Hello everyone.  This is your blog host, Dingo Stewart.  Before I begin, I’d like to wish my paternal grandmother a happy birthday wish today.  If she were still alive, today would’ve been her 100th birthday.  I’m sorry I never had the privilege to meet her, but I have the feeling she still would appreciate the thought.  Happy Birthday Grandma.

Since I last posted my blog, I didn’t get to part two as fast as I would have liked.  Why did I wait until the eve of our six year anniversary of September 11th?  Coincidence.  So for what I’m about to write, if you don’t like what I have to say . . . get over yourself.  This is satire.  If you agree, thank you.  I’m sorry you’ve probably had to go through the same song and dance.  And with that mentioned; here goes.

After attending BarCamp Vancouver 2007, our original party of three (Jay, Martin and myself) packed up and headed back to the border, so we could return to Olympia, WA., USA.  The border wasn’t too backlogged, and I was content in believing this would be a better trip through; than the border crossing into Canada.  You guessed it.  I was wrong.

As we approached the border, Jay, who was holding on to the ‘documents’, gives us the all clear motion and  rolls up to the booth.  The male agent, an older gentleman (I say loosely), looks at our documents, and upon looking at mine, says, “Where’s the rest?”  I’d given Jay my driver’s license and birth certificate, but somehow, the latter was missing.  Don’t ask me how?  It was there when I crossed into Canada, but now, it’s disappeared.  This is when all his attention was focus on me.  This I thought was classic.  My friend Martin’s from Scotland.  Homeland Security had a huge green government form paper stapled to the inside of his British Passport.  Yet Martin was gold, and I became the target of this man’s interests.  I didn’t understand the problem at the time.  Now the agent of Homeland Security begins his questions, and I begin to dance his alien dance with my present crossing, and I am remembering that I must again perform.   I proceed to perform the hoop jumping.

“Ms.  Is the United States a republic, or a democracy?”, the officer asks.  This is huge red flag.  Maybe I should have given him my voter’s registration card instead of my driver’s license.  I should have seen this coming, but he still gets me with his far-right punch.  The officer looks at me.  I look at him, wondering what’s up with the trick question?  So I responded something like this, “Mr. Bush says we’re in Iraq to bring democracy to the Iraqi people.” Okay, now you have my permission to tell me how stupid I am to commit this rookie move.   This did not go over well.  Now, I’m going to give you some advice, especially if you’re stubborn and a dry smart ass like I am.  Anyone, and I do mean anyone, that has a ‘Homeland Security’ job, wants to keep their job, and thus, they like Bush.  If you question Bush, you’re a threat to the employees of the ‘Homeland Security’ team.  Don’t mention Bush unless you’re waving the flag, and singing his praises.  You and I both know that there goes the true drug/arms dealers; but I digress and am probably getting myself into deeper trouble than ever. 

Again, the border officer asks me if we’re a “Republic or Democracy.”  Now, this is getting me upset.  F.Y.I. I suffered from spinal meningitis when I was twenty-five years old.  Ever since, I have times, especially under stress, that synapses (neurological impulse/information passes from one neuron to another) doesn’t occur, and you’ve got it–I’m clueless.  This is my outcome from having a 107 degree F. temperature that fried most of my photographic memory.  (Un)Fortunate for me, most people don’t see my brain damage, and I’m able to pass by the most of the population as a fairly intelligent person.  But not when synapses fail to occur.  So as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, I’m sitting in a car, with my covered mouth wide open, and nothing comes out.  NOTHING!  And to make matters worse, now the border officer adds to my stress by looking at me like I’m an idiot, or worse, an impostor.  I’m trying to contain myself from bashing my head against something hard, in hopes my brain will switch back on, and I can spare myself from appearing like a deer caught in headlights.  All I can think is, THINK!

So, after a moment of disturbing silence, the border officer prompts me with this tidbit of information.  “You’ll find the answer in the Pledge of Allegiance.”  All I can think is ‘cool’, I can do that.  Wrong.  You guessed it.  After staring at him for what seems like a lifetime, the officer asks me to say “The Pledge of Allegiance.”  All went fine until I got to the part about, ” And for the . . .”   Blank.  Nada.  A Haon.  Nothing!  To save my life, I couldn’t remember ‘Republic’.  This was not only one of my most distressing moments of my life, but the added stress reminded me of feeling as though I was locked behind in the ‘Iron Curtain.’  I attempted to say the pledge, but my memories kept crashing against the wall the neurons in my head struggles to  repair.  And I was upset, embarrassed, and ashamed.  Honestly, I had to say that pledge everyday until I graduated from high school, just as most Americans do.  I wanted to die, and I was angry this guy couldn’t tell I had a problem with my communications .  This only fueled the five alarm fire in my head as I realized, “I am so dead,” and I can’t believe this could be happing to me in my own country.  Why did I ever read that book about “A man With Out a Country.”

Finally, when I was sure I was going to get yanked out of the car, and stripped searched, I was able to relay my problem/brain damage from meningitis to the border officer.  At least I could get that out, and he believed me.  It wouldn’t have mattered in the long run, but I wasn’t looking forward to being probed and questioned by Homeland Security.  I have the hospital records to prove I had this illness and the subsequential brain damage that occurred.  But knowing my stress threshold,  I’m sure I’d have lost my temper, and the outcome would not have come out in my favor.  Flashes of Stanley Kubrick’s ‘A Clockwork Orange’ popped into my head.  I’m strapped to a chair, and Homeland Security pries open my eyes open with surgical forks; making me listen and watch a video of school aged children saying “The Pledge of Allegiance.”  Just going over and over again.  Knowing my luck, even after the brainwashing, synapses wouldn’t work, and you’d never hear from me again.  I’d be getting skin cancer from the sun’s exposure at Guantanamo Bay.  I hear the medical benefits are great there, but I’ll pass, thank you.

So finally, the officer relents, and allows me back into the states.  I still miss the America I used to live in, and I’m saddened that we rolled over like cowering beasts, asking to have our bellies rubbed, and now we’ve pass the responsibility on to some one else.  I remember being happy I was born free.

The one positive part of this story was this.  At least this officer wasn’t performing racial profiling.  Not that I can say that for sure; after all, I’m a white female.  My point is this.  He didn’t care if I was white.  All he cared about was whether or not I was a “Republican.”  Be good to each other, and celebrate what’s actually good and wonderful in this world.  Don’t give up your sense of humor; if you don’t have enough, I’ve plenty to give to you all.

See you soon,

Dingo Stewart

Blogged with Flock

Tags: Dosesof Crack” “Homeland Security” Canada “United States Of America” “BarCamp Vancouver 2007″ America, Border Crossing, Jay Stewart, Dingo Stewart, Martin Donnelly, Olympia, WA., Washington, Vancouver B.C.,

Hello again everyone. I’ll be surprised if you’ll notice it’s been almost eleven months since I last posted a blog entry, but I’m back in the game, and my health issues are nearly resolved, so hopefully I’ll be more myself, instead of bits and pieces of myself and the pharmaceutical being I was due to my chronic pain. So if you’re new to my post, my name is Dingo, and welcome to ‘Doses of Crack’. I appreciate you coming back to read what’s been happening to me lately, and I’m ready to rumble. So let the games begin!

I’m surprised I didn’t post this story to you folks sooner, but I had to cool down a bit before I ended up writing a tirade. It’s been almost two weeks since this incident happen, yet I still had to settle down, because truthfully, my panties were in a bunch from sheer indignation.

I went to Vancouver, B.C., Canada, for a techie ‘un’conference. With me on this trip were two male companions, Jay, and another friend from Scotland, named Martin. We arrived at the border with all of our papers, and we went to the Duty-Free store that is located just before the border. We promised another friend, Kris or a.k.a. KK+, a bottle of Maker’s Mark Bourbon. I went to use the restroom, and met with my traveling companions back at the car. (The way Duty-Free works is you buy your merchandise, they give you a receipt, and you drive around the building where an agent gives you your purchases.) Unfortunately, our driver forgot to pick up the merchandise, and he didn’t remember until we just passed the International marker into Canada. We hadn’t gone thru the border yet; we were the sixth car queued up to the cross the border. This is when our driver remembers about the duty-free, and he hands the receipt to me to go back to pick up the merchandise. I get out of the car, running before I’ve hit the ground, because I hear, “Run.” Mind you, I’m wearing four inch high heels, and I’m flying towards the duty-free store in a full sprint. Before I could reach my goal, a very crass and unprofessional agent (he directs traffic) tells me I can’t proceed to the duty-free store. This is when I know what should be a relatively simple task, has now become a fiasco.

So Mr. Wannabeacop stops me and starts to mock me. I don’t care if this poor fellow has decided to make sport of me, but this guy was too much. First, I show him the receipt, and very politely ask him if I may proceed, explaining what had just happened. He laughs at me and says, “Ha, ha. You’re just a stupid American. Let me hear you say that you’re a stupid American.” I decide to give him his laugh, just as long as he’ll allow me to proceed. “I’m a stupid American, okay?”, I said to him. I’m in a huge hurry, and Mr. Wannabeacop is hell bent on prolonging me from my mission. After I utter his desired response, he begins a litany of insults, ridiculing me about my heritage in his attempts to belittle me. The fact he didn’t have most of his bottom teeth, and he’s clearly in his sixties (unless he’s a meth user), just made me feel pity for this poor foolish man. I felt trapped in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” where the bridgekeeper says, “Stop! Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see.”

I believe you now see who I was dealing with; the exception being that Mr. Wannabeacop sported a classic orange safety reflective jacket, and his hair and beard were cropped short. Yes, I admit, the pun is fully intended.

After enduring my detainment, I’m finally allowed to proceed to the duty-free store, as the agents there watched me run to pickup our purchases. They were very nice indeed, and I greatly appreciated their help. I ran back to the car, bypassing Mr. Wannabeacop, because I was afraid I’d be detained again, and an international incident was the last thing I wanted. I get to the car, and it’s only moved up two spaces since I left. This was just a fore-shadowing of what came next.

We get to the booth, and due to the fact this was the first time Martin had visited Canada, we were instructed to pull over and all of us were questioned, had our backgrounds checked, and then we were finally admitted into Canada after Martin’s passport was stamped. His stamp was small in comparison to the huge green page stapled to his passport from Homeland Security. It actually was ridiculous the paperwork needed for a fellow from outside of Glasgow, Scotland. I digress. So we all pile into the car and proceed to Vancouver.

Once in Vancouver, we were reunited with some of the best people on the planet. With the exception of a few states in the south, state side Americans (Remember, Canadians are also ‘Americans’, as they live in North America, as we do), don’t possess the manners most Canadians display. Canadians are by and large, very polite and generous people. We met up at the ‘Alibi Room’ for our pre-BarCamp party. Our friends accomodated us with brilliant hospitality and lovely beds, so we were prepared for the morning’s BarCamp 2007. It literally lifts your spirits when you attend conferences with peers and peeps who share your passion for learning, networking, and meeting new friends. Not even in the states do you find that deep-hearted compassion and true sense of friendship. It’s a shame, because I believe we, as a nation, have become depressed due to war, government scandals, misrepresentations given to us via the White House and the media frenzy that occurs daily. We, as a nation, need a break, and fast! That’s why I love traveling to the Great White North. Peace is underated. Below is a sample of some of the best friends a girl could ever be blessed to have in her life!

Part 2 of this saga will be posted soon. After all, we had to come back to the United States of America. If you thought our entrance to Canada was difficult, returning was a nightmare.

For now, I wish all reading this blog, goodwill and peace on Earth to all of her inhabitants.

Love to you all,

Dingo Stewart a.k.a. Caerbannog is an ban coinin (In Gaeilge, or Irish, “The white rabbit of Caerbannog”, or better know as the ‘terrible beast from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.) Sorry about not having the fadas. It sucks.

Blogged with Flock

Tags: BarCampVancouver 2007″ “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” “Miss 604 and OlyGirl/Rebecca Bollwitt and Dingo Stewart” “Lee LeFever and Derek K. Miller (a.ka. Penmachine” “Dave O with Conch Shell” “Dave O., Dingo and Part of Martin” “Kate, Airdrie Miller and Martin Donnelly” “KK+, Dingo, and Martin” “BarCamp Vancouver 2007″ “Jay Stewart and Robert Scales” “Dave O and conch shell” “BarCamp Vancouver 2007″ “KK+, a.k.a. Kris Krug” “Penmachine photographer” “Miss 604 photographer” “KK+ photographer” “Robert Scales, photograher” “dosesofcrack.wordpress.com