around a corner was laughable. And for me, it was all about the handling. (Driving a Dino had changed my life.) I remained contemptuous of America’s love affair for Caddy’s “sofas on wheels” right until the moment I met a girl in Aspen who drove a meticulously maintained 1962 Cadillac convertible like the one shown. Suddenly, all the curves I needed were inside the car. You know that song Slow Hand by the Pointer Sisters? It was on the Caddy’s radio during one especially memorable drive. I got it. And Caddy, I reckon, has lost it.

In The Incredibles, as Syndrome is about the vanquish Mr. I, the fan-gone-bad pauses to explain his actions. As he does so, our hero counter-attacks. “You caught me monologuing!” Syndrome chides himself. And it’s true: monologues place their creator in a particularly vulnerable spot. If he or she can’t sustain the listener’s interest, there’s no one– absolutely no one— else to blame. And like the shock and awe-meisters who attacked Iraq, brother, I know what it’s like to bomb. Still, in cyberspace no one sells ice cream. Ba-doom-boom. But seriously folks, I’ll get that damn headset Monday, and resume podcasting with one of our regular cast of characters. And I’ll start phoning newsmakers to get the inside dope on the dopey things going down in Motown, and elsewhere. Meanwhile, an experiment, if you will. If you won’t, I hear you. Er, feel you. Um… understand.

Engineer A: How’s testing on the Merak going?
Engineer B: The brakes catch fire all the time.
Engineer A: Put in a warning light.
Engineer A: Make it big.

The car bloggers went sub-ballistic (what would that be, scientists?) today because Honda announced that it was killing the NSX project. Well, I say good riddance to a stupid idea. I’m in that camp of people that thinks the original NSX is the very rare car that came out perfectly. And while many people have admonished me for clinging to outdated conceptions of what a particular car or company “should” be (like the 1-Series not being a suitable sucessor to the 2002, or the Subaru Forester betraying its goofwagon roots), I can’t understand the business case for a front-engined V10 Acura NSX. Trickle down tech? Maybe – though certainly not the V10 engine, unless it was going to be tacking two extra cylinders onto Honda’s already dubious planned V8. Front engine supercar? Plenty of those out there. Expensive? Again, plenty of those out there. Lexus reportedly cancelled its LF-A program because it was clear that they weren’t going to take down Godzilla (the Nissan GT-R). So why would Acura plan differently? I think people would welcome a modern version of the original NSX concept, though – a mid-engined car with the best handling in the world, a great gearbox, and a relatively simple V6 or V8 engine. Or, as Lieberman says in the podcast – Honda’s version of a Ferrari F430. Sold.

Oh sure, it looks like a Morgan. But it’s not. Fresh from Mitsuoka, the same company that turned an Infiniti M35 into some kind of time warp British sedan for James May, is the Himiko roadster. It’s based on the Mazda MX-5, which means it’s great to drive. And the bodywork is just insane enough to walk the border between embarrassing and awesome. While most of TTAC’s finest will probably say it looks like a mutant and they’d rather chew glass than have one, I’ll proudly stand in the minority. Oh, and Lieberman and I talk about a number of rockin’ cars in today’s podcast.