For the sake of humor, there's always the passenger compartment, or at least the passenger seat--mitigating the obvious change to a front-end weight bias, there's the undoubted cachet of being able to quip (when at a fuel stop, smelling like benzene, wrapped in ancient leather and fighter-pilot goggles, to a pretty counter-maid): "Fuel Is My Co-pilot!"
And, then, too, there's always the driver's seat itself, of course...

But what's a convertible--or an aeroplane, for that matter, if not impraticable, wot?
Lucas may have "invented darkeness," as the old saying goes, but Pontiac has done no sin other than merely reinventing "creative luggage transport."
As an aside, when my parents married, the strapped everything they owned, somewhow, onto and into an Austin-Healy Sprite (TV-set included)...and roared off from the Mid-Appalachians back to Harvard--which says as much about their poverty-with-panache sensibilities as it does the limited luggage-hauling abilities of that venerable auto...

Many an MG and Jag and Fiat X-19 later: wow, does the Sol act like a civilized machine with few (er, relatively few) compromises! Dry, too, eh? And the lights work? The parts don't have to come from overseas? A powertrain WARRANTY?! Ah, true blessings!
