I’m Moving to Canada. Part 3: It's Happening!

 

I’m Moving to Canada. Part 3: It's Happening!

Settle in, grab a glass (or vat) of vino or a cup (or 4) of coffee and take some time for this one. It's pretty granular, but that's what you've asked for, and who am I to say no?

In Part One of this now-3-parter, I explained why we made the life-changing decision to become permanent residents of Canada (not citizens). In Part 2, I did my best to explain how we went about it, what it took, and tried to provide more answers to your questions. In Part 3 I will ask your indulgence as I chronicle the more emotional side while hopefully providing even more information about what we've learned and what we still have to do.

I'm writing this only days before we start our 1200-mile drive to our new home.

To catch you up, we still have our leased townhouse in Port Moody, BC where we've lived part-time since October 2022, and will continue to, with our twins, until we can buy a house or a townhouse. Slim pickin's doesn't even begin to describe the market there. The houses are either way too big or way too cramped and small, not much in between. Homes are actually less expensive there than here in Southern California, but still on the high side, so at least we're uncomfortably comfortable with that. 

And for some reason, a whole lot of the homes have some inexplicable loyalty to the '80s in terms of finishes. So it'll cost us to renovate. We're game, though. We redid our current house top to bottom, inside and out, and I loved every second. Designing is a passion for me, so it wasn't intimidating or in any way intolerable. But whether we'll be able to afford to do that again is the Big Question O' the Day because it's taken us much longer to sell our current house than we thought it would.

Speaking of costs: Some things in BC (like the aforementioned houses) are less expensive, some are about the same, and some are more expensive than in greater Los Angeles, so not a big issue to grapple with. Here's another example: Comparable cable TV/Internet bundles are about $100 cheaper in Port Moody than they are where we currently live. 

We still have to find a family doctor. They pair you up with one after you sign onto a wait list. The shortage you may have read about is for realsies, so we'll keep our American doctors and dip down into California for well-checks as we wait. It can take a year, although it only took a few months for our sons to be paired. The Medicare-For-All style health care system in BC is great (supplemented by vision, dental), and there are clinics and care centers everywhere (which will refer us to specialists on the spot), but we need the continuity of a family doctor who knows our outsides and insides the way Trump knows crime, especially at our age. That challenge awaits us.

We're still figuring out the financial twists and turns. For example, there's a Tax Treaty. Who knew? We have our accountants and financial experts on it, and they're good. We opened credit card accounts, so we're starting to build credit, and our credit score is so good in the US that we'll have no trouble getting loans, should we need to. 

We got a P.O. address at Mailboxes International, so the few items that won't ship to Canada can be shipped there, and it's right on the border, about 40 minutes from Port Moody. 

Our twins are starting their second, and final, year of college so that they can get a 3-year work permit. That's what they must do, at 39 and with careers and years-old Masters degrees under their belts, to qualify. Then they have to find jobs at places that will go to bat for them when they apply for their own permanent residency. That means the employers must fill out a bunch of forms and vouch that the boys are uniquely suited for a job, rather than hiring a Canadian. That's their ticket in. Our requirements were different (see Part 2).

I've been asked a lot if we had any family ties, or anyone else who helped get us in, and the answer is no. We knew nobody, have no family there, but, as I said in Part 1, coincidentally, we discovered that Mr. Laffy's TV show was owned by a Canadian conglomerate. Someone there did him a favor by writing a letter saying that he could pitch shows to them (not that he would, but that he could; there was no requirement for proof, just that there was the potential) when we got there. That was a very tiny point in the cumulative point system they use to build a total point score. Our age got us zero, which worked against us. His vocation in the arts was a plus. The letter was minimally helpful. It's really convoluted, and as I keep saying, every person's requirements are different. We used a top immigration lawyer to guide us through because, honestly, we didn't think we stood a chance.

Yes, jumping through endless hoops is part of moving to Canada... in case that somehow got by you. One can't just decide to move there. Well, one can, for 6 months at a time and no free health care. 

💥SIDE BAR: Again, for those of you in the back, permanent residents do get free health care. The only thing we can’t do is vote. We’re still U.S. citizens. We still vote in U.S. elections.

Weather, you ask? You're moving from sunny Southern California to *gasp!* WEATHER? See Part 1, but short version: It's mild, it's Seattle, not Ontario. We love the seasons. Case closed.

Wait, what about Hamilton?! Is he allowed in? 

No worries, piece o' cake... or should I say kibble. Pets are allowed in, as long as you have proof of vaccination. We've never had any issues crossing the border with Hammy. Not once.

Crossing the border generally means driving up to a kiosk and answering a few standard questions (Guns? Drugs? Food? No. No. No.). When we actually move, we'll have to park our car, go into the border office, and show them a long list of all the household items we're bringing in with us. And by long list, I mean itemizing, on a form, every single thing in our house... plus their worth, in Canadian dollars. But because I got great advice from followers on Mastodon, we had no problem preparing for this: I snapped photos of every single thing, then listed them under each photo, then went back and estimated their value. It was tedious, but relatively pain-free. When the border agents see how thorough we are, they'll give us the okay to cross. If someone doesn't make the same effort, they start digging around, both physically and verbally.

Speaking of moving belongings, we're using Pods. We pack everything ourselves, load the Pod, they pick it up, it can then be stored in nearby Surrey, BC (at a cost) for as long as we need, it's accessible, and we have it all delivered when we buy a house and move in. Pods required and has a copy of the inventory list too.

I'm also shipping my i3 EV to Canada, where it will be held for us in Surrey. Our son has been through that process, and it's relatively painless. Paperwork is always the most annoying part, but we've done that. They pick up my car around May 25th, we leave the 26th.

Now on to the squishy, sentimental, cathartic portion of our program. I'll wait while you replenish your beverages:

Please pay attention to this part, because I repeatedly get warnings, as if I'm either naive or oblivious to what may be in store. I've been praised and I've been criticized for wanting to make this move. I explained most of that in Part 1. But to reiterate: We are well aware that no place is perfect, there's no utopia, there's no "safe" place, especially these days when authoritarianism is rampant globally. But we do feel safER for the moment, in Canada. They haven't yet caught up to our political nightmare, and OMG, they better wake up fast. ::coughPOILIEVREcough:: However, BC was a good option for us, at least until we feel less threatened back in the US of A. So we chose to make a change, to live our "golden" years surrounded by the beauty and welcoming friendliness of Port Moody.

But it was such a difficult choice. So very painful, yet also liberating. 

"Well, I'M staying and fighting!" people say to me. Well, I'm leaving and fighting, I say back. And oh, please do define "fighting." I'm not about to pick up my musket and shoot the Red Hats, now am I? I'm still pro-active, still vocal, still prolific to a fault on social media. 

So, no, nothing in that respect changes but our location. Mr. Laffy remotely continues his work on "Naked and Afraid" from Canada. I still rant and live-post the Trump trials. I bet nobody can tell where I'm typing from unless I reveal my surroundings, so not sure why I've been challenged about this so often. My political efforts remain uninterrupted and constant. I will continue to do exactly what I've been doing, only from a place that brings me more peace. I need some peace. We all need some peace. 

Leaving the US brings a lot of relief vis a vis the respite we get from the unrelenting wallops by American politics. Thankfully, and obviously, there are no Trump signs in Canada. We can breathe again. Crossing back into the US is culture-shock-slap-in-the-face brutal, inflicted by obscene, intrusive political and faux-religious signs, makeshift scrawls, banners, billboards, and even hideous "patriotic" novelty knickknacks sold in local diners. They reverberate, even weeks after the jarring offenders are hundreds of miles away.

What also reverberates are a lifetime of memories. And our walls. Our house now echoes when we speak, because everything is cleared out. It's surreal. And my mind now echoes with an onslaught of memories, some warm and some not so warm, but so many. God, there are so many. 

Now there will be new ones. 

It's sadly and oddly remarkable that I don't miss much when we're in Canada, probably because BC feels like home to me; many of my childhood vacations were spent there. Friends and family are now scattered all over the world, so we rarely see them. I will miss some things dearly, others notsomuch. By the way, the Metro Vancouver area (Port Moody is about 40 minutes east of Vancouver proper) is Americanized in many ways. 

Some random observations: 

• Physically, there's a kind of big, wide-open feeling in the US, more modern, whereas our Canadian location seems more European and close-knit, if that makes sense; a little more timeworn punctuated with lots of new, modern pockets sprouting up more and more.
• Canadians are amazingly nice, helpful, and endearing.
• I'll really miss barbecue-style restaurants.
• I really won't miss the dry landscape and lengthy heatwaves. I love being only 8 minutes from lakes, and being surrounded by forests, including bears and deer. I love the critters, despite the downsides.
• We're only minutes from Washington state if we need a US fix, so yay!
• I love the diversity. Where we live now (Thousand Oaks, CA area), mostly monochromatic.
• The restaurants are dee-lish.
• FRESH AIR. I will not miss L.A. smog.
• There are parks EVERYwhere, and most have little foresty areas that are gorgeous. They're called greenbelts. Most neighborhoods have greenbelts in Port Moody, another reason we chose that city. That and being part way up a mountain, surrounded by nature, just enough snow (about 2 weeks total if you count all the separate days, and it melts quickly).
• Port Moody is part of a tri-city area (along with Coquitlam and Port Coquitlam) so we have the best of all worlds, including being so close to Vancouver, lots of shopping, so convenient, everything at our fingertips.
• Between the cities, inlets, beach areas, rivers, lakes, forests, and rural areas, we're covered. Everything we need, want, cherish.
• Instead of supermarket packaging in Spanish and English, as it is in So. Calif., it's in French and English. I took French in high school, so it's a fun change.
• DOGS. There are dog-lovers everywhere, and I mean, EVERYwhere. They stop and chat. We see them on their walks, rain or shine. Shop owners have seen me waiting for Mr. Laffy outside with Hamilton (our mini Australian Labradoodle), and invite us IN. It's our version of paradise. 

This is an ENORMOUS upheaval, life-changing, scary, exciting, nerve-wracking, momentous, crazy-fun, sane, insane, comforting, invigorating, eye-opening, beauteous, strange, familiar, you name it. 

We're so ready for this move. I've accomplished nearly everything I've ever set out to do in the US, as has Mr. Laffy, we're lucky that way. I've had a comic strip run in papers all over the country, I've worked with major celebrities, I've had a stage and TV acting career, a writing career, a directing career. Hell, I directed f'ing Dick Van Dyke in a stage production for 2 years and performed improv comedy with f'ing Robin Williams! I nearly got hired as an animator at Disney by... Donald Duckwall! I've taught comedy to every age group from 5 to 75, at every level from grade school to college. So I'm certainly past looking for a career, been there, done that. I fell into political commentating accidentally, and can continue that seamlessly from BC. But still...

Still...

Leaving my home of eleventy-two decades makes me cry. 

It's a little like breaking up amicably. It hurts, but it feels right, the time is right. 

In response to some persistent questions, no, we're not running away, we're running TO. It's a sensation of being coaxed, not dragged. Trumpism/fascism assaulted us, sure, but Canada beckoned, and we said, "Why thank you, don't mind if we do." We could use a break. 

Let's call it out: We're old. We're counting on our next episode to provide us with a little less stress, a little more adventure and beauty. Our US home has started to drain us, and we can't afford that physically or mentally. Our new home will inevitably also be stressful, but in a different way, a more pleasant way... hopefully. So far, after living on and off in Port Moody for nearly two years, it's proved to be everything we'd hoped for.

So instead of raising an eyebrow, raise a glass. 

Here's to the next chapter. Cheers!

I’m Moving to Canada. Part Two: How?

 

I’m Moving to Canada. Part Two: How?

[Originally posted in December 2021] 

So many of you have asked such good questions about our move that I felt compelled to untangle everything I could for you. In Part One of this two-parter, I explained why we made the life-changing decision to become permanent residents of Canada. In this post, I’ll do my best to explain how we went about it, what it takes, and try to provide more answers to your questions. I’ll be going into painstaking detail, because my challenges may help you figure out solutions to yours.

Keep in mind, though, that every situation is different. There are so many factors involved, including age, financial situation, family members, jobs, costs, logistics, and way more that I can’t possibly address here. Part Two is how we did it based on our own requirements and needs. Yours will differ. But hopefully, I can offer a guideline or 12 that will help. I’m no expert, and I found the whole process a little confusing and unnecessarily complicated simply because the Canadian government site roadmaps were so unclear.

Seriously, it was like buying an Ikea product composed of a million parts with instructions that omitted the obvious, and you’re stressed before even opening the box. But once you figure it out, you look back and say, “It’s not that hard if someone would just tell you step-by-step what to do.”

And we even had a top immigration lawyer to navigate for us!

The entire process took 3 years or so. The first few months were figuring out how and what to do. The following 2+ years were actually doing it. Originally, it was supposed to take 2 years until we were processed. Then COVID happened and our lawyer told us it was upped to 30 months. Then 36 months. Then, magically, after just over 2 years, we found out our applications were finally being processed! We were told that once submitted, it would take 2 to 4 months to find out if we got in.

To our utter surprise, it took 2 days!

We made it in and we were stunned, ecstatic, scared, intimidated, and relieved. Now comes the part where we have to plan the move. We’re required to “visit” British Columbia within 6 months, which is fine because we already booked a trip for next June. Once we visit in June, the clock starts ticking: Starting as of that trip, we must live in Canada for 2 out of 5 years. Any increments will do: weeks, days, months, years, it’s up to us. If we fail to do that, our permanent resident status is revoked.

Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a problem, but we have specific personal issues to contend with: Mr. Laffy’s 95-year-old father lives here, and we won’t leave him. So our obstacles will include having to rent for a year to give us time to look for a place to buy, and doing that without living up there. We’ll be splitting our time so we can be with him. And we may not rent at all, we may just buy. Who knows? We’d like to hang onto our house, which we’ll need to sell in order to buy up there. See? I warned you in Part One this would be complicated.

And speaking of complicated, here comes the How part, the mechanics.

Let’s start from the beginning.

The very first thing we did was go here. And here. And here. And here. And here. After we did that, we looked like this:

Then a dear friend and Twitter pal (RIP Miss Myrtle) who lived in Vancouver sent along an article similar to this one (our lawyer is number 3 on the list, Ian Goldman). It costs a ton of money to hire an immigration lawyer. We needed one because there was no way we could do this on our own. We’re way past the age of people who Canada usually allows in, so we needed all the help and advice we could get. And we are so so fortunate that we could afford him.

There is a point system that the Canadian government uses to qualify you. Each and every little thing adds or subtracts points, like, as I said, age. Also, what you do for a living matters, because there are certain vocations that are in demand up there. You get points for those. Here’s a sample of a points list, but keep in mind, there is no “one list” that everyone uses. Ours was different than the one our twins will have to use.

For example, Mr. Laffy is a TV producer with a good income. We found out that the company that owns his show “Naked and Afraid” is based… in Canada! So we really lucked out. He got a letter we needed from the head of TV up there saying he could possibly get work based on some shows he could pitch to them, fulfilling a major requirement. Key words: “could possibly,” “could pitch.” There was no need to prove he would get a job in Canada, just that it was feasible, and we had to show proof of that.

Our twins, on the other hand, have to go back to college, even though they have their M.A.’s and careers and are in their 30s. Why? Because their easiest and best route is to attend classes for a year in order to get a one-year work permit. Or, they could go for 2 years and get a three-year work permit. Once they get the permit, they can hopefully find work. Once they find work, they can become permanent residents pretty easily. AND, as it turns out, their vocations are in demand. That’s our next hurdle, by the way: getting their ball rolling.

Another requirement: Taking an English exam. Nonono, it’s not your typical high school English test. Just because your first language is English doesn’t make it easy to score points. And remember, every point matters. No, this is more like taking an S.A.T. exam. It’s an all-day affair divided into several sections. One section consists of listening to a conversation between two not-American people, so their accents and colloquialisms (like “aught” instead of zero) are unfamiliar, making it difficult to understand some of what they’re saying. Then you have to answer a bunch of questions about what they said.

You also have to write an essay. Did I mention a one-on-one interview during which a subject is given to you and you have to expound? It may be an everyday subject, but you must go on and on as if you’re selling a product on QVC, during which they prod you along with questions. Then there’s another section in which you’re given a dense paragraph about a boring topic like some industry you’re unfamiliar with, and you have to answer questions. It’s a little like reading the Encyclopedia Britannica (I told you I was old).

Another major requirement is an FBI background check. We had to get fingerprinted. Twice. Well, to be more precise, I had to get mine done about 5 times because they didn’t “take.” I finally had to give up and write a letter explaining that this was common and show proof that I tried repeatedly. After we found out that we were finally being processed, we had to submit new ones (see end of post). FYI, mine finally “took” that time. Yay!

The background check also included all kinds of obscure documents and forms. We had to give them photos of our passports. I had to drive to downtown L.A. (an hour away) to get proof of my divorce from 1975! They ask you to provide the dates of deaths of parents (right down to the day, which I couldn’t remember easily). We had to pay a qualified, approved photographer to take photos that looked like mug shots that had to have very specific dimensions.

Of course, we had to cough up our tax returns and financial statements showing net worth (Hi, Trump!), and documentation of our education, from kindergarten through college.

There may have been more, but you get the idea.

Whew!

We sent all of those things to our lawyer, who tweaked some of it, or would ask us for letters of explanation or request some other odds and ends. He eventually submitted, and we waited.

And waited.

We waited for two-plus long, anxiety-filled years.

We took a trip to Canada in September/October 2021 to scout neighborhoods on the off-chance that we would be accepted. We found an excellent realtor and got to meet Lawyer Ian.

Both surpassed expectations. So did Port Moody, where we’ll make our home. And yes, our pup Hamilton loved Canada, and Canada loved him.

Last month we got word that they were finally processing us, but needed us to fill out yet another form, submit more fingerprints, and get yet another letter from Mr. Laffy’s work contact in Ontario. Everything was due on December 18th. If we missed that deadline, fuggetaboutit.

Last Thursday, December 16th, we found out they never received our fingerprints (thanks DeJoy). We scrambled (don’t ask) and got them scanned and sent electronically (vs ink) on Friday, December 17th. Done. Just in the nick of time.

Last Tuesday, December 21, 2021, we found out we got in. We. Got. In.

And with any luck, we’ll live happily ever after.

I know this saga was endless, but honestly, I get asked so many questions about so many details that I decided to be as thorough as I could. I truly hope this helps.

Now we’ll have two home countries to love, some peace of mind, and an amazing new adventure. Wish us luck.

UPDATE: The above post was originally written in December 2021. Since then, sadly, my father-in-law did pass away recently, and we’re now moving to Canada permanently in May 2024. Our sons are currently living in the Port Moody townhouse we leased in September 2022, going to classes for 2 years (see above), and will get their 3-year work permits. Meantime, both have jobs (having student permits allows them to work) but will have to find full-time work in order to help qualify for permanent residency status. We’ll sell our California house and hope to buy a new one in Port Moody, although there are VERY few available. 

Plus, in case all of this isn’t complicated enough, we’re required to be in Canada for 6 straight months (which we were unable to do while caring for Father-in-Law… We’d go up for a month at a time to satisfy our residency requirements, then come back down to be with him) in order to finally get an Medical Services Plan (MSP) card so that we can get a family doctor. And family doctors are in very short supply, have waiting lists, and finding one could take a year (health care is still available, via clinics and urgent care). Again, permanent residents do get free health care. The only thing we can’t do is vote. We’re still U.S. citizens. 

I could go on forever, but this is where I’ll stop… til next time (Part 3).

I’m Moving to Canada. Part One: Why?

 

I’m Moving to Canada. Part One: Why?

[This was originally posted in December 2021 and has been updated]

When George W. Bush frauded his way into the White House, I cried for two days. My twins watched me, and they didn’t understand why. I tried to explain to them why I was sad. Little did I know that my worst fears about a Bush presidency would be realized, and then some.

When Donald Trump duped 62,984,828 Americans into voting for him– 2,868,686 fewer votes than Hillary Clinton got– and somehow became the *shudder* President of the United States, I cried for two weeks straight. This time I knew what was coming. Hell, I knew what was coming in 2015 when The Former Guy opened his big racist mouth after his infamous escalator ride. But I was wrong. It was exponentially worse than I anticipated.

Both literally and figuratively, I haven’t stopped crying since 2016, not only because of the tragic disaster of November 8, 2016, but because of the inescapable, nagging feeling of impending doom after having observed the proliferation and increasing intensity of his rabid supporters.

Watching fellow Americans openly revere such a despicable misogynistic, racist, bigoted fraud, serial sexual assaulter, twice-impeached abysmal failure, inveterate liar, and criminal who disdains the same fawning lemmings who were/are stupid enough to fork out millions to keep him afloat in cash, is beyond disheartening. It’s downright scary. 

And now, after years of T.F.G.’s browbeating a willfully ignorant electorate and an obedient Republican Party while exploiting his giant Hitlerian, media-amplified mic, what’s left of  democracy is barely hanging on by a thread. Yikes.

Trump junkies– astonishingly including, our own members of Congress– are giving the finger to us and a thumbs up to the violent January 6th coup, winking and nodding at white supremacist domestic terrorists. (I can’t believe I’m typing these words.) Q-aNazis are openly salivating at the prospect of shooting people like you and me, gleefully fantasizing about murdering rational citizens who cherish our voting rights, our legal system, and a small-d democratic government. 

Because of the anti-democracy party, formerly known as the GOP, not only are our freedoms in peril, but so are our very lives. 

Which brings me to COVID. These very same zealots are also anti-science, something unimaginable to me only two years ago. They choose insane conspiracy theories, eating magic dirt, bleach injections, and self-imposed illness over life-saving vaccines. They choose death over masks. “Pro-life” my ass.

And this hardcore mania is not letting up. In fact, it’s getting worse. The crescendo of irrationality is overwhelming. Congressional Democrats who try to stop this lethal crisis-gush are being stopped cold by members of their own party. It’s hard to see how this ends well. I care so deeply about this country, and watching it writhe in distress is excruciating.

Like you, I’ve struggled emotionally, tried assiduously to remain optimistic, or at least somewhat hopeful, giving every benefit of the doubt to “the process,” to elected officials who are genuinely and actively trying to win this war. I’ve hung on every word from legal warriors like Marc Elias who go to court on our behalf to do everything in their power to save what’s left of our beautiful country. 

Sometimes they win. Marc Elias wins a lot. But he can’t win the war, only the battles. He’s said so himself. Republicans are trying to change current and future election outcomes. It’s up to Congress to make laws that can undo some of the damage, but… well… Manchin, Sinema, and of course, the anti-democracy party.

And let’s not forget the oodles of courts stacked with Trump judges that Elias and others are up against. Nor can we ignore the ultimate horrific nightmare that is the 6-3 Trump Supreme Court, who, as we speak, keeps chipping away at every gain we’ve made, whether it be voting rights, women’s rights, gay rights, civil rights, racial justice, economic equality, you name it. There’s no stopping them now, they’ve only just begun (bye-bye abortion and birth control).

I’m old, I’ve seen a lot. I’ve protested a lot. I’ve marched, demonstrated, and have been tear-gassed. I’ve written, vocalized, called, emailed, tweeted, used my voice on radio and podcasts for years and years. When I had a career as a comedy writer, director, actress, it never occurred to me that I’d end up as a political commentator and activist. Yet here I am and here we are. And right about now I, like many of you, am feeling pretty unheard, pretty impotent, and definitely not funny.

After decades of hopeful effort, it’s feelings of angst, anguish, frustration, and dread that stubbornly recur. It shouldn’t be like this. And it’s kind of maddening, because I’m generally pretty perky and goofy. But over the past few years, outrage and despondency are breaking and entering my thoughts, sleep, and well-being. Insecurity has loomed where comedy once romped. I miss feeling safe. I want my family to feel safe. 

I need a breather. I need to know there’s a place for us where open-carry isn’t a thing, where strident fanatics aren’t stopping traffic on my lovely, quiet neighborhood streets with their Trump-flag-adorned truck caravans. I need to know my neighbors don’t want to hurt me, do away with my Jewish family and gay children. I need a place where misguided hatred, violence, threats, and slavish devotion to a mentally unstable, vicious, vengeful, wannabe king aren’t around every corner. 

So.

A few years ago, we did it. We looked around, profoundly alarmed at what we saw, put aside our fretting, and took action. We applied for permanent residency in Canada. 

British Columbia, to be precise. 

Vancouver area to be more precise. 

Port Moody to be precisely precise. 

My family used to take month-long road trips to Canada starting when I was 6 years old. I love it there, always have. It’s a welcoming, friendly, gorgeous country, and, despite going from sunny Southern California to a rainier, cooler climate, we said Yes to moving. (Sidebar: To those who keep tweeting me about that, the area, with occasional exceptions, “has relatively mild winters with little snow.”) We can deal with rain and snow, we can’t deal with fascism. We can’t deal with the growing velocity of Hurricane Insurrection. And after many many conversations, lots of analysis, both self, practical, and political, we made the decision to take the plunge and apply. 

It’s one of the most momentous– at once exhilarating and agonizing– choices we’ve ever made. But it’s so worth it to have some peace of mind, a safe haven, a viable option, a sense of security.

No place is perfect. Canada sure isn’t. I’ve had my share of Twitter trolls and pals remind me of that. I’m aware. But at this stage of my life, I could use some comfort. My mental and physical health depend on it. It took every bit of courage and determination we had to make such a life-changing move. The challenges are enormous, but the rewards are too.

One of my (now former) Twitter followers accused me of being “cowardly” because he made the faulty assumption that I would no longer vote or engage politically. Wrong. We will still be U.S. citizens. We were accepted as permanent residents, not Canadian citizens. 

We’ll still vote in U.S. elections, I’ll still be sitting at my same computer, tweeting my little smart ass tweets, sharing breaking news, trying to inform, making bad jokes, playing Whack A Troll, ranting with my dear friend and host Nicole Sandler on her show, and fighting hard for democracy… from up north. And sometimes from the U.S. too. This is more complicated than it sounds.

And for those who are interested in why it’s complicated and the mechanics of achieving permanent residency in Canada, here's a link to "I’m Moving to Canada. Part Two: How?"

The Best New Thing in the World: I met Rachel Maddow last night

Rachel Maddow at "Drift" book signing in L.A. April 10, 2012-- "I read you every day!"

Last night, a few of my Twitter pals and I attended a Rachel Maddow book signing event in Los Angeles, where we picked up our copies of her book, Drift, and had a rare opportunity for a very brief encounter with her.

The entire night was a liberal fantasy-come-true. The event was held at a theater near Beverly Hills, filled to capacity, and featured Bill Maher and Rachel Maddow. Essentially, Bill Maher interviewed Rachel about her book, and the two of them couldn't have been more informative, charming, hilarious, and engaging. After about a half hour, Maher left and Rachel answered questions from the audience for another half hour or so.

Then came the book-signing, which was run like a well-oiled machine in that, after waiting in a very long line, a crew of about 5-10 people, with assembly-line efficiency, took each book as we neared the table, passed it to the next staff member who passed it to Rachel, who took a moment to say hello, and then off we were scuttled to keep the process moving quickly.

I didn't quite know what to say to Rachel in the few seconds that anyone really had to say anything, so I said, "Hi! I don't know if you'd know me, but you follow me on Twitter. I'm GottaLaff."

What happened next was stunning to me, because, come on, out of the thousands she's meeting every day, I'm surprised she hasn't become as robotic as Willard Romney. But she stopped cold, sat up straight, threw her arms up in the air, smiled, and said something like (it all went so fast, I could barely remember, but my friends--particularly @Nay731-- witnessed and confirmed this account), "Oh my god, of course! HI!" I'm pretty sure she reached across the table to shake my hand, and continued, very enthusiastically:

"I read you every day! When I go to my Twitter stream and see your tweets, I always make sure to stop and read them! I love your stuff, you always get it exactly right!"

My jaw literally dropped. I said something moronic like, "Wow! You made my... MONTH!" at which she laughed and said something else that I can't recall because someone to my left was talking to me. So I gave one of my favorite Twitter friends, Jamil Smith, a former segment producer on The Maddow Show, a shout out, turned around to see who was speaking to me, and was I startled to see TRMS producer, Bill Wolff (@ProducerGuy1) an inch or so away!

I nearly fell over when he said something like, "Thank you so much for coming tonight! You were one of three I wanted to see here (he named @Ali_Davis and @PourMeCoffee as the other two)! He also gave me mad props, which puzzled me because he doesn't follow me on Twitter, and I was more than a little surprised that he valued my attendance, or even knew who I was! [UPDATE: Bill Wolff, aka Producer Guy, did, indeed, just follow me. He thought he already had, and didn't realize he wasn't a follower until he read this post. This story just keeps getting better, and I am so grateful and honored.]

At that point, I was so grateful and overwhelmed that I went completely fangirly and asked him for a hug. I'm happy to report that he was more than willing, and we had our blissful Moment of Embrace...

... which was abruptly ended when Security Guy told me to move along. Which I did... reluctantly.

The entire encounter had me floored.

Here is a woman, someone who so many admire (I'm at the top of that list), someone who is as good at teaching as she is at making us smile, someone who is never afraid to face off with her political opponents, who is not the least bit hesitant to correct herself when she makes an error, someone who is widely admired by the admirable... and it was she and her executive producer who were generously making us feel as if we were the important ones.

And that, as ephemeral as it was, is my Best New Thing in the World. 

Call to action: Twitter needs to use its power to stop graphically abusive accounts

 

  Warning: Some of the images in this post are not safe for work. 

Twitter is an open forum for anyone who wants to tweet their mind. That's great. I partake in a big way. But when I get tweets-- daily, hourly, sometimes piling on one after the other-- that are abusive, insulting, viciously demeaning, hostile, and sometimes violent, then it's time to take action.

Twitter sure doesn't. I know that for a fact, because I've tried over and over again to convince them that in some cases, it stops being free speech and starts feeling like assault.

 [NOTE: This post is not about cyber bullies, although they, too, are abusive; I've been harassed and smeared for years by one "progressive" who many of you became aware of and have since avoided. This is about extremist trolls, who also happen to bully.]

I regularly hear from right wing extremists, tea partiers, and total nutcases (that's not hyperbole, there are some very sick people out there). When they're civil, I simply ignore or block them, and even debate them once in awhile. And yes, I admit to succumbing to occasional lapses of playing Whack a Troll just to share their ignorance with my followers, using as much snarky mockitude as I can muster up.

But then there are those who pop in repeatedly to suggest various activities that they want me to engage in-- with my own body or theirs-- and apply colorful words like c**t and suck my c**k, simply because they've read my tweets and don't agree with me. I don't know these people nor am I familiar with their accounts, but they get some kind of perverse pleasure out of following my threads and entering my stream with slurs, attacks, and irrational tirades.

Almost without exception, these trolls oppose me politically, and that's fine. But the intense hatred spewed by many of them is disruptive, highly offensive, and completely out of line.

There is a particularly rabid one who should be in jail or in a padded cell-- again, no hyperbole. If I were to post screen grabs of his avatars, messages, and profile photos, you'd literally want to gag. My own husband couldn't get through them. Unfortunately, catching sight of them is unavoidable when they're in my stream or when I go to block and report.

Imagine the most frantically vile, graphic images depicting blatant racism, anti-Semitism, misogyny, bigotry, and self-loathing. They include explicit close-up photos of defecation and the most hard-core XXX porn you can imagine, abominable references, every kind of debasement of women and young men, degrading photos of celebrities and our president and first lady, you name it.

And the crude, twisted tweets he sends me match the vulgar visuals. He has also opened accounts using my likeness (taken from my Twitter account), as well as those of other high-profile liberals like Rachel Maddow, Lizz Winstead, John Fugelsang, Bill Maher, and Rosie O'Donnell, among others.

In short, he is an obsessed, deranged, seething, hostile, psychologically impotent (and likely, physically) conservative coward who consistently targets progressives, mostly women. Here are semi-cleaned up, edited grabs of two of his tamer suspended accounts. Trust me when I say, they get much worse than these:

Here is one of his defunct profile pages

A tweet he sent out under my name and avi

This is one reason I stay anonymous. It started when a stalker came to close, sending me a Google map of my neighborhood, so that was that.

This person has been suspended well over 500 times. I've reported him to Twitter well over 100 times, and finally contacted my local authorities as well as the FBI more than once. But because he didn't threaten my life, they did nothing. As I type this, he's added at least three more Twitter accounts that I'm aware of.

I've endured this for years, literally. Because of this, I felt it was time to put out a call to action. Perhaps if enough of us demand more oversight from Twitter, especially those of us who are sick to death of being barraged with disgustingly offensive messages and photos, then maybe Twitter will take notice and do something.

It's unimaginable that they can't devise a better system to rid Twitter of such filth.

By the way, when I tried to fill out one of their complaint forms, I didn't have a link to the offending tweet, so the form wouldn't go through. I didn't have a link because I blocked him, and the account was immediately suspended so the tweet was no longer accessible. So I'm snail mailing them, and I'm including about two dozen graphic screen shots of 93 of the suspended profiles I've captured.

Here is the tweet:

"I'd like to take a 12 in figurine of a smiling G W. Bush and ram it up your stinking communist ass."

Please share this post and contact Twitter. It's worth a shot to at least try to turn things around for once. I'm fed up with having to so much as glance at the malignancies that come my way.

Thank you.

Twitter contact information:

Twitter, Inc. 1355 Market St, Suite 900 San Francisco, CA 94103

And to Twitter users, some general contact info, not that it will do much good:

@Support

@Twitter

@Spam

To file a ticket, go here.

To report an abusive or offensive user, go here.

UPDATE: Here is a sample letter sent by one of my favorite commenters:

Twitter, Inc 1355 Market St., Suite 900 San Francisco CA 94103

Attn: Dick Costolo, CEO

Dear Sir:

I’ve become more and more alarmed by the threatening, harassing tweets bombarding people like GottaLaff and urge you to take them seriously. One man who sends one tweet after another threatening her, even sending her a map of her neighborhood, forced her to resort to using a pseudonym on Twitter and he still doesn’t stop.

Spam is bad enough but when one is verbally bashed and/or threatened it is not to Twitter’s benefit and such tweets should not be ignored. Just reporting or blocking them isn’t sufficient to stop their abuse; they simply open a new account under a different name - as you know.

Surely Twitter can trace an account back to an IP address and demand that they cease such dangerous behavior. I understand that tweets can be sent from IP addresses that are used by many people (at cafes, for instance) but there is such a thing as product liability. I’m urging you to hold the owners of such IP addresses responsible for the damage their users do. Even bar owners who serve people after they are drunk are held responsible for the damage their customers do.

I’ve enjoyed Twitter for a few years and want to continue to do so but such threatening behavior makes a pleasant experience completely abhorrent and there’s a limit to the amount of such behavior I, and others, will accept.

Please develop a policy to identify & ban such people from the Twitter feed.