You can't touch this.

Getting a clearance is sort of part of the routine when you live in the Metro DC area. If you can't get a clearance (for whatever reason), it's sort of like trying to get a line of credit with a low FICO score. It's just impossible. Today, I'm finishing up paperwork for a defense contractor, but on contract to a civilian organization, and the contractor (who I work for, as opposed to the primary, which is the government) has noticed that my name is misspelled on my passport. Now, I've been using that passport for some time now. I've gotten numerous clearances with it. All I was trying to do today is fill out my I-9, my withholdings, and so on. But no dice.

I'm not sure there's anyone here to be sore at. I mean, in theory the people that said "no" today were just being vigilant, which is what they're supposed to be doing. On the other, it's obviously a federal identification document, the person in the picture is obviously me, and the risk associated here with my coming onboard with a misspelled name is, well, I don't think it even merits a "marginal" threat to anyone, let alone the company I work for or the Fed/Civ organization I'd be working for.

These are the people that want to x-ray my helmet when I get in to the office. Oh well. The good news is, it is so damn nice to get out on the bike. I was sitting there on 395S at about 9,000rpm, and it had been raining all day when it strikes me: wow, this is a total blast. Now, the road was wet, I didn't have my winter or water gear on. In fact, it had been so muggy this morning I didn't even bring my jacket in. It was just YT with flannel and poly lined rip-stop khakis and a polo shirt. The whole ride took mammoth concentration as cagers were more or less always trying to kill me, but even they didn't seem to be hell bent on it today. So for the occasional few seconds on my roughly 37 minute ride home (5.7 miles!) it would be me, the bike, sunlight splashed liberally all over the sparkling road, and the wail of pistons flying up and down in the engine, just inches from my head. I'm having a hard time being angry at anyone with all the time I've had on the bike of late. Even in the rain. I suppose that says something. I should get somebody to make an eeg or something that I could fit on the bike so they would know what sort of state I'm in on the bike, so they could make a pill out of it. Boy, I've never thought I've ever had a problem with a prescription drug, but if I had sixty Motorcycle Zen pills... Yeah. I'd be a junkie. Sigh.