2008 Chevrolet Malibu breaks cover

[Waugh-terfall]

I've also driven a current Malibu. It feels better than a Cavalier, but I use the term "better" in the same spirit I'd say Cathy Bates is more do-able than Nancy Reagan.

It's light years behind Honda's Accord or Toyota's Camry, and much worse than Hyundai's better-equipped, cheaper mini-luxury-barge who's alphabet soup name escapes me.

Anyway, Matt, you're from Kansas (properly pronounced Kan-saw), which makes you almost as American as me. (kidding) I do love me some Chevies, as I'm sure you do, but I would never, never give any company a pat on the back sticking with the same basic formula they've used since 19-****ing-84 with the soulless, tasteless, K-cars.

That formula is: front wheel drive, transverse I-4 or V-6, bland styling, (and from here on I'm taking educated guesses, I admit) numb steering, understeer aplenty, and if GM doesn't let the new Malibu roll off the showroom floor with plastic wheel covers, I'll eat my hat.

GM doesn't have a reputation for midsized cars anymore. Tell me how the Chevy Lumina was noticably better or worse than the current Malibu, or current Impala? How was a 2003 Cavalier better than a 1985 Cavalier?

Admittedly, the Cobalt is a breath of fresh air, but that makes one-in-a-row for GM. That isn't the sign of in impending winning streak, in this quail's book.

Again, I'd ask you to look at the success DaimlerChrysler has had with their cars. They've even won contracts to put the Charger into police cruiser service. People look at a car with dynamic, bold styling; powerful engines (including a line of V-8's, which is what drives so many Americans to purchase SUV's, I think) rear-wheel-drive, and, well, character.

Who ever drove a Malibu and felt like they had any special connection to it? Yes, the heftier women and the elderly seem to like them, but that's about it. The Malibu seems to have been concieved as a monument to mediocrity. I personally find it to be trite, top-heavy, and pedestrian. And overly pedantic.

Sorry. I just hate those cars. I hope Holden's fiddling can do for GM what Mercedes did for Chrysler (which used to make cars even worse than GM), but I haven't seen it yet, though GM threatens to bring the Commodore to America.

Anyway, cheers.

My family went to America (Florida) for 2 weeks in March/April '04 and hired a brand new Cobalt LS Auto 4dr with a whole array of options, we were expecting it to be absolutely aweful but found it to be rather pleasent. The interior was quite nice and well laid out, though not all too high quality. The XM Satelite was really, really cool, the 2.2L Ecotec engine seemed plenty powerful enough to pull a family of 4 plus luggage around and the ride & seats were pretty comfy, there was even enough room in the back for me! I loved how you could set the alarm off and sets the lights going from the remote, had some great fun scaring people with that in the Publix & Sweetbay carparks. I really liked the car, I liked all the cars we saw out there despite the shocking cheapness of them. Our Cobalt was wasn't without it's faults. Dad overshot our turning on I-Drive, Orlando, stood on the brake and swung the wheel right round (body roll & tyre squeal ftw) and a huge array of warning lights came on, 2 days later, they were all gone... Still all-in-all, I thought it was great.

Thus I reckon the Malibu won't be too bad, Chevy are turning themselves around. It still may not be great underneath or inside, but both outside and in, it certainly looks the part.

[Esperante]

You went to Florida for vacation? That's gotta suck.

[cmcpokey]

its the land of mickey, dude.

and besides, in another month florida will be my home. so back off.

[Waugh-terfall]

You went to Florida for vacation? That's gotta suck.

Florida's awesome! I wannt go back!!!! But '07 is Turkey

[cmcpokey]

Florida's awesome! I wannt go back!!!! But '07 is Turkey

you say that like its a bad thing, i would love to go to turkey

[LandQuail]

There is no God in Florida. Worst vacation of my life...

Its too long a story to tell, but the trip ended with a panic-retreat from a $40/night motel in Destin.

Aw, hell. It's a pretty good story.

I'd just turned 19, and me and a couple friends decided to take a week's vacation one summer. For some reason, we picked Florida over Mexico, which is a decision we all regret. At least in Mexico, you expect everything to be ****ed up.

So, we drive to Destin, Florida in high spirits, and check into the cheapest motel we can find. We went to the beach for a while, bought Booze on a fake I.D., and settled in for a night of quiet drinking-in.

By about 2 a.m., we were all pretty drunk, and one of my hillbilly buddies, who still goes by "Deer Chili" had gone a few doors down to party with a bunch of local rich-kid ravers. Not my scene, but to each his own.

He said he'd be right back, so we didn't worry until my other friend tried to call him. One time, the phone picked up on what my friend said "sounded like hell." It just rang without an answer whenever he tried to call again.

I went looking for Deer Chili at around 5 a.m.. Apparently, they'd fed him X, which, on top of the towering whisky drunk he'd been riding for the previous two days, must have turned him into a goddamn werewolf. The motel suite appeared deserted, except for one fat kid, and there were signs of violence everywhere. A lamp was smashed. The TV was in the kitchen sink. The drapes were torn from the wall and broken glass and cigarette butts littered the floor The fat kid was sitting on the couch, looking dazed or drunk or high or rollin' or god knows what.
I asked him if he'd seen a guy with no shirt and a big sombrero who talked like me and was carrying a bottle of whisky (that would have been Old Deer Chili). The fat kid said yes, and pointed to a closed bedroom door pulsating with that god-awful shit the ravers listen to.
"But don't go in there," he said. "They're doing drugs in there."

Whisky makes you open doors what maybe oughn't be opened. Deer Chili, bless his soul, didn't belong in that room. I could feel it.

Well, I'd been drinkin' whisky too. And I recognized by this point I was on a rescue mission, so I went in.

The smell of sweat and pot was nauseating. These kids had been partying in this foul motel suite for days, and they'd come to the party loaded for bear. There was another familiar smell I couldn't identify. I opened that door onto a scene that, at first, looked like something straight out of a Bosch landscape. No Lights; there were dim figures and glowing streaks everywhere. It looked like the room was full of glowing bats, swooping and diving. My brain just couldn't process it, but something awful was clearly happening in there.

As my eyes adjusted to the light cast by the green glowing display on the boom-box, I made out a raver dude leaning over the bed waving handfuls of glow sticks around. I think it was supposed to trippy, or 'third-eye-opening' some such raver-nonsense, but a raver girl laying back on the bed seemed to be enjoying the hell out of it. She had her hand down her pants anyway.

Before I had time to process this awful scene, I spotted Deer Chili across the room. He was in bad shape. He was leaning against the opposite wall, still clutching his whisky and a cigarette that had burned down to the filter and extinguished itself. Even in the dim light, I could tell he was crying, and I barely heard him say "Joe, you've got to get me out of here" over the music.

I shoved that damn raver out of the way and waded through a room filled with empties and trash. I grabbed Deer Chili by the arm and pulled him out of there before the ravers had a clue anybody had ever came in.
Poor Deer Chili... His sombrero was hanging by its cord down on his back and his eyes were blood-red. He looked like some sort of crazy, broken, new-age cowboy. He was crying, I later found out, because those two damn ravers had blown Vic's Vap-O-Rub into his eyes.

On our way out, he told the fat kid to "go back to the sea; go back to the big water." Never did know what he meant by that one, but I think it was a reference to the movie Free Willy.

As it turned out, he'd gone over to the party and started some shit with the ravers. Ravers, as some of you may know, can't fight worth a damn, while a drunken hillbilly is basically a killing machine. Anyway, he'd gone through the lot of them like a bull in a china shop, and single-handedly broken up the party. But not before making a couple friends, who fed him pot and X until he was so far gone he let them blow Vap-o-rub, that liquid stuff you're supposed to rub on your chest when you've got the flu, into his open eyeballs. From that point, he was effectively blind, and said after looking for "I don't know how long" for the door he gave up on finding any way out of that bedroom.

By this time the sun was rising, and we all just wanted to get the **** out of Florida and that damn motel before we all got arrested and wound up in some sort of reverse-deliverance nightmare. I got behind the wheel, still drunk, pointed my old Toyota Land Cruiser back towards Arkansas, and we chirped the **** out of the joint — we did not look back. The three of us didn't say a word until we crossed the state line and got ourselves out of that god-forsaken state.


And that is why I believe God does not exist in Florida.

worst day of my life. never going to that state again. hope it falls off and sinks.

[The_Canuck]

Thats an awesome story.

[LandQuail]

You're goddamn right it is. And every word's true.

[baddabang]

Awesome story as usual landquail.

The last motel I stayed at in the sunshine state was packed full of rice powered Hondas, Toyotas, and Nissan's driven by preppy white kids with popped collars who insisted on launching bottle rockets, and setting off M80 firecrackers until 5 AM. When you've just driven 1,000 miles from NY anybody would be grumpy, and I was not a happy camper.

[LandQuail]

Awesome story as usual landquail.

The last motel I stayed at in the sunshine state was packed full of rice powered Hondas, Toyotas, and Nissan's driven by preppy white kids with popped collars who insisted on launching bottle rockets, and setting off M80 firecrackers until 5 AM. When you've just driven 1,000 miles from NY anybody would be grumpy, and I was not a happy camper.

The Quail is full of 'em.

Next time, (and this goes for any UCP members, since I'm drunk and generous) skip florida altogether and go to New Orleans. I've been told it's a hell of a trip since Katrina wiped it off the face of the earth. It's nothing like it used to be, since what New Orleans used to be is dead, but the recently-tattered and more-recently-whitewashed carcass is a study in the ironic and the absurd.

The good news is: A very vocal but still underground minority is screaming for the inevitable downgrade that will bring the "Disney" New-New Orleans to it's knees.

And, while you're on your way, you can stop off at the home of LandQuail in Conway, Arkansas for a meal and a drink. My wife-to-be and I can even provide a guest bedroom and drive to and from the Little Rock Airport.

Bring it on. There's nothing a proud Arkansan loves more than someone testing their hospitality.