You read something like this, and drive down to quiet north Berkeley to have someone at the UPS store stamp your Notarized Affidavit of Gender Error, and it’s all so easy, just endlessly shocking how easy each new step is, here and now. This is like the tenth administrative procedure I’ve been through, and of course the forms all take hours and implicate you in flowcharts of this depending on that, but the state in its lumbering way wants me to be happy.
Though I don’t know how to take this framing, that with the increasingly superfluous concept of “legal sex” not being set up as a mutable field, the only way to square certain things with the administrative state is to fire up the DeLorean, take it back to Schenectady in 1978 and correct a grievous
HTTP/1.1 444 Gender Error
Better than compulsory surgery, obviously.
Better than having your eye shot out in St. Petersburg. Obviously.