On Wednesday, I got up early. As I dragged myself out of bed, put on the coffee for Rob, shaved, and jumped into the shower, I thought of all the poor saps across the city and across the country doing the exact same thing. Except they were all going to work, and I was going to the movies.
Yes, oh yes: The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King opened that morning, and I was all over it. Rob was all over it, too. Crash was all over it, too. Faustus was originally scheduled to be all over it, as well, but there was a change of plans.
The movie was exciting and enjoyable but nowhere near as good a film as the first two in the trilogy. Nevertheless, it was inspiring to watch the efforts of Frodo and the gang against the dark lord Sauron because after we got out, I had to dash downtown to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get my Maryland driver’s license converted to a New York driver’s license before it expires in a few days. Crash came with me because he needed to renew his own license.
Crash got his, and I did not.
What I got was a stack of forms and an admonishment to go home and not return until I could provide my passport and my original social security card. Now, I know I have these things in theory, but they might as well be in the middle of the dark land of Mordor for all my ability to put my hands on them anytime soon. Why must the New York Department of Motor Vehicles be so obstructionist? Frustrated, I actually threw the stack of forms in the poor bureaucrat’s face and went stomping out of the office. Crash, a talented diplomat, stayed a few extra moments to get more information about the requirements. He emerged with a sheepish grin and the stack of papers I had so recently discarded.
And then the King returned for real. The Burger King, that is. Mmmmm, hamburgers.
