You Ought to be in Pictures

In California, where I live, you can renew your driver license by mail if you have a clean driving record. This is one of those rare, brilliant bureaucratic ideas. The Department of Motor Vehicles sends a reminder which gives you the option of by-mail or in person renewal. Why would anyone want to wait in endless lines at the DMV when sending a check is so much easier?

Now that I've received my new license I have the answer.

I always felt the photo on my license could double as a mug shot should I ever get arrested. You'd never mistake it for an Annie Liebovitz. Oh, it's me alright! But it's the 5-years-ago me.

Since then I've weaned myself off monthly L'Oreal treatments and surrendered to the all powerful law of gravity. The weight, which I fudged even then, has come back to bite me in my ever expanding butt.

So 5 years from now I vow to stand in line at the DMV. I've got to do something about that photo. Question is will I still lie about my weight.

Rub A Dub Dub, One Guy in a Tub

They're unavoidable -- those commercials for erectile dysfunction. One minute you're listening to Katic Couric interviewing some head of state; the next you're watching a couple flirting from separate bathtubs. Separate tubs on the beach. Separate tubs on the deck. Separate tubs at sunset.

If you really want to get turned on, wouldn't it be quicker to be in the same tub? Perhaps that's too risque for TV. It reminds me of early television when Lucy and Ricky and Laura and Rob slept in twin beds -- and yet, voila, there was Little Ricky and Ritchie.

You have to admire the copywriter assigned to this account. Imagine the challenge of conveying that the guy can't get it up without actually saying the guy can't get it up.

Who owns two tubs? If you need two, can you rent them? How do they move these tubs to the beach or the deck?

Maybe that's why the guy is having problems. He's straining himself lugging bathtubs around.