Hunkered down inside the Nissan 350Z Roadster convertible with the top up, you know the way a clam must feel when it looks outside its shell. The top is screwed down like one of those heavy-duty chop jobs on a lead sled of yore. While claustrophobics need not apply, the Z’s powerplant’s guttural moan vibrates through the floorboards and around the metal carcoon in a most sensually satisfying manner. Open the lid and this is what a proper sports car is all about: pure, unadulterated exhilaration.

A few years ago, I found myself comfortably ensconced in the back seat of a German taxicab. I was luxuriating in what I thought was leather (it was MB Tex, the convincing faux hide) when the driver cranked-up the engine. Smoke and stench poured from the Mercedes’ diesel engine. I scoffed– until the driver blew straight through 180kph on the autobahn to Munich. Even from the passenger seat, the torque was more intoxicating than the exhaust wafting in through the window. I was hooked.

Gary Cowger recently sat down with Wards Automotive for a good old kvetch. GM’s group Vice President of Global Manufacturing and Labor Relations complained that news of his employer's financial woes was overshadowing their brilliant new products. Gary blamed excessive media coverage and speculation. “There’s a lot of noise in the system, and that’s because we live in an age of transparency like the world has never seen before… It’s almost too much information out there.” As you might expect from such a staunch defender of bridled free speech, Cowger has taken steps to rectify the situation– at least in-house.

TTAC recently placed Chrysler on suicide watch for the easily correctable fact that vast empty spaces and dealers’ lots are stuffed with Chrysler/Dodge cars, trucks. minivans and SUV's that no one wants to buy. The new Sebring is a far deadlier proposition: a car headed straight for rental car Hell. For a few bills less than our semi-loaded (half cocked?) Sebring tester, you can buy a base Chrysler 300, which, according to Mr. Mehta, has “reinvigorated American car design.” The new Sebring is less invigorating than Vicodin. In fact, I reckon the model only exists because car rental customers are still willin' to take what they get.

I wouldn’t join any union that would have me as a member. And yet the United Autoworker’s Union (UAW) wants me. Yep, UAW Local 1981 represents freelance writers. The pen-pushing Local is part of a growing trend within the UAW. As more and more of their members accept buyouts and early retirements, as the UAW [secretly] realizes that they’ve milked their Detroit cash cow to the point of death, the union is pulling a Studebaker. They’re diversifying out of their core business before their core business goes tango uniform.

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.

When I was growing up in South Africa, Cadillacs were gaudily chromed boats adorned with absurd fins. I thought they were stupid. I simply couldn’t reconcile Caddy's grandiose luxury land yachts with the small, sensible cars of my youth. As my horizons widened, as I learned about art, décor and design; I eventually “got it." I understood why enthusiasts waxed nostalgic about the great Caddies of yore, even though we saw precious few models in my corner of The Dark Continent.

In the late 70s, Dutch traffic planner Hans Monderman experienced the kind of insight that gets people sent to an asylum. ”Let’s eliminate all traffic signals and signs and remove the divisions between the road and sidewalk where cars and people interact. There will be fewer accidents and traffic flow will improve.” Monderman’s approach seemed completely radical: roads that seem dangerous are safer than roads that seem safe. The concept was a smack in the face of convention.

A blogger recently concluded that The Truth About Cars (TTAC) is the exact opposite of traditional blog. Our posts offer crazed and demented commentary– which our readers counter with careful and well-reasoned analysis. Yes, well, TTAC is certainly home to the most intelligent and engaged readership in the biz. I am constantly astounded by our readers’ wisdom, passion and insight. While TTAC is dwarfed by the mainstream automotive media, this is the place where crucial ideas are stress tested by an informed audience. I can not thank you enough for your contribution to TTAC’s editorial development. Now click on the damn Michelin ad. And listen up: we need your help.

I was born in 1965, entering the world at more or less the same time as the Porsche 911 and Ford Mustang. I learned to tune engines with a timing light and my ear. I look back nostalgically on the days when I could lift a hood and identify most of the parts within. Given the modern car’s complexity, it’s difficult for me to agree that this is the “golden age of motoring.” While I’m not comfortable with this chronological appellation, the argument can still be made that there’s never been a better time to be on the road.