You can’t fix the status quo with more status quo.

Yet Jeep purists badmouthed the Cherokee for years because it was unibody and therefore crap.

I approve -- of the concept and of pissing off any type of vehicular purist.

We had a ‘69 Dodge Polara, pale yellow with an avocado vinyl top. Dad was a Mopar man. Mom was envious of her sister’s Impala, which had a much nicer interior. (Pale blue velour, sofa cushion style, if I recall correctly.)

Think of it as a Scirocco — the sporty looking version of the utilitarian Rabbit/Jetta chassis. Or as a fastback Corolla.

I loves me some worn soap bar styling. Porsche 911, third generation RX-7, Jaguar XKE...

I wonder if the headlights flip like the old Opel GT.

They offer colors the public will buy, but the public can’t buy colors that aren’t offered.

I pay my insurance in full at the beginning of each 6-month period. I wonder how they’ll figure my discount, if any.

My distaste for HOAs comes from the types of rules they usually enact. Too many HOAs worship at the altar of uniformity. Sameness is good, conformity is holy, blandness is their deity. Because as long as their little community looks clean, the lawns are all green and mowed, the houses are all indistinguishable and…

He... I... it... uh... he... uh... he just came out of nowhere and BAM!

Your art person(s) must be having a thing with AMC. A Pacer-inspired front end on the illustration for this article, a Javelin grill on the Trivia Night picture.

I was going to post a diatribe about HD but then realized they’re not worth the energy.

I’ve been living in a camper van the past seven years, traveling around the West, in cities and out in the boonies — sometimes beyond the boonies. So where is this “home” I’m supposed to hole up in? Right now I’m writing this from a wildlife preserve in far southern Arizona. I’ve been here ten days. The closest person…

Yes, I MUST have white sock and brown loafers. NOW.

Thanks to every broke-ass boy racer, there are tons of loud cars that aren’t fast. Loud is easy. Loud is look-at-me-look-at-me-ain’t-I-somethin’ juvenile. Fast and quiet is much harder, and much more mature in an I-don’t-need-to-prove-anything-to-you-little-man way. So making silent cars loud (and adding pointless…

There’s the answer, then. I knew it had to be something official.

The Hispano-Sousa was popular in those days.

A couple of months ago I passed a convoy of thirteen identical Defenders between Palm Springs and Anza-Borrego Desert. A press thing, I presumed. Were you among them, Mr. Collins?

When a lack of rust is enough to get you having dreamy thoughts about otherwise unremarkable vehicles, it’s a sign you really really REALLY need to move out of the Rust Belt.