Herds of liberals, running north.

In response to a proposal to create one giant country using the US, Canada and Mexico: “Dude, Canada is the great release valve of the American liberal soul. If not for Canada, there would be rioting in the streets every two weeks. As long as there’s Canada, a pissed off liberal can say, ” ” ‘I am this close to moving to Canada.’ Take that away at your peril.” - Ogged, of Unfogged

I thought of this quote as we pulled into the special immigration/customs parking lot and saw the hippiemobile that appears in the photo above. Every liberal I know has said the above quote at least once (and in one notable case, on 9/11, Mia screamed, “Oh my fucking god! We’re coming by with the van to pick you up! We’re all going to Canada!”) but it’s sort of heartening or something that we weren’t the only liberals running north that day.

Immigration was extremely embarrassing. We didn’t have our important yellow slip. We didn’t have our car title. Then we had our car title, but no yellow slip, and no certification number on our marriage license (which to do the clerk justice did in fact look like we’d printed it out using Print Shop five minutes before presenting it to her).

She did not laugh.

She did not find our bumbling charming.

I think she probably did a little happy dance when she was able to pass us off to Customs, who promptly gave us a panic attack that I’m still suffering aftershocks from by telling us our car wasn’t on the approved list and wouldn’t be able to go across the border. (Todd said later he was ready to stand on the American side of the border with a sign that said, “Mercedes: will trade for approved car.”) But yes, the car was indeed there. The customs clerk went out to the car with Todd and glanced in. Meanwhile, two black men who arrived before we did and were still there when we left were submitting to a thorough search of their Ford. They stood and smoked and watched.

When Todd came back in the customs boys were quite nonchalant about the rest of our goods. “Did you need to see the rabies certificates for the cats?” “Aw, no, you’re all set. Bye bye, now.”

We drove another three hours or so and arrived at our hotel and conked out. I woke up around three in the morning, after Habanero stomped on my face twenty seven times. I turned on the tv and laughed out loud. It was wall to wall p-rn. Silly p-rn. P-rn that featured two people doing it in the middle of a dirt road, both naked (she was wearing a crash helmet) and the only vestige of excitement was found in the worry that they’d be run over before they were, er, finished.

This ain’t Kansas. Or Los Angeles. Or even New York City. Toto, we are not buying a tv set. ”