In 1984, an inebriated Henry Ford II met Victor Gauntlet in a London bar. Gauntlett controlled Aston Martin, a venerable British manufacturer of race cars and gentlemen’s sports sedans. Sales were in the tank, and there was no money to develop new models. “For a lousy $15 million, I’d sell the whole thing” Gauntlett said. Ford looked at his drinking buddy, Walter Hayes, and said, “Wouldn’t that shake ‘em up back in Dearborn?” In ’86, Ford bought 75% of Aston’s shares. In ’94, they bought the rest and continued to rehabilitate the ailing English brand. Despite the fact that FoMoCo’s investment has just come right, it’s auction hammer time. So what’s next for Aston?

A hypnotherapist once told me that he began every session by asking his subject to close the door, hand him a pen, move closer, etc. He said that the sooner his subjects learned to follow small commands, the sooner (and more likely) they’d follow the big ones. When I read that Michigan Representative Mike Rogers wants the federal government to guarantee $20b worth of loans to help domestic automakers develop alternative fuels, hybrids and other “energy saving technologies,” I knew it was the same deal. Rogers is training Uncle Sam to bail out the Big Two Point Five.

Jaguar is one heck of a brand. The company took the automotive world by storm, not once, but twice. The first revelation arrived just after WWII. England entered the conflict with an Empire and emerged an impoverished island nation in the North Sea with a few colonies and an Indian subcontinent to its name. Straight into Britannia's shell-shocked and austere enconomy came the Jaguar XK120. Jag's suprisingly inexpensive supercar looked like sin (and a German BMW) and went like Hell (out-performing Aston). The company's– and the nation's– future suddenly had a spring in its step. And then, eh. Until the sixties swung, and out popped another gestalt-capturing blockbuster: the E-type. Yeah baby! For those of us looking for a four-wheeled Hail Mary pass to save Ford's damaged brand, it's worth noting that both of these machines were sexier-than-Jill-Wagner-in-lingerie sports cars powered by superb six cylinder engines. And they were both reasonably affordable. What I'm trying to say is that a new Jaguar sedan ain't gonna cut it, no matter how beautiful, fast or keenly priced it may be. The forthcoming S-Type sedan sure ain't no oil spill– I mean, oil painting. Jag might've made most of its money in "saloons," but it's heart has always been in honest-to-God sports cars. 

Pop quiz. “What do a Chrysler Cirrus, Chevrolet Blazer, Plymouth Acclaim and Ford Expedition have in common?” Did you say “none of them would ever tempt a pistonhead?” True enough, but not correct. “None of them ever dented the US sales charts”? Another good guess, but still incorrect. And the answer is: all of these vehicles have received the “North American Car (or Truck) of the Year” award. Yes, it’s that time of year again. Time for the automotive media to prove that indiscretion is the worst part of valor. 

General Motors has a monkey on its back: another monkey. Actually, three point one monkeys. Writing in the August issue of The New Yorker magazine, Malcolm “Tipping Point” Gladwell explored the possibility that GM’s need to support an enormous population of retired workers is dragging the company into the abyss. Although it’s not exactly a new idea, Mr. “Blink” applied a new tool to the job: the dependency ratio.

You may have noticed that I haven't posted a precast in a couple of days. Truth to tell, TTAC contributor and former Car and Driver editor Stephan Wilkinson knocked the wind out of my sails with an email that asked why in God's name anyone would want to listen to a couple of "car dorks." As someone who's never had trouble getting laid (current status: happily married), I've never really thought of myself as a dork. Strange, sure. Over-educated, definitely. But dorky? I don't think so. At least I didn't think so until Wilkinson sent his email. Now I'm left wondering if my single-minded dedication to all things automotive, and the thousands of hours spent tapping the plastic in my e-garret about same, has rendered me a car nerd. (Webster's on-line dictionary makes no distinction between dork and nerd.) For sure, I know too much about some pretty obscure car-related things. But I console myself that you gentle reader know equally as much, and, in most cases, far more than I in this field. And I celebrate your knowledge. I respect it, admire it and defer to it. So, if I love your passion, I guess I should love mine– no matter how juvenile or "dorky" it sounds. In that spirit, I resume this audio feature. If it grates, so be it. But if you're dorky and you know it, click right here.  

I'm good with names. Meet me at a party. Five hours and seven beers later, I'll cruise up and say, "Hey Benjamin, how goes it?" That’s assuming A) your name is Benjamin and B) you’re interesting. If a person is as dull as Tuesday afternoon C-Span, then the part of my brain that puts faces to names shuts down. I mention this because I had to click over to mazdausa.com to figure out if I’m driving the B4000 or B4400.  Turns out it’s the former. Who knew?

I remember reading about an environmental group that argued for zero population. Not zero population growth, zero people. They figured there was only one way to return nature to its, um, natural state: take humans out of the equation. I don’t recall their plan to achieve this goal, but I don’t think it involved automobiles. After all: no people, no cars, no pollution. Done. California’s tree huggers may not adhere to the same logical extreme, but c’mon, can someone please knock some sense into the state’s eco-warriors before they do something really stupid?

Auto industry analysts have cast their beady eyes on The Blue Oval's third turnaround plan, and they don’t like what they see. Despite the fact that Billy and Alan and Mark have mashed the gas on Ford’s downsizing, there are ominous rumblings that the cuts aren’t deep enough. The assertion is almost as shocking as the cuts themselves. If asking all of your 75k union workers to piss off isn’t enough, if shuttering sixteen plants doesn’t cut the financial mustard, well, is there any end to this death spiral?  Only the obvious one.

The space-oddity known as the Citroen DS was the last successful French executive saloon. Every French grand routier since the “Goddess” has been disappointing to various degrees. Today, even in Paris, one sees more German cars than French (even the taxis). So my expectations for the new Citroen C6 were not high; especially as I’d spent considerable seat time in the segment’s gold standard: the Audi A8. Can the French still parlez voitures luxes?