Guys are funny: we lust for beautiful, fast cars with which we hope to impress the neighbors, the guys, and the other sex. But memories are not made of pistonheads’ wet dreams. Looking back, the memorable machines I had were more mutt than thoroughbred: the go-anywhere, never-let-you-down, unpretty, everyday companion. Like the pickup trucks you Americans love, or the iconic 2CV, Renault R4, and VW Beetles we Europeans have in our collective memories. The Fiat Panda has always been on my short list of potential cars-as-buddies: cheap, reliable, fun to drive, unpretentious. So, I was curious: is the 4×4 version of the Panda a faithful mutt, or just another automotive dog?

Station wagons, or “estates” as they are known across the pond, occupy that strange place in the auto market between SUVs, minivans and sedans. On the surface, wagons promise the holy grail of cargo schlepping and fuel sipping. But they’re not as sexy as a sedan, not as practical as a modern crossover and they can’t haul as much crap as a minivan. In the new world “station wagon” brings up PTSD style flashbacks of 1970s Country Squire wagons with a roof-rack and eight kids in the back on the way to summer camp, 8-track blazing, and your dad at the helm wishing he had a terrier and a 240Z instead. Thankfully, this is not your dad’s Oldsmobile Customer Cruiser. For this comparo we’ve selected the BMW 535xi Wagon, Mercedes E350 Wagon, Volvo XC70 T6 and the Volkswagen Passat 2.0T Wagon.

Walking up to the Jeep dealership, I nearly bumped into the Compass, idling in the gloom. Before I could assimilate its sheetmetal’s unintentional humor, Mike emerged from the fishbowl. His leather coat and tie were almost as dour as his face. My hand disappeared in his meaty paw as he greeted me with two words: “Take it.” My arched eyebrow worked its usual magic. “No really,” Mike insisted. “It’s got half a tank of gas. Take it for a long drive.” I waited for “and never come back.” No such luck. I mean, it would be lucky wouldn’t it? A free vehicle? I’d never driven a Compass. How bad could it be?

Question: How do you age a car ten years in seven? Answer: release the world beating GT-R. Sure, cars have advanced considerably since the 350Z debuted in 2002, but after riding around in one a coupe months back the truth became self-evident: this dog no longer hunts. In fact, it felt like a 4th Gen Camaro — all engine and odd squeaks. No one saw the writing on the wall as clearly as Nissan. Hence the brand spanking nouveau 370Z. But is it any good?

If I didn’t know better, I’d bet carmakers choose model names via a Google simulation. A computer identifies search words that can be punted to page four within days of launch. In this case, it’s only a matter of a week or so before lornezovenza.com and Jac Venza slip into double digit obscurity. At the same time, I suppose Toyota settled on “Venza” because it sounds vaguely Italian– perfect for a car built in Georgetown Kentucky on a Camry platform. In truth, I don’t know what it is: the word, the car, the point. All I know is after spending time in the new Toyota Venza I’ve become a cautious and reluctant fan.

It’s easy to have mixed feelings about the 2005-2009 Mustang GT. It’s handsome, for the money you paid you got pretty good V8 power and it was fast enough. Where the (suddenly) last-gen Mustang falls down is the lowest bidder interior, questionable handling and non-track day brakes. “Listen baby I had a great time, but don’t lose any sleep sitting by the phone.” But hey, Ford’s prepped a (kinda) all new steed for 2010 and you can bet Mullally’s golden ‘chute that Mustang engineers have been hard at work addressing the above issues. Well, except for the brakes.

Saab’s 9-3 Turbo X SportCombi doesn’t live up to the make’s potential. So, what’s someone seeking a Swede that can haul (cargo as well as ass) to do? Well, Volvo also offers a wagon powered by a turbo six. Any enthusiast would prefer a turbocharged V70 to a turbocharged XC70, the latter essentially a V70 with high ride height, less grippy treads and SUVish exterior styling. But, thanks to lack of enthusiast love for the last R, the V70 isn’t available with a turbo in the U.S. So if you want power in a midsize Volvo wagon, it’ll have to be the XC70.

Unlike the New Beetle, an impractical fashion statement of a car, the (Real) Beetle eschewed style for utility. The ads of my youth played that up relentlessly, amusingly, logically. The Beetle was cheap. It was a cinch to fix. Fender-bender? Just undo several bolts, pop the old one off, put a new one on. The car was so tightly constructed that you had to open a window to close the door. Heck, the Beetle was so tight it could float. “If Senator Kennedy had been driving a VW, he’d be President today,” the National Lampoon opined.

Sequels are tricky. With few exceptions they are worse than the originals. Empire Strikes Back and Godfather II are the only examples I can think of where the follow up exceeds the original. Rumor has it that Weekend at Bernie’s II is better than the first film, but I couldn’t tell you. And sometimes you have a part deux that misses the point. Like Terminator II. You know the one where the 12-year-old boy tells the ruthless cyborg from the future not to kill anyone. Hey look, as movie T2 is perfectly pleasant (though it does feature George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone”), but it’s nowhere as lean, mean, terrifying or fascinating as the original. I think you know where this is going.

With waning interest in full-size pickups, all the major players have hit the market with a resounding thud. While the dee-luxe apartment in the sky is safe and clear for GM and Ford’s power players, the squeeze play can take the pie away from lesser-known trucks: those that do less, but cost more than expected. That said, now’s not a good time to be the mid-size Dodge Dakota.

Thanks to soaring gas prices (remember them?), cliff face depreciation, chronic over-production and a withering economy, the majority of the “my-truck’s-an-extension-of-my-huge-ass-belt-buckle” crowd have flown fly the (turkey) coop. We can safely assume that both remaining pickup truck buyers have bona fide big-truck needs: towing, hauling and posing getting dirty. Yes, Virginia, some people really do “need” nearly five tons of truck. If that’s you, it’s hard not to wish for an F-250 Super Duty 4X4 under the Xmas tree. Unless you have a problem with conspicuous consumption…

A note to TTAC’s Best and Brightest: if this comparo sounds oddly familiar, that’s because something stinks. But it’s not the husky, malodorous adhesives wafting from the pleather-wrapped Hyundai Veracuz. Nor is it the you-gotta-be-kidding me popularity of a premium-priced Toyota Camry sitting on stilts. The funk comes from mentioning both in the same breath. But I swear on the effeminate grille of a B9 Tribeca that I’ve never read a certain Motor Trend review elucidating this very notion. Fair enough?

What the heck’s an Innova? While the Toyota website and Wikipedia give no hint to what the word actually means, I suspect it was supposed to evoke the feeling of being innovative, exciting, something new and vogue. Well, so was the Oldsmobile Achieva. And just like the Achieva, no amount of marketing and media shots of active couples rampaging around the country side will convince me the Toyota Innova is anything more than a marketing focus group’s bastard child. Then I found out that the platform and mechanical bits are donated from Toyota’s legendary Hilux pickup truck. Now we might be on to something.

The CC stood out like a swan amidst a gaggle of homely Jetta ducklings on the VW dealer’s lot, its aesthetic appeal undeniable. In contrast with the company’s marketing approach with the Phaeton, the CC is virtually badge-less and, at first blush, hard to identify as part of the VW family. I suppose it still looks vaguely Germanic since it shamelessly cribs from the Mercedes CLS it aspires to be. Comfort Coupe or Caustic Copy?

“So you want to drive the speed demon, huh?” The local eco-dealership was empty save for a salesman spinning laps around electric cars and trucks in a Zap Zappy, a sort of poor man’s Segway. “You know the ZX40 won’t do more than 25 miles per hour, right?” asks the sales manager. She looks as if this revelation typically scares off twenty-somethings like myself. “Sure,” I say. How bad could it be?