A Pastafarian walks into the DMV…

I have a birthday coming up which means my driver’s license is about to expire. I tried to renew it online this morning, but was told I didn’t qualify. This means two things:
(1) I have to go wait in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles and (2) I have to get a new photo taken.

I’m not a photogenic person, however, my current driver’s license photo is pretty good. By that, I mean I don’t wince every time I take it out of my wallet. From my perspective, that’s the definition of “keeper.” That past success should make me optimistic of getting another non-wince-inducing photo, right? Wrong.

  • Colorado no longer issues colored driver’s licenses; they are now grayscale.
  • Colorado no longer allows people who wear glasses every single moment of their waking lives to wear those glasses in their photos.
  • Colorado no longer allows people to smile in their photos.

No color. No glasses. No smiles.

Gee, I can’t wait to see what my new driver’s license photo looks like. Except, I already know what it’ll look like: as drab and unlike the real me as my passport photo which is also No Color, No Glasses, No Smile.

I am so angry right now. Not because I’m vain (I am), but because we’ve become a fear-based society that’s given up our civil liberties in the name of increased security. I don’t know about you, but facial recognition software doesn’t make me feel any more secure. The surveillance state doesn’t make me feel more secure.

I’m debating whether to show up at the DMV wearing my colander:

                                   Tracy in March 2012                                  All hail the Flying Spaghetti Monster!

Other Pastafarians have taken a stand with their driver’s license photos, and maybe I should do the same. The shiny metal would certainly brighten up what will otherwise be a dreary photo.

Where’s Tracy going with that axe?

There’s no limit to how complicated things can get,
on account of one thing always leading to another.
~ E. B. White

I don’t know the context for this quotation, but it speaks to me today as I struggle to revise my once tightly-plotted novel. The changes I’m making are needed and will strengthen the manuscript. I know this. But that knowledge doesn’t make the process any easier or less painful.

Every single tug on a story thread results in a temporary snarl that must be untangled in order for the revisions to flow. Today it feels as if I’m falling behind on the untangling process.

I’m hoping E.B. White was wrong and that there is actually a limit on how complicated things can get.

Sunday Confessional: Everything is making me sick and I’m taking a break

Today I went through my email and unsubscribed  from every political, environmental, and news organization that sends me updates, action alerts, petitions, pleas for money, links to never-ending bad news, etc.

I’m worn out and run-down. Exhausted.

Between the constant assault on the planet and the constant assault on the most vulnerable/powerless people of the planet, I’ve had enough. (Note: These assaults aren’t new, just more blatant than before.)

I’ve fought the good fight for many years, and I know I’m needed now. But I also know I’m no good to anyone or anything if  I’m not healthy. So I’m temporarily changing my status from Activist to Inactive.

Today I’m taking action for me.

I plan on watching lots of cavorting goat videos.

Thursday funny

After I finished my hoop-dancing session this morning, Zippy walked into the kitchen. I’d blasted lots of funky songs from my playlist and the final one was “Overpowered by Funk” by The Clash. As I danced over to pour myself coffee, I asked my mate, “Are you feeling overpowered by funk?”

Zippy said, “I think I’m immune to funk.”

“No,” I cried. “That’s just wrong! How could anyone be immune to funk?! That’s blasphemy!”

“Well,” Zippy conceded. “I do like Roger Clinton more than most people.”

“George Clinton!” I corrected. “You like George Clinton.”

“Oh, yeah,” Zippy said. “Roger Clinton is Bill Clinton’s brother.”

Roger Clinton

George Clinton:              Parliament Funkadelic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No offense to Zippy, but there’s no mistaking Roger’s music for George’s.