So, I went to the DMV. That sentence alone would be a reasonable legal defense for mass murder. I’m sure there is a hidden constitutional amendment requiring all state DMV’s to approximate the experience of the seventh circle of hell. I was resigned and prepared. I had a book, I took my number, and I waited for two and a half hours.
When my number was called, I approached the hefty sized, troll like woman at the counter, presented my Rhode Island license and said I needed an Ohio license. I am not eager to assimilate into this land of cows and rust, but my license expires next week. She informed me that I was at the wrong DMV office (apparently they specialize) and I would need to present myself there with my birth certificate and take a written exam.
I have received a driver’s license in Utah, Arizona, Colorado, Georgia, Virginia and the aforementioned Rhode Island. Each of those experiences involved me saying, “Here’s my license,” and them giving me one for their august state. Not Ohio….the state where Amish cruise horse drawn fucking wagons on the highway requires me to prove I exist and know important laws like “don’t run over the Amish and their horse drawn fucking wagons.”
From the DMV, I stopped at a dry cleaners. They had a large neon sign outside their establishment announcing “Next Day Service!” At 11:14 a.m. they informed me that next day service must be dropped off by 11:00 a.m. This is apparently a hard and fast rule with no wiggle room. It might be one of the important state laws I must learn to get a driver’s license.
Elsewhere, NBA players are demanding at least 53% of all revenues. I doubt any business enterprise can remain viable with 53% labor costs. The players are threatening to go play in Europe. I would encourage them all to go play in Lithuania or Ekmekbekistan or wherever. Take a stopwatch to time their continued relevance in the U.S.
While these clueless multimillionaires bitch about “getting theirs,” Occupy movement protesters are being arrested just for saying the system is fucking broken.
Meanwhile, Ahnold Schwarzenroider has commisioned not one, not two, but three statues of himself and signed a book deal. I take this as a sure sign of the apocalypse.
I recently submitted a short story to a literary journal. They rejected it, which is fine, but they said “good story, but we don’t do YA”. The story happens to have a teenage protagonist. It does not have vampires, unicorns, or angst at the mall. When did any fiction with a character under eighteen become de facto Young Adult?
Yesterday was not my day. Today’s not looking good either…..
I’m Darren, and I write….and I bitch about stuff