Peter DeLorenzo latest rant tore US automakers a new orifice. The Autoextremist accused US manufacturers of putting all their eggs in an SUV shaped basket– despite clear warnings that rising gas prices and political correctness would eventually destroy the genre's over-arching popularity. Although Mr. DeLorenzo's essay is a cogent and scathing indictment of the automakers' short-term thinking, he's sure to face some stiff rhetorical competition from the environmental groups who've been railing against SUV's since the first Suburban burbled its way into the American housewife's heart. Guess what? I'm not joining the chorus.

While I'm happy to condemn GM et al for responding to US market trends with all the alacrity of a three-toed sloth, I reject Mr. DeLorenzo's argument that Detroit artificially induced America's "need" for lumbering leviathans. Did Colgate create the "need" for whitening toothpaste? No; they identified a desire, created a product to satisfy it and marketed the Hell out of it. As a capitalistic enterprise, automakers are obligated to follow the same process. Taking automakers to task for making XXXX SUV's handle like cars– instead of simply abandoning the entire genre as "woefully inappropriate"– makes Mr. DeLorenzo more of an Autoelitist than a player of extreme games.

You can no more assess a PT Cruiser Convertible based on its acceleration, ride and handling than you can rate a Harley Davidson Softail on its ability to keep pace with a Honda Blackbird. As a "cruiser", the PT Convertible can only be judged by one metric: its feel good factor (FGF). Do owners run out of milk at odd intervals? Do they name their cars? Do they lower the lid in winter? Yes, cubed. The PT drop top has all the car-isma cruisers crave– and then some.

First and foremost, it's a four-seater. The rag-top cognoscenti know that a convertible's FGF increases arithmetically with each additional passenger. If the rear seats are spacious, the pleasure generated is almost inconceivable. Try. Imagine stashing a couple of best buds in your Chrysler top-down two-door and heading for the beach; sucking on an ice cold Coke and blissing on Ban de Soleil as your crew sing along with the latest Black Eyed Peas hookfest. If that's not a peak automotive experience (and an example of unpaid product placement), I don't know what is.

You get a terrific view from the top of a roller coaster– but there's only one way to go. GM execs would have known the feeling at the beginning of August– if they were paying attention. They weren't. Despite all the experts' warnings, The General's top brass were too busy high-fiving each other over the 'success' of their Employee Discount for Everyone (EDFE) program, talking-up their plans to gently wean customers from discounts and incentives. Well hands in the air boys, the August sales figures are in…

Ward's AutoInfoBank reports that GM's sales are down 16.5%. [All figures cited are in comparison to August '04] Lest you think the results were a simple case of a sinking tide stranding all boats, Autodata reveals that the US automotive market as a whole rose 3.8%. While Daimler Chrysler and Ford eked-out small gains (1.2 and 1.4%), check out their Japanese competition: Toyota (+9.5%), Nissan (+10.6%) and Honda (+18.6%).

Toyota is the most successful automobile company of modern times. By some calculations, they've passed Ford as the world's second largest automaker (a position Ford held since 1952). It's only a matter of time before Toyota surpasses GM for the number one spot. And no wonder: the Japanese company builds an impressive number of highly popular cars and trucks. While its rivals study Toyota's stars– the Camry, the Lexus SUVs and the Prius hybrid— the real recipe for their dominance is found elsewhere.

The most interesting aspect of Toyota's business is how they handle their failures. Take, for example, their forays into the US minivan market. Chrysler invented the genre with the introduction of their Dodge and Plymouth minivans. A few years later, Toyota responded with a small, boxy, mid-engined van, reminiscent of the cargo vans that Chrysler, Ford and GM had sold for years. Needless to say, Toyota's entry didn't even appear on the minivan buyer's radar screen. Toyota then spent a huge amount of money and restyled this van into the smooth and bulbous Toyota Previa. Again, buyers were lined up none-deep.

Last Tuesday, a man named John E Packowski sent me an email: 'Effective immediately, The San Francisco Chronicle will no longer be using your automotive columns.' I'd never heard of the Chronicle's Creative Director. But I was hardly mystified by Mr. Packowski's motivation. The week previous, the paper ran my review of the Subaru B9 Tribeca.

I'm not sure if the Chronicle removed my description of the SUV's front end as a 'flying vagina' (the editors ignore my request for a copy of the published review), but even without it my analysis of the B9 was not bound to please its manufacturer. The section's editor, Mike Berry, refused to clarify the exact cause of my summary dismissal. But a colleague let it be known that a Subaru-scented shit storm had hit the department responsible for my employment. The paper caved.

Listen up guys: size matters. Not your penis; your testicles. Testicle size determines your level of sexual desire and stamina. By the same token, a minivan's interior is not the ultimate measure of its worth. While minivanistas love to boast about their whip's cubic capacity and cranny count, all MPV's can stow the better part of an NFL specialty team with air-conditioned ease. No, the true gauge of a minivan's basic appeal is its engine. All true pistonheads know that there's not a vehicle made– including minivans– that can't be improved by a large capacity, free-revving powerplant. Luckily, the Nissan Quest's got a big one.

Nissan's people mover holsters a detuned version of the Z-car's 3.5-liter six, with all the usual tricks of the trade (DOHC, variable valve timing and intake, multi-port fuel injection, drive-by-wire throttle, platinum spark plugs, etc.). In other words, this behemoth books. Well, OK, "browses swiftly". Empirically speaking, the Quest accelerates from zero to 60 in 8.2 seconds. The stat may not be stunning in these days of Hemi-engined Jeeps, but the Quest's 240 horses are a mighty frisky herd. The minivan bolts from the starting gate with a vigor that belies its looks, genre, size and age.