I'm rather sad at the moment -- I have to relinquish the FJ Cruiser I've been tooling around in this week. I'll admit, when I first saw the FJ, I wasn't convinced that a mid-sized SUV modeled on the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man was the best idea. I have officially changed my mind, and the FJ has vaulted to the top of the "vehicles I will consider when replacing my Wrangler in 2007." Really, it's a lot of fun to drive, it looks better in three dimensions than it does on flat paper, the interior is spacious, it's not as obnoxiously over-sized as an Escalade or Expedition, and it rides much smoother than you would expect.
It's not perfect. The rear suicide doors can be a bit awkward, because you have to open the front doors first. The C pillars in the back create blind spots so big they should learn to read Braille, and visibility out the back window is hampered by the spare tire. And, yes, it could stand a better rating for gas mileage (though it does a bit better than my Jeep, not that it would take much), particularly with its thirst for premium.
I don't really care, though. The FJ pretty much hits my niche dead on -- if I don't buy one next year, then I'll probably be buying a Tacoma crew-cab pick-up, which should explain everything you need to know about my automotive personality. Well, along with the fact that the car I buy after the FJ/Tacoma will be a Corvette, God (and business prospects) willing. As a friend of mine said of my Corvette desire, "Are you sure you're gay?"
I'd make a joke about my preference for rear-wheel drive here, but that would be lame.