The Rake Magazine

A while back, my editor informed me that blog readers enjoy hearing about the author's personal life. While I remain suspicious about this online axiom, I will admit that I read car magazines. I peruse so many car magazines and sites in a week that it leaves little time for discretion. Because of this, I frequently encounter photos of people with more modifications than the vehicles they are pictured beside, astride, etc.

Because The Rake has standards, I will not stoop to link my sources. Allow me instead to provide a sanitized description of "Turbo Terry And Her Tantalizingly Tenacious Tarmac Terror Machine":

Terry — She appears to be 5'11". It is difficult to gauge her actual height due to an ambidextrous engagement with a parachute protrouding like a giant probiscus from the drag-prepped Mustang's (it appears) rear.

TTTTM — The actual vehicle is difficult to describe, as it is so closely entertwined with the Aphrodite. The description of the car, however, is more precise at second glance and worthy of deconstruction. Permit me:

Tantalizingly — It looks like the parachute has startegically placed its "tentacles" on the model's figure, and I am now certain the etmology of tantric stems from this word (or vice versa).

Tenacious — I can't think of a better adjective to describe the grip that drag car must gain on the pavement or tarmac with its tires.

Tarmac — A simple & direct word for pavement. (Strunk & White)

Terror — Stand near a Christmas tree (the green light pole, essentially) at an NHRA event, and you too will know something beyond fear. Good drag cars inspire this.

Machine — Another stab at Strunk & White. Kudos.

Which brings me finally to the model's full name: Turbo Terry. While unremarkable as a nom' de plume, I now understand why a gender-neutral name was used to describe her. I also understand why the parachute was placed so cavalierly across the upper torso but so carefully further down.

At first I thought I was looking at another stripper (as common as a good steak in Kansas City on car sites).

Suddenly nothing is as it seems. . .

No, I am not on Mars.

But I am apparently on a drag site.

Bonding. Its something that women tend to fret about with men, as in "go and do your male bonding thing."

While I am sure men like me are essentially Pavlovian and conditioned to do what women say, it gets more complicated when I think about cars. I don't need to bond with my buddies, but I do need to bond with my cars. This could be the reason I have had trouble bonding with my Benz.

I acquired this E550 a few months ago which made it neccessary for me to sell my beloved 530 HP Cobra and possibly even my Alfa Spider Veloce. I just can't sit on that much depreciating iron and an increasingly depressed wife (I understand, honey).

Fortunately, things have changed.

While putting my Cobra up for sale on EBay this weekend, I came across a site for Drag Times "the world's only quarter mile website." Lo and behold there was my E550 with a stock quarter mile time of 13.4. and 0-60 in 4.8 sec. That's right in Cobra range (with Range Rover luxury to boot).

While I realize this entry is reading like a MySpace page full of vacuity and lacking in depth I must say I suddenly gained the respect for the Benz that I have always had for my Cobra. I felt so good about it that I went out and tested its rev limiter on a midnight jaunt out to Cantebury.

I can proudly say that in thrust I trust once again, and I thank Mercedes for letting me break 135.

A long time ago I was fired from the Byerly's business (and later restated) for taking a picture of a model holding a Turducken. I depicted this Scandinavian babe in a Bergmanesque pose tortured by existential angst over what to do with the strange aviary object.

Tres Lund, apparently, did not prefer realism in his supermarket. I can't be sure, however, that he has ever tried to cook on Turkey Day. After all, what is one to do with a chicken that's been stuffed in a duck then stuffed in a turkey? (or vice versa?)

I am told the ad did end up selling quite a few birds.

Which brings me to Subaru. The recent buzz on the company is the last second hiring of Carmichael Lynch--by all accounts, a great advertising agency. Subaru is going to need one, considering the inexplicable oddness of its new car line.

For years, Subuaru was a proud and inconoclastic car maker . They claimed, rightly, that their cars were "inexpensive and built to stay that way." They were a poster child for fighting car-based commonism.

That's all changed. Their vehicles are now expensive for the money and downright ugly on the eyes. It all started when someone got the weird idea that Subaru could really fly high by paying homage to their history as an aircraft company. This resulted in the Tribeca B9, a bland beast with a grille that reflected their aircraft roots.

It appears here that they were aiming for the elegance of an Alfa Romeo but ended up with a modern day Edsel

Subaru's strange behavior has now reached its zenith in the new WRX--till recently their "halo" car. I've blogged about the previous generations of this car so much that I won't bore you with the details. The latest generation of the WRX, however, looks like the designers have been overdosing on tryptophan.

The photo here to the right is not a Mazda 3 or some other econobox but instead the once-sporty-but-now somnambulistic WRX. Hatchbacks never have and never will be true sports cars. Its as if someone told Subaru that all the gung-ho boy racers have matured into grocery-getters ready to put away their childish things. It looks bloated and over-stuffed and the road tests are exactly lofty either.

Its time Fuji Heavy Industries (Subaru's parent company) stopped thinking about airplanes and cooked up something like the previous generation WRX. It looked uncommon and flew like a bat out of you know where.

Which is more than I can say for a Turducken.

Here's a lil' sumpin for you nature lovers. Urbanolas. Gore Gurls. Whatever you call yourself.

Until this year, all Jeep vehicles were "trail-rated". This has required all vehicles to finish the Rubicon Trail--the most muderous off-road route on the planet (see image). From a design perspective this requires a ladder frame and a solid rear axle (among other things). While this technology is dated, it still has not been surpassed for off-road travel.

That makes a vehicle like the new SRT-8 Grand Cherokee positively obscene, with 425 horses on tap. As if that were not enough, when surgically-enhanced by Hennessy Motorsports, the Cherokee SRT-8 becomes the fastest production SUV ever made.

You can thank me now for telling you this. While there are better ways to experience nature, what else could feel this dirty?

I have driven the new Mini Cooper. So has half the British Press (the one that matters--Jeremy Clarkson in particular--he is the "dog's bollocks.")

The universal rap on the new car is that it has been "Americanized." In other words, the automotive equivalent of a nice hot casserole. Its a little bigger, the dashboard is less fussy, it has a few more HP (under 10) and it is sprung a tad bit more softly.

Pulease. I have written about this car before (see "Big--a meditation on the MIni Cooper). At that time I pondered whether this joyous little piece of sculptured iron was a "Chick Car." I came to the conclusion that if it was, I would change my sex (I already have a gender neutral name, like "Pat", a little snip and we'd be done. Like Hedwig, sorta.)

The previous Mini was that much fun.

This new Mini is, how shall I say, all hat and no cattle. Style without substance. It has been egregiously compromised by the Germans and I hold BMW responsible.

Here are my road notes: The new Mini compared to gen one.

"Interior: grown up and that's good. Exterior: bigger, er, no, no make that bulbous (compared to the first generation.) Clutch engagement: Damp noodle (I am reminded of that oxymoronic concept called "British cuisine") Turn-in: Cool but not crisp. Handling: More distant, like an ex-girlfriend. Throttle response: Gen one: atta-boy Gen-two: La-Z-Boy
Suspension: see "La-Z-Boy." Desire to drive like a German person: nein, nahzink, no vay (can you hear me BMW?)."

Where the rubber meets the road: In world where a little Honda pumps out 200 HP and DODGE CALIBERS (for chrissake) 300 HP, you need peerless driving dynamics and "feel" to do better with less power. The previous Mini did just that. The current Mini does not. It will sell but its soul has been sold.