So I got hit by the Man today. The Nanny State Man. Perhaps, more accurately the School Marm Man. I've always resented the ticky-tack "stuff I gotta do" just to check in so the Man can keep tabs on me. So, I passively resist. Does it do any good? No. But I do it anyway. Does it end up biting me in the butt? (well, wallet) Yes. But I do it anyway. It's my own little (very little) version of the tv or movie prisoner who's had just enough of the guards' crap and takes a swing at one of them. He knows he'll lose, surely, what with the allied forces he's taking on. But there's a stubborn streak that just can't resist that little bit of rebellion; that little assertion of independence.

Arizona drivers' licenses used to have a place on the back where you could write your new address. They don't anymore. They should, 'cause I moved. And I wasn't about to go out of my way to check in with the Man about it. (Hey, I never said this was smart.) I assumed that I was supposed to notify them of my move, but...

Anyway, I never actually notice the little line across the top of the back of my license where it reads, YOU MUST REPORT A CHANGE OF ADDRESS WITHIN 10 DAYS. I never noticed it until the police officer who pulled me over tonight pointed it out.

He pulled me over because my van's tags were expired. I had no idea. Great. I never got anything about it in the mail. Now hold on... No, it's not because they don't have my address. The registration people have my current address. It's on my expired paperwork. I gave it to them last time my registration needed renewing. (Why that doesn't count as having check in with the Man, I have no idea. In my mind it did. In theirs, no.)

So, in all this, I'm looking for my proof of insurance. 2002 card - no. 2004 card - no. Hey there's another one in the center console. Aha! my 2007 card. I handed it over, confidently. -sigh- Aw, man... it's 2008. Expired 5 weeks ago. I know I'm insured, but I just don't have the little piece of paper with the right date on it.

Well, what a great night: a craptastic hat-trick of paperwork violations. Thank you, sir, may I have another? The registration fine and the insurance card fine will be cut drastically when I show up in court with proof that I've rectified them, but boy, there's no getting out of the trouble I'm in for not letting the DMV brain trust know that I now live a few miles further down the street.

It's enough to make me consider a rant comparing the stupid hoops and hidden tax paperwork that we party members citizens have to put up with against the relative ease with which illegal immigrants swarm around my city. If the whole paperwork, does-my-car-have-its-shots, have-I-paid-extra-to-drive-on-the-roads-I've-already-paid-for, where-I-live minutia is important enough to be stopped and fleeced over, what gives with the spigot of foreigners, forgers, and flaunters?

So, I can't wait to go to court. Think I'll get lectured in that dull, said-this-a-thousand-times tone? I'm just itching for someone to dare me to lecture the court. Anyone got a Libertarian newsletter I can quote? Hey, I never said my feelings on this were based on self-preservation. Yeah, I'll likely chicken out, but if you've got a brief pithy set of talking points that's more practical than my pathetic rant above, by all means, submit it. I'll surely post updates.