I was an Oregonian for 32 years, and I know that residents of that state have a longstanding reputation for being independent: for subscribing to the philosophy of rugged individualism, or doing things “ the Oregon Way,” if you will. The Oregon State Motto of “She Flies With Her Own Wings,” seems to reflect the state’s citizens willingness to boldly go where no man has gone before. In 1999 the state adopted as its advertising slogan (and unofficial state motto), the phrase, “Oregon. Things Look Different Here.” Although that saying was replaced, in 2003, by a new unofficial slogan “Oregon. We Love Dreamers,” it’s the “things look different here” mantra that is running through my mind a lot these days.

For now, I’ve moved away from my adoptive state of Oregon, am currently a Californian, and, well, things are different here.

For example, take the matter of registering a vehicle with the state in order to be issued California license plates.

As you know, I purchased a new Subaru before leaving Oregon. I was living and working in Oregon at the time: ergo, I was a resident there when I purchased the vehicle. Of course, that means I paid no sales tax on the purchase because Oregon does not have such a tax. But, what happens when an individual takes a new sales-tax-free vehicle to California, is that he or she is assessed a “use tax” when registering the vehicle. This fee is in the amount of the applicable California sales tax. (Any sales tax already paid in another state may be credited against the California use tax. Most states have a sales tax. The way I look at it, this seems strictly a way to “get” Oregonians when they move here.) Yesterday I went to the DMV to register my car, and the check I wrote out to get my first set of plates came to $2,334! …and the funny thing is (ha ha), I didn’t even get the actual plates. My official Oregon registration document has not come in the mail yet, so I was unable to surrender it. The best California could do was to give me a temporary registration sticker for my window. So, this is what I got for my money:

California , you really know how to welcome a guy.

Not!

The driver’s license part of the DMV visit was quite an experience as well. Here, a stone’s throw from the Silicon Valley, the high-tech Mecca of the world, they still give paper and pencil tests! I was handed a sheet of paper, 18 questions on each side, and was directed to a testing area where I could mark in little boxes for the multiple-choice exam. Then, after I handed it in, the counter attendant graded it by hand. (Yes, I passed. One wrong. 35/36 = 97%. Obviously, knowing me, you can bet that I was shooting for a perfect score. Sigh…) It was 17 years ago this month, July 1990, when I moved to Indiana and sought to be a licensed driver there. Even back then, at the DMV office in backwater Bloomington, Indiana, I was directed to a kiosk to take a test in a completely automated process.

And, finally, in a stunning conclusion to my visit, even though I had shown my birth certificate, been fingerprinted, had my picture taken, and passed the test, I was given just one little slip of paper to carry around that is now my temporary permit. I asked, “I don’t get my license right now?” To which the reply was, “No. You’re in California. Things are different here. (He actually said that!) You get your license in the mail in about 2 weeks. Maybe 4 or 5. Have a good day.”

Oh, California. Thanks so much for your hospitality. I’m sure feeling good about this.

Finally, as I’m on this stream of how much I’m loving my new state, I’ll let the photo tell the story. Here’s my new office space…

Bottom line? My jaw is perpetually dropping as I continue to find out the way things are done here. Someday, the newness of this will all wear off, I’m sure. I’ll be “settled.” I will have been completely socialized to this part of the country: not only the state of California, but Marin County, California. Until then, I’m going to be walking around feeling, invariably, like a Martian.