Sunday, October 3, 2010

C'est la Vespa

went flee market in the morning

that’s our favourite activity

on a sunny Sunday morning like this

flea market, Melaka

 

bought nothing

but fell for something

seriously falling for

a Vespa

white Vespa MB 9205

 

this is not a sudden fancy

it has been quite awhile

I like that “pop…pop…pop” sound

and it’s so low

easy to hop on the bike

the front seat with ample space for the legs

so comfie

can sit up straight

 

and with that cute half helmet

oh my

but I think this kind of helmet

is already banned here

it can’t really protect

 

been telling dad

at least three times 

and again today

his response is always the same

“don’t be stupid lar.. it’s damn difficult to start”

arrgh..

but it won’t be a prob

if we just start it everyday right

I really want the bike!!!!

 

last summer

Adidas has been crossover-ing with Vespa

this is at Mid Valley

taken last year

when I last went last month

the bike is still around

Adidas Original X Vespa

 

the shoes collection

is pretty cool

vintage

they call it

the scooterized shoes

Adidas Orignal Vespa Casual Lux

this is killing me

Adidas Orignal Vespa Casual Lux grey

more high end

more sophisticated

more metrosexual…

Adidas Original Vespa (special)

 

Road to Lisbon / Adidas Original feat. Beckham, Zidane, Ballack, Raul

Becky my love

 

Adidas Originals Vespa

the white bike with 3 stripes

`

 

and in TW and HK

this kinda of scooter

is known as Lil’ Sheep

recalling that ad by Karen Mok

for Yamaha Vino

her 40” long legs

my gorgeous goddess

Karen Mok x Yamaha Vino

 

1999 Yahama Vino TW TVC / Karen Mok

 

the recent new ad by another spoke person,

quite sucky…

I dun wanna say no more

but Yamaha Vino is really a cute bike

targeting the ladies

 

just now

my dad was digging  his treasure chests

after seeing so many stuffs at flee market

he wanted to prove that he has got something

showed me this

an at least 40 years old photo

my mom vs a Vespa

 

so

why can’t I own a Vespa, please

my mom is driving one

at the age of three

 

but

frankly speaking

I can’t drive a bike

I need a chauffeur

 

criss-crossing among traffics

stopping right at the front for

the light to turn green

and we shall go places

to the sea, to the wood

on our very own Vespa

 

and maybe going crazier

install the radio

blasting 《Teenage Dream》

 

once upon the time

that’s what all the youth are doing

with their Suzuki scooters

and even uncles

blasting Hokkien hits

 

our current bike is a Suzuki 125 too

considered a scooter, right

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

nay nay

Suzuki is just so uncool

I want a Vespa

with “pop…pop…pop” noise

 

go popping around

with that cute helmets

wakakaka….

 

finally

a poem about bike

I kinda like

about young men & destination

run away and never look back

the analysis if you are interested

On The Move 'Man, You Gotta Go.' / Thom Gunn

 

The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows
Some hidden purpose, and the gush of birds
That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows,
Have nested in the trees and undergrowth.
Seeking their instinct, or their pose, or both,
One moves with an uncertain violence
Under the dust thrown by a baffled sense
Or the dull thunder of approximate words.

 

On motorcycles, up the road, they come:
Small, black, as flies hanging in heat, the Boy,
Until the distance throws them forth, their hum
Bulges to thunder held by calf and thigh.
In goggles, donned impersonality,
In gleaming jackets trophied with the dust,
They strap in doubt--by hiding it, robust--
And almost hear a meaning in their noise.

Exact conclusion of their hardiness
Has no shape yet, but from known whereabouts
They ride, directions where the tires press.
They scare a flight of birds across the field:
Much that is natural, to the will must yield.
Men manufacture both machine and soul,
And use what they imperfectly control
To dare a future from the taken routes.

 

It is part solution, after all.
One is not necessarily discord
On Earth; or damned because, half animal,
One lacks direct instinct, because one wakes
Afloat on movement that divides and breaks.
One joins the movement in a valueless world,
Crossing it, till, both hurler and the hurled,
One moves as well, always toward, toward.

A minute holds them, who have come to go:
The self-denied, astride the created will.
They burst away; the towns they travel through
Are home for neither birds nor holiness,
For birds and saints complete their purposes.
At worse, one is in motion; and at best,
Reaching no absolute, in which to rest,
One is always nearer by not keeping still.

Thom Gunn