There's a Reason Those DMV Jokes Are Still Funny

So this morning, before work, I took a little trip over to one of our neighborhood (I use that term loosely as I had time to charge my cell phone during the trip there) Department of Motor Vehicles license testing centers. I have a license already and it is still current. But as some of you may know I recently passed my motorcycle class, which exempts me from having to take the written and skills tests at the DMV to get my two-wheeled operator endorsement. I was warned to bring my birth certificate. So I did. The same birth certificate I've had in my possession my whole life. The one I used to get into two colleges, to get my original driver's license, to get jobs and any time I've needed to prove that I was actually born. But today, today at the DMV it wasn't good enough because it wasn't "certified by the state."

"But I wasn't born in Tennessee. I was born in Mississippi," I responded.

"You have to go to the Tennessee.gov Web site and order a copy of your birth certificate. But the only thing is you have to pay with a credit card," the lovely DMV worker replied.

"But I wasn't born in Tennessee," I repeated.

"It doesn't matter. If you are a new resident you can go and order a birth certificate and they'll send it to you."

"But I'm not a new resident. I've lived here for three, almost four years."

"If you weren't born here, then you are a NEW resident," the woman said, explaining the great wisdom of this state.

So I'm dubious of the state's ability to procure my birth certificate from another state as they can't even procure an agreement on who owns Stateline Road. But I go to the Web site after getting to work and low and behold you can only order birth certificates if you were BORN IN TENNESSEE.

I guess tomorrow I'll try a different testing station. Maybe I'll be able to fool them into accepting my Mississippi issued birth certificate.

On second thought it's probably easier just to mock up a birth certificate from Tennessee.

Seriously In Need Of A Topic

I spent my weekend taking a motorcycle safety class, so sadly, for all of you reading to see what my newest complaint is, I have nothing for you. I am too tired to complain what with all the waking up early and learning to switch gears and trying not to fall over while making tight figure eights. (Okay, so I never successfully made the tight figure eights, but I didn't fall down. I still got my license endorsement. I just won't be making U-turns in the middle of streets any time soon. Well, I won't be doing anything motorcycle-related anytime soon because one needs a motorcycle to do these motorcycle-related things. Hopefully one will be forthcoming. This parenthesis has been open for too long, hasn't it?) Enough about motorcycles though, there are sure to be many stories on this topic in the near future and I don't want to wear out its welcome at the onset. I also saw The Forgotten this weekend. I had no idea it was about aliens when I went to see it. Perhaps I should pick up the habit of reading about movies before I go see them instead of just going by the previews. Not that we all don't like a good alien film now and again. And finally in my entry about things that have nothing to do with each other, anyone know how to get a dog to quit licking its butt in public?

Tell the Guy in the Orange Cap to Shut Up

Concert Annoyances Part II: Really obnoxious guy who won't stop yelling at the band.

Why do people do this? I mean what do you possibly stand to gain by asking a man who has been speaking and singing for an hour 45 minutes in his Sussex-born accent if he's British? Do you think you're being funny? Were you that deprived of attention as a child? There were only about 35 people at this concert, so this idiot's behavior was only that much more aggravating. It's one thing to yell out requests. Even if, unlike John Wesley Harding, the musician isn't likely to do your request, at least there is a purpose behind it. What purpose other than being a fool is there to this kind of behavior? Trust me, the artist isn't going to think you are so cool that he wants you for his best friend. Really. I know these things. You're just going to get beat up in the bathroom by the two over anxious fans that follow obscure but prolific artists and who were already angry over a number of life's injustices before arriving at that evening's concert. If you want to yell stupid comments at people on stage, go to the Jerry Springer show. I know a guy that can get your tickets.

Vote Dammit

I thought by now I'd have witnessed all the annoying behavior there was to witness at a concert. But I was wrong. Last night, for the first time ever, I couldn't hear the musician because PEOPLE WERE TALKING. And it wasn't just that one loud, drunk sorority girl that you get stuck next to sometimes, but it was EVERYONE. As if Ani DiFranco was the house band for some hook-up dive where no one came for the music and only wanted cheap beer and someone to take home. Sadly there was no cheap beer and Ani is not in a house band (nor are tickets to her concert particularly inexpensive). I tried changing locations, but no, the chatter was absolutely everywhere. I was not surprised when she performed a one-song encore. Actually, I was surprised she did an any-song encore and didn't just say, "Screw you guys I'm going home." But I guess she REALLY wants us to vote on Nov. 2. Not that anyone could hear the message.

Go post, young (wo)man

Really all I wanted to do when I got up today was make it through my work day and maybe remember to pick up my comforter from the dry cleaners. I had no plans to start this blog. But, unfortunately, all my friends have these things and keep saying "Go post, go post." So I go and I read about the difficulty of defining verbs and how the fabric of our nation is being ripped apart by conservatives and click on the button for comments and find out I have to create my own blog if I want to respond to someone else's. Is this a good system? I don't know. Not everyone has something to say. Take me for example. I have absolutely nothing to talk about since absolutely nothing ever happens to me. I got to work, I go home. Sometimes I see a movie, sometimes I buy groceries. These are not the makings of a good blog. So go read someone else's blog people. I'll get back to you when I have something really clever to say.
(You can start by trying these: http://satchelspage.blogspot.com/ or http://deltaisdifferent.blogspot.com/)