It hasn't been the long lines, bureaucratic bundle of paperwork required, or an emotional tie to Dixie that has kept me from updating my license.
In concept, I love the idea of once again being a cardcarrying New Yorker. After more than eight months of showing my Georgia driver's license to write checks at local stores, no one is buying the "visiting" story.
In reality, the idea of creating another in the series of increasing bad DMV portraiture begs me to give it another few weeks.
A better haircut. A good night's sleep to relieve those bags under my eyes. Lobbing off a chin or too. I can think of a dozen stopgap excuses.
This is one of those "permanent record" photos. Younger clerks will snicker when I present it, mature and sensibile types will smile in sympathy.
As one who has worked for and with the media all my adult life, I don't worry about wearing clean underwear in the case of an accident. I worry that the driver's license photo is the one that will go up on the television screen in reporting that accident.
I spent last evening taking apart out old albums and sorting through photos of myself from 1977 through the 80s for my scrapbooks. I found several shots that I think would work quite nicely, but I don't see civil servants being quite that amenable.
Last week my younger daughter excitedly shared her new college ID. Her image could be plastered untouched on the cover of Vogue. That world belongs to her.
In my world, I have to wear my glasses to take the eye test, but take them off to look at the photo.


Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs