Anglo-American Angst

There are times when I become painfully aware of my fragility as a young man, twisting in the wind of this silly world. I am doubtdoubtdoubting my abilities. I get those worry blues. But when my rational brain examines it, my life is so good. Here are some reasons why:

• HEALTH. I have a clean bill of health, never any health problems, no surgeries, no broken bones, no allergies to food or medicines, and no need for medicines at all for the most part. I get noticeably sick less than once per year.
• FAMILY. I have a family that loves me, emotionally supports me, and tries to understand me to the best of their abilities.
• FRIENDS. I truly have a large and sundry collection of honestly wonderful people who love me all over the country and even abroad, again, who try to understand me to the best of their abilities.
• SECURITY. I reside in what is arguably a police state where the rule of law is so firmly entrenched that although crime and corruption are very alive and well, I have little reason to believe my person and property overall are in much danger of overt violation. I can leave the house and travel freely without worry.
• MONEY. I can make more money in a week bullshitting and reading the newspaper than much of the world could earn performing back-breaking labor for months or even years. Never mind the macroeconomics behind it, bear with me. I have so wealth that I can more than afford food, rent, utilities, and total luxuries such as frivolous travel, music, hobbies, an automobile, etc.
• SOCIAL STATUS. The reality is that there are not very many levels that separate me from the top echelons of the international capitalist system. Income/asset disparity aside, I am white, male, from a Western country, have my wits about me, and have no obvious mental or physical handicaps or impediments to prevent me from dominating others except for those pesky morals and lack of funding and family/social connections.

What then, is the issue? I suppose I do feel guilty about not being overjoyed. Privilege? I didn't set out to talk about privilege...

White Powder in a Zip-lock Bag, or, "The Author's International Travel Tribulations"

After a harrowing series of events including barely missing a flight, needing to spend literally hours on the phone with two different airlines and Orbitz, spending extra money and time, and camping out in Seattle-Tacoma International Airport overnight, I made it into Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. It felt unreal to actually make it here after several truncated but valiant efforts at various points in the past few years. Once I had landed and said my farewells to my very friendly fellow passengers in my small propellor-driven airplane, I checked into customs. No big deal, right? I was questioned.

Where are you going? Who are you going to see? How long are you staying-do you have a return ticket?
Sit down over there. Shut your cellphone off. Where did you say you were going? Who do you know in Victoria? How did you meet them?
What's your social security number? Have you ever been arrested? You've never been arrested in Oregon? Have you always lived in Massachusetts? We have your name and date of birth on record as having felony charges in the state of Oregon. Could you reconfirm your social security number?

Step this way. Put your coat and bags down on this table. Empty your pockets, please. Please turn your pockets inside-out. Do you mind me emptying your bags or would you like to do it yourself?
Do you have enough money to support yourself while you're here? So, that's a credit card? Or, a debit card. How much money is in your account? Do you have a return ticket booked? When does that depart?
Who's phone number is this? Is that the person you're staying with? Are you planning on heading east while you're in Canada? Who are these Montreal phone numbers? How do you know those people?
Do you work? What's your job? Tell me about your job. So, you're on vacation from work? How much time do you have off? So you're working again once you get home?
Why do you have a bus ticket stub from Miami? Why were you there? Where did you go? How did you also get that time off from work? Why did you go to Key West? How long ago did you get back?
Are you in a band? What is this in your calendar- "Middle East?" Oh, it's a bar? Are you playing music while in Canada?


Etc.
An unfortunate but hilarious bag of white powder, of the garlic variety, was also examined by the border folks but by this point they laughed about it because I was clearly not a felon or terrorist or something. But apparently all that separates me from an Oregonian criminal is social security numbers. Both me the border officer agreed that my passport photo doesn't help my case of being *not* suspicious. We both laughed.


Currently: Lounging around like a lazy American on vacation
Listening to: Dan Blakeslee