Canadian Technician: The authoritative website and magazine for professional auto technicians, mechanics, automotive repair shop owners, service managers in the business of repair, maintenance in the automotive aftermarket.
In addition to a half decent football game, the Super Bowl is also known for its brilliant and lavishly-produced commercials (assuming Canadians can manage to circumvent CRTC rules and receive a U.S. feed of the game, that is. Otherwise, us Canucks are subjected to the lurid lameness that is CTV promo ads.)
Luckily, we now live in the age of YouTube. And by visiting this precious portal, one can watch Super Bowl LXIV's best ad. Namely, Audi's "Green Police" spot - a brilliant send-up of the inconvenient goofs who comprise the overbearing enviro-weenie movement.
Set to the tune of Cheap Trick's 1979 hit, Dream Police, the Green Police spot depicts a near-future wherein environmental cops (many of whom wear short pants and get around in Segways) consistently invade our personal lives by spying, sifting through our trash, and setting up dragnets looking for environmental misbehaviour.
The first citizen arrested is a supermarket customer who has the temerity to ask for a plastic bag. "You picked the wrong day to mess with the eco system, plastic boy," a Green Cop barks as the shell-shocked shopper is cuffed and hustled out the store.
Another man is arrested in his house for not composting an orange peel properly while another hapless fellow is manhandled into the back of a Green Police golf cart for "possession of an incandescent light bulb."
Next up is a fellow relaxing in his hot tub who's arrested because the water temperature is set at 105 F.
The ad ends with an imposing roadblock - an "Eco Check" - set up by the Green Police, who use anteaters to sniff out any environmental vehicular infractions. The only individual waved through the logjam of vehicles is a fellow behind the wheel of a 2010 Audi A3 TDI clean diesel. "You're good to go, sir," a Green Policeman tells him.
The spot concludes with the ivory-hued Audi A3 zooming down the highway, its engine lustily revving. "Green has never felt so right," notes the have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too copy superimposed upon the screen.
While the Audi spot is laugh out loud funny, it also serves as a cautionary tale given we reside in an age of environmental fanaticism. Surely the likes of David Suzuki, Al Gore, Stephane Dion et al would love to see Green Police officers cracking down on everything that makes our lives enjoyable - be it incandescent light bulbs or kickass V8 motors.
Let's hope such a vision never comes to pass. And in the meantime, let's praise Audi's humourous/horrifying wake-up call, which so adroitly skewers those who comprise the Green Gestapo.
It's conventional wisdom - not to mention the law in most jurisdictions - that if you plan on hitting the road with a kid in the car, then Junior better be strapped into a child car seat.
Yet, Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner appear to have compelling evidence suggesting that child car seats don't really do as much good as we've been led to believe.
Levitt and Dubner, authors of the recently-published Super Freakonomics, examined decades' worth of data and even conducted their own experiments to debunk the premise that child car seats are a safety panacea when it comes to collisions.
The duo examined data amassed by the Fatality Analysis Reporting System, a compilation of police reports from all fatal crashes in the United States since 1975. As the authors note in Super Freakonomics: "A quick look at the FARS data from nearly 30 years of crashes reveals a surprising result. For children two and older, the rate of death in crashes involving at least one fatality is almost identical for those riding in car seats and those wearing seat belts."
Indeed, Levitt and Dubner found that in certain types of crashes - rear-enders, for instance - car seats actually performed worse than seat belts.
Could it be the data is skewed by the number of child car seats that are improperly installed? Perhaps. But to address this valid concern, the authors decided to commission two crash tests: one with a three-year-old sized dummy in a child car seat versus an identical dummy in a lap and shoulder belt. The second test involved a comparison of a six-year-old sized dummy in a booster seat versus the same dummy in a lap and shoulder belt. (Of note, simply conducting these tests was problematic: almost every crash-test facility in the U.S. refused to partake in the experiment for fear of offending their biggest customer base - the manufacturers of child car seats.)
But after conducting the experiments, the authors had their smoking gun.
"The adult seat belts passed the crash test with flying colors. Based on the head- and chest-impact data, neither the children in the safety seats nor those in the seat belts would likely have been injured in this crash. So, how well did the old-fashioned seat belts work? They exceeded every requirement for how a child safety seat should perform."
Compelling food for thought for those parents thinking about investing more money into pricey devices that apparently aren't as safe as they're cracked up to be.
Dennis DesRosiers has been studying the automotive sector for 40 years, publishing his monthly Observations column for 16 years and building a national reputation as Canada's leading auto analyst.
Next up for the renowned auto industry analyst: the release of a hardcover compendium of his best Observations columns in commemoration of his four decades of providing insights into the automotive industry.
The Best of Observations, which will retail for $200 ($45 for subsequent copies), will be approximately 250 pages in length and will feature DesRosiers' most insightful and relevant articles.
As well, this compilation volume will be quite different from DesRosiers' annual yearbook in that it won't focus on data but rather on explaining the inner workings of the automotive sector.
All proceeds over and above the cost of publishing will go towards funding the DesRosiers Endowment for the Advancement of Automotive Studies which provides scholarships for students studying the automotive sector at the college and university level.
To order a copy, contact Jill McConnell at (905) 881-0400 or jill@desrosiers.ca
Stephen Martel thought he had come up with a unique way to promote his Cochrane, Ont. auto parts store. Instead, Martel was served with a cease and desist letter from Canadian Tire's lawyers.
At issue: recently, Martel decided to accept Canadian Tire currency as a form of payment at his Martel Auto Parts store. He advertised his program by putting a sign in the window of his shop stating he was happy to accept Canadian Tire money for purchases. Over the course of the program, he took in approximately $200 worth of Canadian Tire cash.
Canadian Tire was not amused. The Toronto-based company warned Martel that such a marketing initiative was akin to trademark infringement. As well, Canadian Tire alleged that Martel's actions were hurting the local Cochrane Canadian Tire store.
While Martel acquiesced to Canadian Tire's wishes - he says he doesn't have the resources for a courtroom battle - he believes he's being unfairly targeted by the retail giant.
For example, Martel notes when he Googled the phrase, "We accept Canadian Tire money," he discovered "hundreds" of retailers across Canada - including an Oakville, Ont. jewelry shop and a video rental store in Halifax - embracing the same marketing ploy he once promoted.
Says Martel: "Why is Canadian Tire just going after me and not all these other places?"
Martel has his own theory: he says he had a business dispute with the Cochrane Canadian Tire store owner, Kevin P. Smith. As a result, Smith is still upset with him.
As well, Martel claims he saw Smith take a picture of his sign, presumably to send it along to Canadian Tire's head office. Shortly thereafter, Martel says he was served with legal papers.
For his part, Smith says he has no personal grudge against Martel whatsoever. However, he notes that Martel is a direct competitor given that both Martel Auto Parts and Canadian Tire sell automotive replacement parts. And Smith says Canadian Tire money is meant to drive customer traffic to his store, not Martel's.
"I need to maintain my customer base," Smith says.
Even so, a question remains: why did Canadian Tire HQ go to the extent of sending its lawyers after Martel while hundreds of other retailers continue to openly accept Canadian Tire dough?
Canadian Tire spokesman Lisa Gibson says the company has indeed issued several cease and desist letters to other retailers accepting Canadian Tire money.
"He [Martel] is not the first; he's not the only one; and he won't be the last," she says. "This [accepting Canadian Tire money] is a trademark violation and the reality is he's a competitor."
Who'd have guessed that the Chevrolet Malibu boasted a trunk so voluminous it can transport barnyard livestock?
Well, it's true. Just ask James Prusci. The Winona, Minn. technician was startled when he heard an odd crying noise emanating from the rear of a broken down Malibu he was working on recently. The car had had just been dropped off at his shop by a woman passing through town.
Fearing the worst, Prusci popped the trunk lid and the tech was greeted by the sight of a live goat stuffed inside.
What's more, the goat's fur was painted purple and gold (the Minnesota Vikings' colours.) The goat also had Brett Favre's No. 4 shaved into its side. (The "semi-retired" Favre is attempting another comeback with the Vikings.)
Evidently, the woman was planning to butcher the animal in St. Paul. Passing through Winona, her Chevy gave up the ghost (but not the goat) and required servicing.
The unnamed woman, who was accompanied by a man and child, left the shop as Prusci and some coworkers began repairing the car. When the technicians heard crying emanating from the rear of the vehicle, they investigated.
"We cracked open the trunk, you know, so it could breathe," Prusci told the Winona Daily News. "And sure enough, there it was. It kind of poked its head up."
It's unknown if the goat was meant to be sacrificed in a pre-game ritual (and goodness knows, the Vikings need all the help they can get - be it from a washed-up quarterback or the sacrificial gods.) Or maybe the woman was taking the Vikings' current marketing slogan literally ("Show your horns.") Even so, Prusci notified animal control officers, who dropped by the shop along with the police.
The goat is now in the care of a veterinarian.
And to think Goatgate was undone by a wonky GM engine. (Note to all future would-be vehicular goat herders: never underestimate the benefits of proper automotive maintenance.)
As it stands now, the woman is hopefully thinking about replacing her Malibu with a far more humane animal conveyance such as a pickup truck or a hatchback.
As well, there is absolutely no truth to the rumour that the woman's male companion was Michael Vick.
Welcome to our new weekly blogging feature, "Classic Lemon of the Week" in which we shall be looking back at some of the most memorable lemons of yesteryear on a weekly basis. We're talking design disasters, marketing misfits, engineering errors and aesthetic abominations. In short, a car owner's nightmare but a technician's dream come true.
This week, the most-ill conceived Cadillac of all time: the Cimarron.
A vehicle can qualify as a lemon for myriad reasons, from dismal design to wretched reliability. Then there's "brandalism."
Brandalism occurs when the custodians of a brand take a product with vaunted brand equity and vandalize it by ruining everything that was good about it.
Exhibit A when it comes to brutal brandalism of the automotive kind: the Cadillac Cimarron.
Undeniably, Cadillac was in a lull dating back to the mid-'70s. But the Cimarron was proof positive that the folks running GM's luxury division no longer gave a rodent's rectum about engineering excellence or divine design. That's because the Cimarron was essentially a rebadged J-car.
The Baby Cadillac was given the green light when GM noticed small luxury cars made by the likes of Mercedes, BMW, Audi and Volvo were gobbling up increased market share. GM could've attempted to make a good, small luxury car to compete with these makes. Instead, the General chose to tart up a Chevrolet Cavalier with leather seats and then mark up the base price by thousands. Talk about a double-whammy: the Cimarron was neither a good Cadillac nor was it good value.
Also, given the Cimarron was the first four-cylinder Cadillac since 1914, performance was abysmal. The car was completely out of its league going up against similar-sized BMW and Mercedes cars of that time period. Did we mention the Cimarron was a rebadged Cavalier?
As the years progressed, GM tried to spice up the Cimarron with more powerful engines and a better suspension. It was too little, too late and GM wasn't fooling anyone. Traditional Cadillac models were selling in the range of 300,000 units per year; however, less than 20,000 Cimarrons were sold annually.
After seven painful attempts at trying to get it right, GM finally did the right thing and pulled the plug on this abomination of a luxury car. But given the extent of the brandalism, it remains nothing short of miraculous that the Cadillac nameplate didn't perish along with the Cimarron in 1988.
There's a humorous Subaru TV commercial airing these days. An Impreza owner is so enamoured with Subarus that he automatically admires anyone else driving this particular make of vehicle. To prove his affection, he pops a coin into the expired parking meter of a stranger's Impreza. Once the meter maid realizes this Impreza doesn't belong to him, she flashes the Good Samaritan a disapproving look.
Obviously, this ad wasn't filmed in Toronto.
In Hogtown, you see, it's apparently illegal to feed the meter of a stranger's car. And if you do so, the meter maid won't merely flash you a peeved look - she might just call the cops.
I know firsthand. It happened to me in October 2007.
The details: I was working on a story in which I was following the edicts in a poster entitled, "Life's Little Instructions." The instructions include such nuggets as "Plant a tree on your birthday," "Over-tip breakfast waitresses" and "Feed a stranger's expired parking meter."
Parked on Elm Street one Thursday morning, I noticed a parking enforcement officer making a beeline toward a Mazda3. Yours Truly swung into action. I saved the Mazda3 from a $30 parking ticket by purchasing a Pay & Display tag and slipping it under the Mazda's wiper blade.
If looks could kill, I'd have been vaporized. I didn't dare ask the meter maid's name, but she spoke with an Eastern European accent and kind of resembled a uniform-clad Elvira Mistress of the Dark, albeit with a shorter haircut and no cleavage. Also unlike Elvira, she was no comedienne.
"It's not your car!" she yelled. "It's none of your concern!"
She then sped off.
Covering off Elm, I strolled down to Edward Street, a fistful of quarters at the ready. Wouldn't you know it? "Elvira" was plying her craft on Edward, too. I saved vehicles here as well - a Ford Fusion, a Chevy HHR. Next thing I know, all heck breaks loose.
"There he is! Him! Him!" the meter maid screamed, pointing in my direction but addressing Constable Alex Leano.
"What'd I do?" I queried.
"Don't talk to her!" barked Const. Leano.
I was detained for 40 minutes as the policeman wrote up an "incident report." I asked Const. Leano if I had done anything wrong. His original guess was "obstruction." He then suggested I should "consult a lawyer." Just call me Menzoid, the Maniacal Meter Feeder. What a badass, eh?
The following day, I spoke with Kimberly Rossi, manager of parking enforcement for the Toronto Police Service. She noted that, according to Chapter 910 (Parking Machines) Section 4, Sub-Section A, it is indeed the "parker's responsibility" to feed the meter. (Insert theme from Dragnet here.)
Bottom line: should you have a hankering to ape the Subaru ad in Toronto, your good deed might just get you arrested.
Ah, the First of July. It means a day off work. It's the unofficial start of summer. And millions celebrate with barbeques sizzling, hammocks swaying and fireworks blasting. For 27 years, July 1st has been known as Canada Day. But undoubtedly, some "old-timers" (that is to say, those Canadians who have memories stretching back to the early '80s) likely recall the original moniker for July 1: Dominion Day, a holiday officially established by statute in 1879 but now consigned to the scrapheap of political correctness.
The sneaky process that resulted in Dominion Day's assassination is certainly a story worth retelling. The deed took place in Parliament on July 9, 1982, back when the Trudeau regime was calling the shots. Purging Dominion Day from the Canadian lexicon occurred on an otherwise laidback Friday afternoon, the last day of Parliament before the summer recess. A mere 13 members were present, seven short of an official quorum.
Alas, so much for formalities: a private member's bill seeking to officially expunge "Dominion Day" and replace it with "Canada Day" was quickly rubberstamped. Faster than you could say, "fuddle duddle" more than a century of history disappeared.
The move was consistent with what Liberal governments have been doing since Lester Pearson took power, which is trying to "rebrand" Canada.
Even so, according to the Monarchist League of Canada, "dominion" is a very proud and powerful term. After all, the preamble to the Canadian constitution - that document so beloved by Liberals then and now - states there shall be "one Dominion." And Monarchists note that the D-word is misunderstood: Dominion is synonymous with independence, freedom and free association - not subservience or colonization.
Alas, a contributing factor to Dominion Day's exclusion from the Canadian holiday vocabulary is that dominion doesn't translate very well into French. Given that pandering to Quebec sensibilities is practically Canada's national pastime, Dominion Day was perhaps doomed for this reason alone.
How sad. After all, the genesis of Dominion Day had much to do with that very positive Canadian attribute of compromise. As noted in The Canadian Encyclopedia, Dominion "refers to Dominion of Canada (British North America Act preamble), to the federal government or Parliament, and to Canada's status in relation to the Imperial government. The fathers of confederation wanted to call the new nation the Kingdom of Canada, but the British Government, fearing the sensitivity of Americans to references to the Crown and anxious not to antagonize them after the American Civil War, insisted the Fathers find another title. Leonard Tilley suggested 'dominion' (Psalm 72). 'He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth.' The Fathers said it was intended to give dignity to the federation, and as a tribute to the monarchical principle. Under the Constitution Act, 1982, 'Dominion' remains Canada's official title."
On sober second thought, no wonder Dominion Day was given the axe. After all, it's all so "B&B" (biblical and British) - neither of which jives that well with Liberals. (Next holiday to be eradicated: Victoria Day. You heard it here first.)
Ideological agendas aside, perhaps rebranding wouldn't have been so offensive if only the replacement for the regal-sounding Dominion Day wasn't the appallingly bland Canada Day - a "McHoliday" if ever there was one. Can anyone imagine Independence Day being replaced by USA Day? The most important American holiday would end up sounding like the name of a national newspaper - just as our most important national holiday is one letter removed from a brand of ginger ale.
Even so, wouldn't it be a fitting birthday gift if the Harper Conservatives were to undo this particular example of Liberal vandalism, restoring Dominion Day to its rightful place? While changing the name (again) of our most important holiday is not high on the priority list, it would certainly be something worth celebrating. At least for those Canadians who still care about such things.
Chutzpah is my all-time farvorite Yiddish word. It means brazen nerve, unmitigated gall, sheer audacity.
Chutzpah came to mind recently when I noticed a news story reporting that China has banned the sale of four new Renault vehicles due to concerns about "serious safety risks."
Sounds like quite the scandal. I mean, is Renault basing its new models on the '71 Ford Pinto template?
Turns out nothing could be further from the truth. When it comes to crashworthiness, Renault holds one of the best track records in recent years.
In fact, Renault was the first brand to earn a five-star crash rating in the EuroNCAP crash test - even before such safety champions as Mercedes-Benz and Volvo received the coveted five stars. And all of the vehicles that have been banned from sale - the Laguna, Megane, Megane Coupe-Convertible, and the Scenic - have earned EuroNCAP's top marks for occupant safety protection.
Even so, the General Administration of Quality Supervision Inspection and Quarantine (China's Orwellian-sounding quality inspection agency) says these Renault models are unable to meet China's technical safety standards. Inexplicably, no details were given as to what is actually wrong with the cars.
What makes the whole situation so puzzling is that quite a few Chinese-developed and built vehicles aren't exactly known for their safety acumen. Several have been tested according to EuroNCAP standards and they haven't passed with flying colors.
As well, talk about the pot calling the kettle ebony. Hardly a week goes by without some Chinese product being recalled due to a genuine safety concern - from flammable bathrobes to teethers contaminated with micro-organisms. And many technicians would never dare install some of the "white box" automotive parts imported from China, knowing full well that much of this stuff is unsafe junk.
So, what's the unspoken strategy at play here? Could it be this move is less about safety and more about protecting the Chinese auto industry? And are other auto brands to suffer Renault's fate?
In the meantime, if China is really concerned about automotive safety, it might want to crack down on the export of dangerous aftermarket car parts.
But then again, I suspect that might be bad for business...
Technician Lebert St. Bernard of Mississauga, Ont. is quick to point out he's no hero.
We beg to differ.
Just after 1 a.m. last Thursday, St. Bernard - who works at Bay Auto Zone in Toronto - was driving along a major thoroughfare to his Mississauga home. He then saw something that had him disbelieving his eyes: a three-year-old boy was crossing the street with no adults in sight. Lebert immediately slowed down, made a U-turn, and went back the opposite way to pluck the child out of harm's way.
Unfortunately, the 45-year-old father of three was too late: by the time he got back, the boy - who suffers from sleepwalking - had already crossed waded into traffic. St. Bernard was then horrified to witness a minivan strike the boy head on. Worse, the driver of the minivan stopped for a few seconds and then sped off, leaving the boy bleeding in the middle of the road.
St. Bernard was faced with a choice: give chase or attend to the seriously injured boy. He did both, by convincing a passerby to remain with the child as he sped off after the minivan.
"The road (Britannia) is lit up pretty good but he [minivan driver] had a phone in his ear - I think he was distracted," says St. Bernard. "I couldn't believe it when he took off - he knew he hit the child."
St. Bernard caught up to the minivan at a traffic light. Along with another motorist that St. Bernard flagged down, they blocked the minivan from moving and called police.
"We boxed him in because he wasn't going to stick around. The driver said to me he just wanted to go home. And I said, 'I don't think so.'"
Police say St. Bernard was instrumental in solving the case given that most hit-and-run incidents prove very difficult to solve. Meanwhile, the child is recovering in hospital with serious injuries including two broken legs and a split skull.
Syed Hoda, 48, of Mississauga is charged with failing to remain at the scene of an accident. He is scheduled to appear in Brampton court on July 13.
Despite the heroism displayed, St. Bernard says he doesn't feel like a hero. In fact, he says he is full of regret that he couldn't get back to the boy soon enough to prevent the accident.
"When I saw the boy just get splattered and the driver took off like the kid meant nothing to him... that was sick," says St. Bernard. "I'm just happy I caught the guy. All I want now is for the child to get better."
Still, in a world where so many people prefer not to get involved, St. Bernard is indeed a hero. His quick thinking likely saved the life of a child and was instrumental in apprehending a scum bag who obviously couldn't care less.
