I'm Just Sayin'...

So the other dayI'm driving up through the great State of Maine, up by the Canadian border, to my favorite huntin' ana fishin' camp up in the woods. I'm listenning to the radio, about how the State Department wants to access search results for a million or so people who use Google, so that they can protect us from terrorists, or pornography, or something. Now, I should preface by saying I'm not by nature very political. I'm opinionated alright, but as my friends and family agree thankfully, I generally keep my reactionary and uninformed political observations to myself. That said, it did, and does, make me quite a bit uneasy having the Federal 'Gubmint' know about my on-line habits. I kind of have this quaint notion that the 'gubmint' should be paying for roads, civil defense, social welfare and the like. I'm kind of a 'Liberalitarian' that way.

On the other hand, I'm thinking, I have been married, and with kids, for going on 15 years. There isn't too much I do that someone doesn't already know about. I don't think I've experienced an uninterrupted shower or bowel movement since my long ago bachelor days. And as far as provocative and controversial use of the internet, any married guy could tell you, sneaking porn on the internet is about as likely to be a success as sneaking a ham sandwich into a Jenny Craig meeting. And since I still haven't figured out that God-Damned History button, I'm not going to 'Google' anything I'm not prepared to explain later. Retribution from the Feds I can take; angry scorn from my lovely spouse would be far more swift and punitive. What the federal government would actually find on any of my internet searches would be about as ribald as a PBS documentary on Abe Lincoln (there he is again).

It's just the idea, I guess.

It also got me thinking, as I pulled into Jackman, just about to pick up my last-minute groceries and beer before the long trek in on the Tote road to camp. I remember, years ago, when I first started going up there, you used to be able to get these really great flaky pastries, made by a bakery in Quebec. This old French-Canadian dude from up there had a delivery route that only briefly brought him into the States to deliver to this one grocery store, then zip back into Canadia. These pastries were so friggin' good, and you couldn't get them anywhere in Maine except up there. It became a tradition. Every time we came to camp, we'd buy as many as they had. Then, after the tragic NYC airplane attacks in September of 2001, border security became very tight. Homeland Security not only doubled up guards at the crossings, but put in their own guys. These guys did not know ol' Gaston, who had a sweetheart deal with the old border guys. Anyhow, evidentally ol' Gaston had had an OUI, or something, back about 25 years ago, and presumably, according to Homeland Security, presented a risk. He could no longer regularly cross the border with his van full of Joy. Thus, no more Flakey Pastries.

Now, I can live without flakey pastries from Quebec and I can probably live with the fact that the Feds are laughing their asses off about me visiting www.HallandOates.com for the 20th time. But I shouldn't. It's the little people who again are inconvenienced: the Pastry-Lovers and the guys that want to look up that 'Paris Hilton' video (what a Gyp, by the way). I'm not saying I'm siding-up with the Terrorists; I'm just sayin'...