Tony is my mechanic. Well, he was my mechanic. Actually, he might still be my mechanic. Sort of. He’s just not my mechanic right now. It’s complicated.

FROM THE ARCHIVE: My airflow was cut off, my eyes began to bulge and water, my cheeks turned redder than tomatoes at harvest time, and it dawned on me that I was actually on the verge of passing out. Or was I about to suffer a far worse fate?

Is there any smell better than the fragrance of a brand new car? It is seductive, on par with the most fragrant rose or the sweetest ice wine; it is the exhilarating aroma of a new beginning.

FROM THE ARCHIVE: I look out from behind the chrome-coloured bars of my goalie mask. The play unfolds in the opposing end of McCormick Arena in downtown Toronto, affording me a brief opportunity to observe the odd, albeit cherished, drama that is Thursday night pickup hockey.

FROM THE ARCHIVE: In ancient Egypt, a pyramid was referred to as mer; translated literally, mer means “place of ascendance”. Little wonder, then, that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland resembles a super-sized glass pyramid.

I’m standing on the deck of the River Gambler on a seductive summer evening in Toronto, here to observe what is being billed as the first ever Cougar Cruise—a five-hour tour with the ostensible policy reason of matching up “cougars” (older women) with their “prey” (younger men). The Love Boat, it isn’t. The air is thick with Chanel No. 5 as groups of …