Oh Canada

Sometime this week, the BYE blog passed the 10,000 mark in page views since I began tracking traffic to this corner of the webiverse. That's not an impressive number compared to gazillions of other websites out there, but it's a milestone for me and it means that a lot of people have played a role in making this my Best Year Ever.

Thank you. I'm frankly shocked and humbled that anyone other than me ever reads this thing.

It's cold and gloomy in Suburbingham today. Spring teased us and now has slipped back into hiding. The chill in the air lends inspiration to today's subject.

If you read yesterday's exploration of social media, you may have noticed the picture of Howie Mandel I selected to illustrate the post. Most of you saw the picture and thought "that's Howie Mandel, the game show host." Some of you thought "that's Howie Mandel, the comedian." A few of you may have thought "that guy looks kind of familiar, I wonder who he is."

But there's a contingent of Discerning Readers who saw the picture yesterday and had a different thought: "that's Howie Mandel, Canadian."

Canadians comprise the third largest delegation in the BYE League of Nations, lagging only the US and the UK in discerning readership. And the Canadians who come here are faithful readers. They lurk anonymously and never leave comments, but I've noticed many of the same obscure Canadian towns pop up regularly on my map of blog visitors.

Even though Canada shares its border with the United States and our cultures are quite similar, Canada is its own country. This will come as a surprise to a number of Americans.

Canadians are more polite than Americans, by and large, and they seem to be so darn nice to everyone. Everyone except Ann Coulter, that is. Some students at the University of Ottawa weren't nice at all to her this week, raising a very un-Canadian stink and causing Ms. Coulter to back out of a public appearance for security reasons. This simultaneously demonstrated both a marked lack of respect for free speech and excellent taste on the part of the protesters.

Canadians have a laid-back and self-deprecating sense of humor. Any people that refers to their currency as loonies knows how to laugh at themselves.

Even though they don't often bubble over with the same "we're number one" kind of patriotic fervor that we sometimes exhibit south of the border, Canadians are fiercely proud of their nation--in a quiet and polite way, of course.

The best way to see Canadian pride on display is to watch television with one. It won't take long before a son or daughter of the Great White North will appear on the screen, and your Canadian friend will mention in passing that the person is also Canadian. It's a charming verbal tic and fun to see. They do it every time. They just can't help themselves.

Imagine an American watching television with a German friend (the fourth largest delegation on the blog, by the way) and insisting on pointing out every American actor on the screen. It doesn't happen. First of all the American would be wrong since half of time he would be wrongly identifying Canadians as Americans. And second, the annoyed German would have pummeled the American into submission by the first commercial break.

Avril Lavigne, Canadian. Pamela Anderson, Canadian. Ditto Shania Twain, Jim Carrey, Keanu Reeves, Meg Tilly, Caroline Rhea, Dan Ackroyd, William Shatner, Tommy Chong, Alex Trebek, Paul Shaffer, James Cameron, Michael Buble, Nelly Furtado, Leslie Nielsen, Morley Safer, and the list goes on and on.

You may not have known that all of these people are Canadian, but, trust me, your Canadian friend did.

The second best way to see Canadian patriotism on display is to raise the subject of beer. Try it. You'll see.

Quebec is my favorite Canadian province. It's beautiful there, and Montreal and Quebec City are two of the great cities of the world. I like to think of Quebec as France with training wheels. They speak a variant of French there, but everyone is also fluent in English. If a Quebecois (did I get that right?) thinks you're from Ontario, he or she may pretend not to speak English (don't ask me to explain why, it's a long story), but when they find out you're American, they're generally happy to break out the Anglais for you when you get stuck.

The first time Teri and I crossed an international border together it was into New Brunswick, Canada. This was the pre-9/11, pre-Homeland Security era. I miss those days. We were spending a week driving around Maine when I noticed that we were right on the Canadian border. On a lark we decided to cross the border to make this an exotic international vacation. We didn't have our passports with us--we didn't even own passports back then. Not a problem.

We crossed the border at a sleepy little town named St. Andrews. The border guard looked a lot like John Candy (Canadian), and we had the following conversation as we pulled up to his guardhouse in the rental car and I presented my Louisiana driver's license.

"What is your business in Canada, Mr. and Mrs. Henley?"

"We don't have any business in Canada. We just want to say we've been there."

"Well, you're honest then," he said laughing. "You don't have any guns or bombs or anything like that now, do ya?"

"Nope, we left all that stuff at home."

"Welcome to Canada sir. Have a nice day."

I have a feeling that if I crossed the border at St. Andrews today, the experience might be a little different, and that's a shame.

Our first exotic international trip was a huge success. After asking around, we ended up visiting a very nice nearby aquarium. While at the aquarium, we had a pleasant chat with some friendly Canadians, but the conversation didn't end well.

Nice Canadians: "Do you mind if we ask you two a question?"

Hank and Teri: "Go right ahead."

Nice Canadians: "What do Americans really think of Canada?"

Hank and Teri (simultaneously): "We don't."

Insert awkward silence.

True stories.

Have a wonderful weekend!