Now that Mercedes has released pictures of their new C-Class, I figured it was as good a time as any to sample the dead C. In Europe, the outgoing C-Class (W203 in Stuttgart speak) is beloved of German taxi drivers and penny-pinching poseurs with a little extra pomposity in their purse. Stateside, Merc’s three-pointed star shines more brightly; the C-Class’ price tag aspires to its second name– despite suffering from a reprehensible rep for reliability. As I drove off in a 2007 C280 4Matic, I wanted to know what ground the new C had to cover to make its bones.

Quick! Which is bigger: San Antonio, Texas or San Diego, California? It’s San Diego. And here’s the kicker: a classroom of German students is more likely to get the right answer than you are, for one simple reason: more of them have heard of San Diego than San Antonio. Try another one. Should GM build the new Chevrolet Malibu? Despite auto industry execs’ huge salaries, you, a car guy or gal, are more likely to get it right than GM's top execs. And for the same reason: your gut instincts are more reliable than factual analysis.

When Daimler-Benz began its Apache dance with Chrysler in 1998, everyone wondered who was leading and where the Hell they were going. At first, the “merger of equals” looked like it would bless Chrysler with Mercedes’ best engineering. When the 300C was built atop some last gen Mercedes cast-offs, and ye olde SLK-based Crossfire [dis]appeared, it seemed that Chrysler would at least get some natty hand-me-downs. Then DCX leadership declared "a Mercedes will remain a Mercedes.” Now it's Dancing With the Stars gone bad, and it's bound to end in an elimination.

Enthusiasts don’t tend to wax eloquent about seat tracks. They’re the automotive equivalent of the sliding rails that support file cabinet drawers when you pull them all the way out. A vehicle’s front (and occasionally rear) seats slide forward on them, they slide backwards. Done. No surprise then that seat tracks aren’t mentioned in commercials. They’re never part of a car salesman’s spiel. And there’s no seat track website or blog. Yet seat tracks are a key part of any car, pickup, minivan, SUV or CUV. 

The recipe for the original Ford Mustang was simple enough: a low price car with a trim, athletic body wearing the same sort of sexy, svelte sheetmetal of a contemporaneous European sports coupe. If you park a ’07 Ford Mustang GT next to its 1960’s counterpart, it’s clear that Ford missed the point by over two hundred pounds. But don't think of this retro-mobile as just another FoMoCo bloated barge; it's slim by Gran Torino standards. Think of the Mustang GT as a portly pastiche of pony cars past, present and yes, future.

Buying an automobile from a private seller is risky business. There’s only one guarantee: you have less chance of successful legal compensation than you would trying to recover your $5 tip from a New York City cabbie. On the positive side, you can make out like a bandit. This is especially true for a privately owned collector car. Whether it’s a classic or a street rod, if someone else gets stuck with the time and expense of restoration, you win. 

It’s no secret that The Detroit News (DTN) likes to cheer for the home team. It’s also no surprise that the financially challenged paper imports low-cost out-of-town talent to satisfy their product needs– just like the domestic automakers they support. So when I read Washington Post writer Warren Brown’s analysis of GM’s fortunes on the DTN website, I was hardly stunned to discover a happy clappy Pollyanna puff piece. Like his prickly personality, Brown’s nose for news is distinctly stuffy; his piece embodies and elevates mindless pro-GM optimism to new heights.

Over the years, my father’s garage has become an elephant’s graveyard of corroded metal, faded wiring diagrams, desiccated gaskets and other relics of a lifetime of Land Rover ownership. Buried deep somewhere in that automotive salmagundi: an old Punch magazine. Within its yellowed pages, a cartoon shows three British Leyland workers clustered around the company magazine, contemplating a picture of an Austin Mini with its speedometer mounted on the hubcap. The caption reads: “Cock-up of The Month.” Amen. The Land Rover was the far best four by four by far ever built by lazy English Communists.

I may be the only American automotive journalist who thinks the United Auto Workers (UAW) won't make any significant concessions in their new contracts with The Big Two Point Five. Window dressing? Absolutely. I fully expect to read breathless accounts of breakthough announcements– and discover familiar pay postponements, paper shuffling and prevarication. Genuine, honest-to-God, we’ll reduce the amount of money we’re draining from your coffers concessions? Never. And then I read Sharon Terlep’s piece in the Detroit News– “UAW: Expect Sacrifice”– and changed my mind. For five minutes.

I’m 31, single and happy. So obviously my mother is constantly nagging me to get hitched and give her grandchildren. Even my sister’s impending marriage has failed to distract her; she’ll never be content until, presumably, I am not. Perhaps she’s right. I’m the only unmarried man at my weekly poker game. My best friend is expecting his first child this summer. If I were honest, I might admit I’m at the age when oat-sowing men settle down, produce offspring and molt. I can, however, offer at least one compelling reason for not introducing my spawn upon the world’s stage: I'd fit the Suzuki XL7's psychographic profile.