Banned in the USA

"Yes I have" is the reply that will emanate smartly from my lips should I be asked the question "Have you ever been denied entry into the United States?"

Boy, is Uncle Sam doing a fantastic job protecting America from lowly paid actors.

Lemme back up a bit...on my way out to Chilliwack for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday I do my customary beer/gas run across the border to Sumas, WA...traffic is light, gonna be at dinner in no time, right? Think again, Skippy. My vehicle gets flagged for further inspection. OK, maybe a 10-15 minute delay here.
Uh-uh.
Now, both me and the car are clean. Except for the cherry pie I'm bringing for dinner. God, I better not lose that pie. It's a fruit, I know, but come on, it's Thanksgiving!

The Pie was fine. But what isn't fine in George W.Bush's America, is freedom of speech. Words and ideas that are UnAmerican will get you in some serious shit. And that is exactly what raised a red flag on my attempt to procure cheap gas and suds....I'm talking about my private, personal journal that I carry with me everywhere I go and in which I have chronicled my escapades in Sex, Drugs and Rock N'Roll since leaving Toronto in April. That stuff has no filter on it and is waaayyy hotter than the charade of an online diary you see in this blog. Well, the folks at Homeland Security took it upon themselves to Violate my privacy and read the stuff that no other human on the planet has read except me. So before I know it, I'm being physically searched, and not gently. And forced to answer questions about my innermost thoughts and experiences that I have shared with no-one, and in some cases, couldn't even remember writing. I was threatened with jail and told in no uncertain terms how long I could be held without even being charged with anything. In today's America, I believe them.

The fact that I hadn't done anything wrong seemed to be irrelevant. The fact that there was no physical evidence in my car or on my person was beside the point. I had strange, disturbing writings on me and I needed to explain them. And I was late for dinner. Fuck.
Oh, and by the way, one thing, what was I doing in Seattle recently?

Shit.

Travelling for pleasure, huh? Well why did it say in my journal 'The video gig is OK, the Money is good, but I haven't seen any of the city?'
The jig, as they say, was up. That was what they really wanted. They would have had a hard time jailing me for being a drug trafficker without finding any actual DRUGS on me (and, yes, the prospect of them planting some in the car was indeed front and centre in my pants-shitting mind) but it was abundantly clear that if I wanted to be let go, I had to give them something. So I sang like a canary. Sang about how this Canadian production company didn't want to go through visa hassles for their little video shoot and if I wanted the gig, I had to pretend that the Seattle trip was purely pleasure, and no one would be the wiser.

Or so I thought.
I hadn't counted on the fact that post-9/11 America is becoming a Stalinist state.
Oh, have I mentioned the fact that the Terrorists have won? Yep. Game over. Nice one, Osama. Good game.
I hope you all are shocked. This is coming from Me, Mr. 'I love America', i love its excesses, its junk food, its cheap beer, its energy, its spirit. Or at least I love what it used to be. Paranoia has replaced the 'can-do' spirit that I've always lamented was lacking in the welfare state that is Canada.

I feel violated, I feel intruded upon, I feel raped.
By the way, rape? Not a sexual crime. Crime of power. Yes, power. Not sexual. A crime of power where you come at the end.

But I digress. I was photographed and fingerprinted and turned away, my money and my purchases of beer and fuel not wanted, because of something I had written in a diary. Because it was revealed I had lied about the Seattle visit.
This is the America that almost impeached Bill Clinton for lying about sleeping with Monica....which, last I checked, was immoral and stupid, but not illegal.

For at least the next two years, if I ever want to visit the USA, I will have to provide proof that I'm not staying. Bank statements, rent cheques, basically all the stuff that a struggling actor doesn't have.

Welcome to The new America: Come Clean, or Else.

Who needs it. Fuck you, USA.