So, I blame this one on Liam. Or, Stone. Or, Pebble. Whoever you are, you've got me thinking.

I really feel Canadian, and yet I'm not quite sure what that means. At work, when I'm given American money, I'm a little proud about how much prettier ours is. I love the people I've met here, the family I have in this country, our arts communities and Rick Mercer. Especially Rick Mercer.

But, and this is a biggun, I remember being in school and being told we would be reading a Canadian novel, watching a Canadian film or having to do a project on Canadian history. I think every person who went through those classes with me sometimes felt like we were being beaten with a huge maple leaf-shaped mallet:
CA - NA - DA! CA - NA - DA! CA - NA -DA!

A friend remarked once, "It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't try to sell it to us like, Can Con is good for you. It didn't work for spinach." And it is true. In school, at least, it seemed like showing us work by Canadians was the stuff you had to get to before dessert.

I don't feel the same way now. I listen to the CBC, read from Canadian papers, and am happy to discover new novels with a Canadian pedigree. Just as long as it isn't trying to be something it isn't, or if it is trying too hard. Both really rub me the wrong way. Whatever art is, it should be genuine. If there is so much intellectual scaffolding, the truth of the art can get lost. And it just becomes obnoxious.

I am on a time crunch at the moment, so I'll just finish this briefly: let's try and be ourselves. Whatever the hell that is. As soon as something gets to be really forced or deliberate, then it loses something. I know there are a lot of holes in what I've just written, and Possible Reader, if you see fit to stick something in one of them, go right ahead.