The Downtown Dilemma

This should require a hair sample and a

two-week waiting period.

The beach trip DID happen. I got up relatively early on Saturday morning and took Santa Monica Blvd. from my house to 1st Street, which overlooks the ocean. Then I turned around and drove back. The whole thing took less than a half hour and was anticlimactic. Although I feel like I've gotten lots of practice in, the Vespa only has 32 miles on it. I have used less than a half gallon of gas ($1.75 worth) since I got it. This would be good news had I not filled the tank of my Jeep three times in the same period ($160.00 worth). Obviously, my goal is to use the Vespa more and the Jeep less.

Mind you, I don't have any immediate plans to drive the Vespa to work, although that commute comprises the majority of my mileage. First and foremost problem: I can't take the Vespa on the freeway. On that note, I must apologize to those of you who were mistakenly informed that the Vespa's top speed was 90 mph. As the Logic Fairy likely whispered in your ear, those Eurotrash marketers at Piaggio put metric specs in all the literature, and the top speed is actually 90 kph (60 mph). Consider my failure to realize this as further evidence of the fact that I'm on the outs with the Logic Fairy right now. (Exhibit A: Vespa purchase; Exhibit B: distrust of the metric system.) Regardless, it would be suicide to drive anything with 10-inch wheels at either 60 mph or 90 mph on the freeways of Los Angeles. I'd rather rollerskate on I-10. (shout-out to the roller derby girls and their ref.)

Second: even though I could take surface streets to work, I work downtown. There are a ton of crazy homeless people in downtown. And that's the upside. The downside is that downtown is also the preferred point of congregation for self-published rap artists, eaters of bacon-wrapped hot dogs with a side of pork rinds, meth addicts and their puppies, Scientologists, jay walkers, daytime hookers, people in trench coats who like to chant "DVDs DVDs DVDs" incessantly, and egomaniacal 3-Series drivers whose license plate frames indicate they have grad degrees from certain SoCal universities, but whose failure to recognize simple phrases such as "one way," "bus lane," and "monthly parking only" indicates they are, in fact, woefully illiterate. I'm afraid this circus of circumstance spells trouble for the lowly Vespa rider and her Ann Taylor suit.

Third: helmet hair. Enough said.

All of this means the Vespa is delegated to the task of errand-running for now. Mind you, I love running errands, so it will get quite a bit of use. I'm hopeful the Vespa will prove easier to park than the Jeep in the notoriously parking-deprived areas I frequent. I'm also hopeful the Vespa's distinct lack of cargo room will significantly reduce my errand-running expenditures. That space under the seat won't accommodate much more than a six-pack of Hansens or a single pair of shoes—it's like the shopping equivalent of having one's stomach stapled. As it gets very hot in there and holds almost no air, you'll be happy to know that the Eurotrash marketers at Piaggio were thoughtful enough to label the space with a sticker that says "No Pets!" I'll bet you anything some meth addict put his puppy in there and Piaggio is still paying for it by the kiloEuro.