"Whatever happened to Suburban Rhythm?"

(A big thumbs-up to whoever gets the title reference.)

In anticipation of our rent increasing when our lease is up in January, we have been discussing relocation.

We'd like to stay where we are--the town is cute and generally pleasant, and our apartment building is clean, quiet, and reasonably well-managed. But things bother us, like the privilege of paying $120 per month to park in a town-owned parking garage that is overrun with crazed commuters racing to the train station, and paying stupid fines to the revenue department simply because the State of Wisconsin couldn't be bothered to send our registration in a timely manner. Things could be much worse, but they could also be better. If our rent goes up considerably more, well, that's the equivalent of a mortgage payment.

The search is currently focused on the towns near the VMG office. We did, however, spend the July 4 holiday cruising the Chicago River and Lake Michigan waterfront, which raised the question: Why don't we live here?

The answer is simple: We'd have virtually no choice but to abandon car ownership. And as much as I'd love to be a short walk or train ride from everything, well, I don't know how I'd cope without a vehicle to call my own.

Simple, said Wes: Parking spots are available in condo parking garages, to the tune of $30,000. If I've simply got to have one, it can be rolled into the mortgage and could be sold fairly easily if ever necessary.

Which has got me thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts. Do I spend that kind of money--enough to get me out from under my Rabbit and pay off my student loans--for the luxury of keeping a 16-year-old VW Golf (fairly) safe and (fairly) sound in downtown Chicago, especially knowing damn well that I'd never, ever drive the car except to attend shows a couple of times a year? By comparison, the estimated 12 grand or so I've spent on maintenance and modifications over the past four years seems almost sane.

The car-free life appeals to me, at least while I'm admiring those glorious lakefront condos from the bow of Matt's boat. I could walk a lot, which I enjoy, and splurge on a decent bike. In practice, though, I'm not convinced it's plausible.

More on this topic in the future, I'm sure.

My summer vacation just came crashing to the ground.

I just got word that VW's Thunder Bunny ground effects kit got delayed (until October--I mean, who doesn't buy their body kits in winter?) and since our Rabbit was supposed to be one of the first cars in the country to be fitted with the kit, it was scheduled to be shown at Waterfest to generate interest. Well, no kit, and now no Waterfest.

Yes, driving from Chicago to New Jersey, spending two days at a VW show, and driving back constituted my summer vacation.

See what I meant in today's other post, about cars controlling my life? No summer trips, no honeymoon after my wedding... just cars. All the time.

Hopes and Dreams for Sale.

Melodramatic? Why, yes.

If I wasn't so frustrated (read: panicked) by this phenomenon, I'd be rather amused: Problems with our household vehicles would be solved, more or less, if I found a job that was accessible via commuter rail.

I found out yesterday afternoon that the owners of my GTI's storage space may be moving, so I immediately posted the car up for sale. It's been for sale intermittently over the last several months, and it's been an emotional roller-coaster that I'm tired of riding. I cannot afford to rent a storage space to keep the car, and have yet to discover a cheap or free alternative.

Except...

If I get a job that is accessible by public transportation (for example, almost anywhere in downtown Chicago--I am not at all intimidated by a 10-, 15-, 20-block walk to and from the train station) my fiance can sell his car (which he seems to want to do anyway), take primary custody of our Rabbit (with the added benefit that he would stop referring to our car as if it belongs to me--I'm not sure why this bothers me, but it does), and the GTI could rest (mostly) peacefully in a corner of our village's parking garage.

Unfortunately, I'm smack in the middle of a lucrative six-month contract currently scheduled to end right before our wedding, complete with a commute that absolutely requires a car. So for now, here's hoping someone will come along and shell out wads of cash for a 16-year-old econobox stuffed full of irreplaceable OEM+ parts, which would effectively bring to a close my days of owning, modifying, and showing a car that reflects my personality.