Tuscany. The name evokes images of dining al-fresco in pastel stucco courtyards watching sleek 12-cylinder convertibles cruise by, their impossibly chic passengers hiding behind oversized shades. Tuscani. The name evokes an automotive product that wants to proclaim Italian flare but doesn’t have the necessary accent or copyright. To those who delight in unmasking fake Rolexes and other pretentious twaddle, the Tuscani is an instant classic: a car that pays homage to a Ferrari 456 GT made in South Korea.  

In his own ew-inducing sort of way, Oedipus defined the Tragic Hero. His story teaches us that character is fate; the arrogant King can no more escape his destiny than a bad guy on a cop show. And so it is with the Ford Taurus, a vehicle named for either the constellation of the same name (minus the Ford) or the Zodiac sign ascribed to it. According to pseudo- science, Taureans are practical, reliable, patient, affectionate, competent, ambitious, determined, lazy, jealous, inflexible, greedy and stubborn. And some people wonder why the model took twenty years to die an ignominious death…

Why is it so hard for carmakers to get the little things right? Most of these guys have been building cars for over a century. Yet they put the pedals in the wrong place, or give their machine numb steering, or equip the interior with less style than a Day’s Inn. One reason: compromise. Manufacturer X could offer you perfect pedal placement, or share pedals between five models and save you a grand. Another case in point, who doesn’t want a convertible? Put another way, who the Hell wants a convertible? With the MX-5 Miata Power Hartop, Mazda has removed compromise from that particular equation.

The Galway-Cavendish Forest Rally is a challenging mix of changing elevations, sweeping curves, tight turns and blind drops that runs through nine clicks of thick forest. Chrysler Canada figured it was the ideal spot for a car journalist to test the mettle of their ‘07 Dodge Caliber AWD R/T. So there I was, ferrying the club president and organizer from one end of the road to the other, wondering if Dodge had the right ammunition for the sales campaign ahead.

The Mercedes CLK 63 AMG Cabriolet is like a woman with large, perfectly shaped breasts. No matter how much you try to talk about her other qualities, your attention keeps returning to one thing: the engine’s enormous peak output. The CLK holsters AMG’s first purpose-built powerplant, a normally aspirated mill good for 475 horsepower (507 in its less restricted sibilings). As usual, it’s assembled in Affalterbach by one satanic mechanic, whose name is stamped on a plate affixed to the engine block. In another nod to heritage, the “63” represents the engine’s displacement rounded up from 6.2-liters; homage to the legendary 300 SEL 6.3 produced by Mercedes-Benz from 1968-1972. That’s some heavy heritage.

For a certified car freak living in the City of Angels, the drive to Las Vegas is a special treat. Sure, LA is only a traffic jam or three away from the kind of twisting coastal tarmac that ad makers and throttle jockeys adore. But the two hundred seventy-five mile haul across Interstate 15 to Sin City tells you everything you need to know about a car’s capacity for long distance love. Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking with it. My tale began when my friend and I jumped into the hairy knuckled Mazda Speed6 and set off for a suite at Caesar's Palace.

Toyota’s RAV4 is often called a “cute ute.” For die-hard SUV drivers, the label is sacrilege, implying that the small four-by-four is a downsized, de-butched truck. To paraphrase the B52’s, WELL IT ISN’T! Like many so-called crossovers, Toyota “Recreational Active Vehicle with 4WD” is a hatchback on stilts that looks something like truck and drives something like a top-heavy station wagon. Despite these drawbacks, the RAV4’s runaway success has green-lighted the entire crossover genre. The latest version tells us all we need to know about the niche’s immediate future.

Somewhere between the proud homeowner and carefree apartment dweller lives the best of both lifestyles. Who wants to throw money away on a rented apartment or deal with the hassles of home ownership? Enter the townhouse: smaller bills and fewer hassles than a full-size home with more usability than a mere apartment. Just like a townhouse, the mid-size pickup combines attributes of rigs both big and small. And ever since its inception, the Toyota Tacoma has been living large in the mid-size pickup penthouse.

Since the late 90’s, hundreds of thousands of smart cars found homes in European towns, villages and apartments. I first encountered the smart fortwo at my tribe’s annual Testfest. Canada’s finest motoring hacks caned the diminutive machine on highways, byways, roads and racetrack, where one burly journalist declared the smart as much fun as a fart in a wetsuit. And now the butt of a thousand headline puns is headed your way America, thanks to the otherwise sane metal movers at The United Auto Group.  

There is no way to overstate the appeal of the new Volkswagen Eos’ folding hardtop. I sat inside the car for ten minutes, opening and closing the lid, marveling at the mechanism’s precision and design. What kind of mind can develop something that folds and unfolds with such infinite grace? If you like to visit high speed factories spitting out hundreds of widgets per minute, filling them with liquids and shrink wrapping them in three swift motions, then you will never tire of lowering and raising the Eos’ five-piece hardtop. As for the rest of Vee Dub’s CSC (coupe-sunroof-convertible), it’s danger, boredom ahead.

An airport car rental attendant recently handed me the keys to my temporary chariot and declared “Your car is down the row to your right. It’s an ‘06 Uplander.” A what? “It’s kind of an SUV,” she kind of explained. The butt-end of a something large and ugly poked out of stall 97. The bow tie on the trim above the license plate revealed the vehicle’s manufacturer: Chevrolet.  Apprehensively, I slid behind the wheel of the awkward-looking beast. I looked around. I turned to my colleague. “No wonder GM is in such bad shape.”

Backseat branding is easy. Porsche? Sports cars. Ford? Sedans. Hummer? Assault rifles. Maserati? Who knows? The company likes to promote a philosophical connection to its distinguished racing heritage. But Maserati's competitive heyday ended on May the twelfth 1957, when the Marquis de Portago’s Ferrari somersaulted into the crowd at Guidizillo, triggering a vicious pan-European anti-motor sports backlash. Since then, Maserati has concentrated on making unreliable sports cars and sporting sedans. These days, the resurgent automaker builds Jaguars.

Small changes can have a major impact. Remember Jennifer Grey, the female lead in the film “Dirty Dancing?” Her fine proboscis lent her an air of distinction. Then she had reductive rhinoplasty and dropped out of sight. Although Audi's Auto Union-inspired snout seems to be going for the reverse effect, Mercedes is wise to the law of incremental effect. In the case of the CLS550, small changes have transformed a wannabe into a gotta have.

My local falafel joint has the world's smallest parking lot: just three spaces. The other day, I pulled in for supper and parked my sore-thumb standout Grabber Orange Mustang GT Convertible next to a Toyota Prius. The Prius owner was seated on the patio, munching his shawarma. The disparity between our two rides could hardly have been more stark. His: a futuristic, planet-saving, spaceship-looking personal statement.  Mine: a retro-tastic, oil-burning, bright orange throw-back drop-top. Sure, Prius person only has to visit the gas station once a week to my thrice, but c’mon, it was no contest. Unless you’re an accountant, the right brain wins every time. 

We’ve all been there: deeply smitten by a witty, intelligent, urbane, drop dead gorgeous potential partner. Whether it’s an actual acquaintance or a distant celebrity, their innate hotness sets our souls ablaze. And then, eventually, familiarity breeds contempt. The wit becomes tiresome, the intelligence debatable, the urbanity mundane and the beauty– well that stays. Despite the obvious physical attractions, the time eventually comes when you realize that true love tends to forget. And yes, I’m talking about the Aston Martin V8 Vantage.