Soldier Ant 

I'm staring at the ass end of a blustery, worn-out-welcome, fat-abusive-uncle of a winter's January. And I'm admiring our next-door neighbor, Naked Jim. Jim is, like us, an Ohio native who recently moved back after living in California. Unlike us, Jim refuses to let his California citizenship expire. Ohio-born, but Left Coast through and through. The most obvious proof of this is his license plate. More than a year in the Buckeye State and his Jeep proudly flies his CA tags.

We held out for a while (more laziness than stubborn pride, really) but when our insurance company threatened us -- register in-state, or be dropped -- we demurred. Long morning at the DMV, traded in my coffee-soaked (don't ask) Georgia title for a brand-spankin' new Ohio one. And the plates. God, so patriotic. So boldly colorful. So native Ohioan.

I have this mental image of Jim, naked, sitting in his living room with a mounting pile of threatening letters from Allstate or Progressive (lower down, the tone is 'Don't Forget!'. High in the stack, it's all 'FINAL NOTICE!!'.) And he's laughing and flipping them the bird. Good for you, Jim.