I’ve been a proud Californian. I still am, in my heart. But last week, I registered to vote in Seattle, Washington, my new home base for the next few years. I did this not only to get a better photo on my ID–my last one was taken when I was 15, cutting weight for wrestling and in dire need of a haircut–but because I wanted to get a Washington learners permit to advance my on-going goal of getting a drivers license. I’m very good at some things: just not getting a license, so far.
The Department of Licensing was a surprising pleasure to work with, even if it took me 2 buses and a cab to get there. But the moral issue of no longer being a legal Californian is upsetting. I love California: the politics, the weather, the family I have there, the mountains, the culture. But given that I want to contribute to the communities I live in and I’m not living in California, I figure I need to start voting where my butt is.
So I updated my resume, have a new piece of plastic to encompass my identity, and will have to learn a new set of jokes. THough I think the usual ones about fruits, nuts, and flakes might carry through with my new Seattleite identity . . .
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.