For the record, killing is bad and should be avoided, along with Brussels sprouts and flip-flops in the workplace. Still, I call this one Kill the Car Guy. It's a phrase I've just had enough of. Everybody's a car guy these days; just ask them.
You used to have real credentials to call yourself a car guy. Grated knuckle skin. Greasy fingernails. R Compound tires. A racing trophy. Proof you've been to some racetrack somewhere at sometime. A basic understanding of the internal combustion engine. Knowing how to heel-and-toe downshift. Knowing how to do a proper burnout. Knowing the GT-R is not the new Skyline. Knowing which one is Bo and which is Luke. Something.
Relax. I'm not saying you need to know all this stuff to qualify. It's not that simple. There's no litmus test here. You just need to invest in cars. What you choose to invest is up to you: could be your time, your brain power, your garage space, your weekends, your marriage, or of course all of the above. I don't care what it is, but I know this; being a car guy should not be free.
There was a time when it wasn't. As little as a decade ago, car guy status still had to be earned. Earned through your knowledge and your actions. You had to have real passion for this stuff; you weren't in the club just because you wanted to be. You had to truly care and you had to make the sacrifices that come along with the commitment. It wasn't enough for cars to be just a passing interest, they had to be a high priority, an very important part of your life.
And now that every knit shirt knows Ol' Shel tuned up some Mustangs 100 years ago, that's not enough to qualify you anymore. Mrs. The Mechanic knows that much. If you're going to use your Shelby knowledge to substantiate your car guy qualifications, you better know what year he won Le Mans and what he was driving.
If not, get off my lawn.