Post and Podcast by Kasey Kagawa

It’s lean times for the automotive podcast writer. Stuck in the doldrums between auto shows, we’re forced to resort to such vulgar measures as intellectual cannibalism and inflating otherwise unimportant stories into the world’s most important news story ever just to stay afloat. Fortunately, we’re not so desperate as to stoop to printing leaks and broken embargoes, but we spent a good long time staring at a few choice leaks, salivating at the extra time those things would generate. Thanks to the ingenuity of our crack team of writers, however, we here at Dubspeed Radio have just managed to make a podcast worthy to be shot through the Intertubes and into our audience’s waiting ears. Enjoy, and when you listen, think of the poor writers who toiled for hours in their boiler room office to bring you this fine bit of automotive journalism.

 

 Dubspeed Radio 2/24/08 [11:55m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Story by Jack Baruth, photo by “bubba sideways”

I can’t count the number of times during my long and painful BMX career when I sat on my bike, sized up some dirt jump, wooden ramp, or fifteen-stair drop-off, and thought long and hard about how much I’d regret what I was about to do, should it go wrong. Most of the time, my pessimism was unfounded - I’d clear the jump, bound over the obstacle, land the drop. Every once in a while, however, I’d lose my balance, slip a pedal, or just plain run out of talent, and for a tiny, sickening fraction of a second, my breath would catch in my throat before I hit the ground to the accompanying “crack” of a broken bone. I never actually heard a bone break, mind you; it always felt like a really sharp pinch in a place where no pinching should be possible. The memory of that little “pinch” is what made me sit on my bike for an extra moment or two before cranking off towards disaster. There were times I’d have liked to just sit there until it was time to go home, but the difference between the rider and the poser is that the poser never stops just sitting there on the bike. You’ll never get hurt just sitting there.

If I don’t make the prediction I’m about to unleash - if I turn this column towards a safer topic, like E85 pricing or trail-braking techniques for FWD race cars - I won’t get hurt. There won’t be any hate mail. Zerin, my long-suffering editor, won’t get any calls from the manufacturers. It’ll be business as usual. I should really shut up right now.

Oh, the hell with that. Let’s pedal towards the jump and make a prediction. I believe that Nissan is making a potentially serious error in importing the new GT-R to the United States and Canada. I believe that they will eventually regret doing so, and that the GT-R will join that time-honored long list of big-money automotive marketing mistakes that contains everything from the Edsel to the Lincoln Blackwood. Yeah, yeah, I know. Some of my dear readers are already searching for the “Respond” button at the bottom of this column so they can make unpleasant and biologically improbable suggestions regarding my momma, while the more action-oriented among you are already GoogleMapping a very special trip for the purpose of beating my face in at the NASA season opener. (It’s April 12, at Mid-Ohio, if you must know.) If there’s anybody left who simply wants to know the reasons behind this particular piece of prophecy… you’ll just have to put the chainsaw down and keep reading.

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Post and Podcast by Kasey Kagawa

All of you who wasted two hours of your life on Sunday night watching the new Knight Rider TV movie, or as I like to think of it, Knight Rider, Brought To You By Ford, well, I thought about being sympathetic, but given that the show couldn’t have telegraphed the fact that it was going to suck more strongly unless it bought full-page print ads and one minute TV spots that were just “Knight Rider is going to be awful, don’t watch it” in white block print over a black background, you’re getting nothing from me. It was so bad that Autoblog, who in the days leading up to the show’s premier, had more than two different posts about it on the front page at any given time, gave it a hearty and resounding thumbs down (my favorite quote: “Bionic Woman is Goodfellas compared to this.”). Of course, the Hoff was awesome, but he’s the freakin’ Hoff. He is second only to His Holy Lutz himself. When the Hoff is assumed into Awesome Heaven, which is what Heaven would have been if God wasn’t kicked out by Lutz for being a total slacker and not paying His rent on time, he will be seated at The Lutz’s right hand. Anyway, enjoy the podcast.

 

 Dubspeed Radio 2/19/08: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Story by Jack Baruth - Photo by Zerin Dube

It’s an old joke, non-hilariously updated for the purposes of this review: A Buddhist monk walks into an Audi showroom and is greeted by an Audi salesman. The salesman says, “How may I help you today?” The monk replies,

“I would like to have a truly Zen A4.”

“A truly Zen A4?” repeats the salesman, somewhat confused. Smiling serenely, the monk whispers,

“Make me one with everything.”

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Story by Robert S. Schultz

The Chicago Auto Show may not be first on the annual schedule of automotive extravaganzas. But don’t even suggest it is the “second city” of shows. In square footage alone—1.3 million—it is the largest show in North America. And though Detroit presents the majority of premieres each year, Chicago scores its share of noteworthy debuts. As a mighty winter storm pelted McCormick Place with rain, sleet, snow and the city’s trademark breezes, we visited the auto makers’ press events, among them the much-anticipated coming-out party for the Dodge Challenger.

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Post by Kasey Kagawa

Well, I’m off to a much undeserved Las Vegas vacation. My Presidential suite has been prepared and my multi-million dollar credit line is waiting, both perks of working here at Dubspeed Towers. Soon, I shall take the Rolls to my private jet and cruise to Vegas in luxury. I leave you all in the very capable hands of Zerin, who has something special ready for all of you tomorrow. I hope that you pay him the same attention that you do my weekly missives, and I’ll talk to you all again next week.

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Story by Jack Baruth

She’d entered our dealer principal’s office as a coltish, blinking young woman, stepping awkwardly in new high heels. Almost six feet tall, impossibly thin, painfully beautiful, wearing a purposely dowdy pantsuit. It was always fun to see the new dealer reps arrive from Ford; without exception they were tall, good-looking young men and women with impeccable degrees from Michigan universities, earnest Midwestern faces, and a charmingly naive sense of the world. They’d meet the dealer, a hard-assed former B-17 pilot who had built the dealership with his own hands, and they’d meet the general manager, a hulking man with a Mafioso’s hair and the easy yet malicious attitude of a professional assassin, and those two old bastards would grind ‘em into the ground. We enjoyed the show. Sure, these kids were on their way to six-figure salaries, a home in Bloomfield Hills, and the outrageously hedonistic life of a Detroit executive - but before they could make the big money, they’d have to take a beating from our guys. Of course, things were slightly different this time. Our dealer principal had recently handed over the daily operations to his phlegmatic, fortysomething son, whose demeanor and physique had long ago earned him the nickname “Droopy The Dog”. Droopy had insisted on seeing the Ford rep alone, probably hoping that he could earn some respect among the sales staff by beating up a twenty-three-year-old girl. Rumor said this meeting was to discuss an extra “allocation” - the amount of stock sent to each dealer on an annual basis. We all knew what we wanted from this girl - we wanted extra allocation of PowerStroke diesels, we wanted more three-quarter-ton trucks, and we wanted to become an SVT dealer. With any luck, Droopy would get the job done.

When she walked out of his door, the awkward young volleyball player had become a triumphant Valkyrie. She grinned at the assembled sales staff and strutted to her cream-colored Town Car Cartier. From colt to racehorse, in one meeting flat. Our general manager frowned, went into Droopy’s office, and slammed the door. Hushed voices turned loud, and before long the two men were screaming at each other. The rest of the salesmen had melted away by the time the door banged back open, leaving me to face the general manager alone. He looked at me and said,

“Aerostars. Aerostars! The bitch made him take four AEROSTARS!.”

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Post and Podcast by Kasey Kagawa

Thanks to many years of ruthlessly abusing my body, I can go without sleep for a good period of time, something that comes in handy when you’re producing an almost 20 minute podcast around a college schedule. Anyway, here’s your big heapin’ helping of podcast goodness. This one features a potential hot version of the Tesla Roadster, His Supreme Lutzness, awesome coming from surprising places, lameness coming from not-so-surprising places, Consumer Reports confirms what we knew all along, and a three for one deal in this week’s Useless Automotive Tchotchke that ends with a science-y kind of a rant. Be warned, I get very worked up over things that might not matter all that much to you. But that’s kind of the point of a rant, I suppose. Oh well, enjoy the episode.

 

 Dubspeed Radio 2/5/08 [17:23m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download