My Dad passing through the Dardanelles on the way to the Black Sea


I had plans to blog about the Fish Taco Salad I made for my F day of the A to Z Blog Challenge.  Well, I got ahead of myself and did my G post before my F post.   I was kicking myself for that.  So, I figured, okay, I’ll just share the post next.

That went out the window when I read Wil Wheaton’s blog entry on his latest travel experience.  I was in tears.  I was up much later than I should have.  I was deeply disturbed.

This is not the first blog I’ve read about traveler’s being sexually assaulted during a pat down by a TSA agent.  It was his reaction that hit home for me.  He described perfectly, how I felt after my own assault in college.  Then, the old anxiety started creeping back in.

Since the institution of the recent asinine airport security measures I’ve been fortunate to have only needed to travel by car.  I’ve put off any travel requiring flying.  I knew the day would come where I wouldn’t have a choice but to board a plane, though.  You see, when your loved ones live in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, there is no choice but to fly.  So what do I choose?  Do I choose radiation that can compromise my health?  After all, I called it.  It is worse than TSA said it would be as far as it’s effects on us.  Sometimes, I hate being right.  Or, do I choose the potential to be assaulted again?  Better question is, why do I have to choose?

What other countries are subjected to these types of security measures just to travel within their own country?  The war on terror has become a tug-o-war with our own freedoms.  Is this what our founding fathers thought government would do its own people?

My father served in the Navy.  I have uncles that served in the Navy.  I have a good friend from elementary school who serves in the Navy and is preparing to go to the Middle East (we’re we supposed to be withdrawing?).  I have a cousin who joined the Air Force last Summer.  I have an auntie and several friends who served in the Air Force.  I have uncles that served in the Army and Marines.  Papa was a Marine.  Stick’s mom was a Marine.  I have a friend in Germany right now serving in the Army.  I want to point out that some of these loved ones of mine who have served and are serving, were not born here.  They are naturalized citizens fighting for a country they were not born in to.

So this brings me back to, why do I have to choose?

What is the point of the military serving to protect our freedom when the PTB is taking them away all in the name of the war on terror?

Mind you, these are all rhetorical and I have no expectation that anyone answer.  Especially since my emotions are fueling this right now.


Me and Cuz McSassSassSass


You see, the time has come where I will not have a choice to not fly.  I could choose not to, but I would miss my Cuz McSassSassSass’ wedding.  I think this would call for a Xanax.  Or a Valium.  Or lots of shots before leaving for the airport.

In the meantime, I’m looking up who I can write to about this.  Something has to be done and sitting around waiting for it to go away doesn’t work.

“Every government degenerates when trusted to the rulers of the people alone. The people themselves are its only safe depositories.” ~Thomas Jefferson