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The Picture
Apr. 19th, 2004 09:15 pmI do not drive. I do not have a driver's license. In the last years of the late century, this began to be a problem, as airport security measures slowly tightened; my annual visit to my family in California began to be a bit more difficult. At last, late in 2001, I faced reality: I was going to have to get a state ID card.
I therefore paid a visit to the Illinois DMV website to determine what documentation I was going to need, and on a sunny but cool November day I set out. I had washed my hair and trimmed my beard, so as to Look Good for the Camera. It's about a mile from my house to the nearest DMV office, but it was a nice day and the walk was little more than invigorating. At the office, I filled out the form and handed in the documentation. Only then did I find that I didn't have my social security card in my wallet. The clerk agreed to wait while I went back for it.
So I jogged back home (and it didn't seem quite so cool) and began searching. It wasn't in my old wallet that Murphy had chewed up several years earlier. Chest of drawers. Strongbox. Desk. Kitchen. No sign of the card. I found one of those letters Social Security sends you every three months or so, and hurried back. (It definitely wasn't so cool now.) The clerk accepted the letter, and we completed the procedure.
I no longer Looked Good for the Camera.
And that is the story of The Picture. I am, at least, facing the camera. Those persons (who shall remain nameless, save that one of them styles herself after a small creature native to the planet Barrayar) who have been petitioning for such a view, be satisfied. Okay?
I therefore paid a visit to the Illinois DMV website to determine what documentation I was going to need, and on a sunny but cool November day I set out. I had washed my hair and trimmed my beard, so as to Look Good for the Camera. It's about a mile from my house to the nearest DMV office, but it was a nice day and the walk was little more than invigorating. At the office, I filled out the form and handed in the documentation. Only then did I find that I didn't have my social security card in my wallet. The clerk agreed to wait while I went back for it.
So I jogged back home (and it didn't seem quite so cool) and began searching. It wasn't in my old wallet that Murphy had chewed up several years earlier. Chest of drawers. Strongbox. Desk. Kitchen. No sign of the card. I found one of those letters Social Security sends you every three months or so, and hurried back. (It definitely wasn't so cool now.) The clerk accepted the letter, and we completed the procedure.
I no longer Looked Good for the Camera.
And that is the story of The Picture. I am, at least, facing the camera. Those persons (who shall remain nameless, save that one of them styles herself after a small creature native to the planet Barrayar) who have been petitioning for such a view, be satisfied. Okay?
