To move a piece of furniture last night, I borrowed a posh SUV of a fashionable Swedish make popular with the graduate degree crowd here in Washington. I have grown to loathe Ikea, but that's a story for another time.

Years ago, I briefly owned a 1985 Mitsubishi Montero, with my only solace being that I sold it to a guy who drove it even less than I did. That, and the congenitally rotten, designed-to-be-unfixable carburetor crapped out not long thereafter. But it has been quite a while since I've driven a truck of any consequence through the wilds of suburbia.

While the experience is definitely not for me - my lustful motoring fantasies involve much better cornering capabilities - it is embarrassingly easy to understand how the battle-hardened cocooning effect of these things can warp even sensible liberal minds. And it is almost impossible NOT to tailgate the slow moving compact in front of you - the one where the roofline matches your hood.

And did I mention that you can fit a couch in the back?

No wonder that the car companies are playing the safety and security card (again) in the fuel economy debate.