Dec 18 2006.
Dec 28 2006.
Dec 17 2007.
Jan 3 2008.

So say the stamps in this particular passport. Every time I cross into the states they ask for my index fingers and a quick mug. I guess it's their way of saying 'We're onto you.'

Which of course they aren't--I'm good at my job. But it's thoroughly unpleasant to be reminded that were they to whisk me away black van style I'd have no legal protection whatsoever, since the constitution doesn't apply to foreign nationals on foreign soil (according to Bush and congress). The fingerprinting, which at least no longer involves ink, makes a nice poke in the ribs. You know, 'Hey, remember how you learned to self-censor when you were little? Time to get some more practice.'

Dammit that's not nice! I don't want to have to rein in my subversive, if not downright seditious, impulses. And I certainly don't want to end up wearing orange on a forced early retirement in Cuba.

Or worse: sent to Egypt.

I mean, the weather'd be ok, but I don't really want to try water boarding.

Though maybe I shouldn't complain. Having to keep the temporary fingerprints filed with each 'identity' isn't such a hassle, and I'm a good enough spy that I doubt I'll ever get caught. So just call it solidarity with all the other foreigners who are genuine criminals and miscreants.