A friend of mine has a vintage Jaguar — a beautiful, impractical thing that he loves the way some men love boats, which is to say expensively and idiotically. He talks about it a lot, and I nod and pretend to listen — I know next to nothing about cars, which is why I happily drive a Subaru. But as much as I love my Subaru — it’s a practical, reliable car, which cannot be said about my friend’s vintage Jaguar — I have to admit it’s missing something in the romantic pizazz department.