License Plate, Schplicense Plate

One of the best things about living in LA– license plates are optional. I swear to God.  Cars are bought and sold so much in this town that DMV just can’t keep up. Or maybe it’s that our government is so dysfunctional that it doesn’t have time to get around to it. I mean we all know that Arnold has had better things to do:

Okey dokey.

So, to prove this point, I conducted a little experiment (I know, I know, “she’s a scientist too?”   The talents just keep a comin’).  I walked down a random (random cuz it was close and I’m lazy) block on Melrose and counted the parked vehicles that still had dealer plates. I came up with..wait for it…11! On one block mind you. In one spot, three of them were parked in a row:

Isn’t that great? Don’t worry, it wasn’t all Camrys.

You got your Beverly Hills shopping cart:

The Brentwood Hanukkah gift:

And the my hair-may-be-thinning-but-my-wallet-is-not-mobile:

I think it’s really special that we all can be there as this little baby receives her first white scratch courtesy of LA DWP and the wanker behind the wheel.  Granted it’s hard to light a cigar and parallel park illegally at the same time.

So, to review.  In LA, don’t worry about getting your plates in order. Your chakra? Hell yeah! Your representation? But of course.  But making sure your car is legal? Not so much.