Passport blues

I look evil in my passport photo. If I get arrested in Germany for being a terrorist, I will praise the German Czar to the heavens for his astute instincts. I mean, look at this photo! I would send me to the brig in a heartbeat.

For the love of God, there's a human hair glued to my passport, and I don't think it's mine. It's much too thin. It's not a strand of hair that gets pampered with biotin-enhanced extra-strengthening hippie shampoo, that's for sure. If Nicole and I accidentally murder someone in Prague ("Oh my God, she totally looked like a pick-pocket!!"), I know what to plant at the scene. The whole U.S. Department of State will be on trial.

I got a phone call from my mother this morning that makes me want to go on another rant. I won't do it, but just know that I want to. You see, I should be a British/American dual citizen by now, dashing through tax loopholes, turning down marriage propsal after marriage proposal ("I'm a human being with emotions and goals and desires, not a walking green card!"), and having all these conflicts and realizations about my true identity.

"So this explains why 'if....' is my favourite movie," I should be saying. "But am I supposed to love Monty Python now," I would wonder next. "I know I'm British, but that show is nothing but arguing - 'That parrot is dead!' 'No it isn't!' 'Yes it is!' 'No it isn't!' 'Yes it is!'"

By now I should be up for a knighting, getting beat at an oppressive "public" boarding school, and biking on the left side of the road. And most of all, I should be able to easily work anywhere in the EU, especially Prague.

But no. British/American "Who Am I really????" Rhys is for the future. Because my mom had my American passport all along, and didn't realize it. Instead of an American and a British passport, I now have two American passports. This makes me perhaps the most die-hard American this side of the Atlantic. I'm not ashamed of that. I just wish I were already the most die-hard Brit in the world as well!