Last weekend, when browsing in one of Victoria's many bookstores, I came across a book entitled 'How to be a Canadian'. I felt obliged to purchase the book in order to learn more about this country I've fallen in love with and its people. Already, I had encountered differences between Canadians and Australians, generally in the vocabulary used to describe everyday items - sweater (jumper), washroom (loo), pop (soft drink), candy (lollies), toque (beanie) and perhaps the most confusing of all is the use of the word 'thong'. When I first arrived here and wanted to know about the dress code for a certain place, I frequently received looks of confused horror when I asked "Are thongs okay?"
So, the purchase of 'How to be a Canadian' has cleared up some of the vocabulary issues and also provided endless laughs (particularly after a long evening of studying). The book is neatly divided into all sorts of categories such as:
- Canada: A Rich Tapestry (Who to Hate and Why) ... How to Mingle with Canadians
- A Cross Canada Tour ... How to Get Lost
- Canadian Cuisine (and How to Avoid It) ... How to Eat Like a Canadian
- Mating Rituals ... How to Be as Romantic as a Canadian
- Art and Stuff ... How to Be as Cultured as a Canadian
- Progressive Conservatives, Responsible Government and Other Oxymorons ... How to Rule Like a Canadian
The book is written by two brothers, Will and Ian Ferguson, who have an incredibly clever and funny way of writing. As I read, I find myself laughing out loud and marking pages that are particularly amusing ... I'm not sure that C. finds it quite as funny when I read aloud to him when he is reading his own book. Thanks to reading this book, I've been introduced to all sorts of weird Canadian things like curling, the use of the word 'eh?', toques and Bob and Doug McKenzie (click here to see Bob and Doug discussing two Canadian staples - back bacon and long underwear - on their 1980s show 'Great White North')
I can't really speak so highly of the book without sharing some snippets with you, so here are some hints on how to be a Canadian, courtesy of the Ferguson brothers ...
On the use of the word 'eh' ... '
Eh?' is what separates Canadians from the unwashed, envious hordes outside their national boundaries. (You know who you are.) 'Eh?' is the secret password, the cross Canadian countersign, a two-letter, single-syllable symphony that takes years of diligent study to master. It must flow naturally into the sentence. It must never stand out, never call attention to itself - and yet must remain inextricably linked to the harmonious whole. It should trip melodiously off the tongue. "Howzit goin', eh?"
Canada's multilayered, contextual use of 'eh?' is often compared to the American use of 'huh?'. This is erroneous. Americans don't have what it takes to wield and 'eh?'. That may sound harsh, but it is true. The authors of this book have a whole slew of thick-tongued, slack-jawed American cousins who have never mastered the intricacies of end consonants. Simple sentences like "That was priddy good, eh?" come out as one extended vowel movement: 'Thaa wuh raal guh, huh?"
On curling (the ultimate Canadian sport - pass through any small Canadian town and you can't miss the numerous signs to the curling rink) ...
Canadians invented it (maybe), developed it (certainly) and refined it (the shot clock and the drunken bonspeil (a tournament) and Canadians are the best in the world at it. Forget hockey. Curling is the answer. Curling is the cure. Curling is Canada.
And what is curling exactly? It is a sport of great skill in which players compete to see who can drink the most and still stand on ice. Even better, it is a completely democratic undertaking. Anyone can play, regardless of physique, ability or sheer slothfulness. In what other sport can you drink and smoke while playing the game? Even bowlers have to occasionally put down their glass of beer and butt out their cigarette in order to participate. Curlers do not. In fact, curling is the only sport in the world where you can win while you are taking a leak. True story. The 2000 championship was won while the team captain was in the can. Seriously. So don't say that curling isn't heroic.
And exciting? Whoo-boy. It's a game of inches. It's psychologically compelling. Imagine a chess game played on ice, with non-stop moments of excitement. Or moments of great inertia, broken intermittently with some action, or ... well, okay, it's basically the same game as shuffleboard. Only on ice. If you aren't familiar with shuffleboard, it's the game you sometimes see in Canadian bars and taverns where you slide little disks back and forth on a surface that's occasionally sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. Closest disk to the centre gets a point. Same thing with curling, only on a larger scale.
On beer ...
A sociologist - particularly an incompetent one - might explain the Canadian affinity for beer something like this: For all its tourist-brochure-encoded imagery of majestic mountains and rugged malamutes, Canada is a hopelessly middle-class, surburban nation whose average citizens couldn't pick a moose out of a police lineup. If Canadian society were an actor, it would be described as having 'bland good looks'. The Kevin Costner of nations, that's us.
I can't really speak so highly of the book without sharing some snippets with you, so here are some hints on how to be a Canadian, courtesy of the Ferguson brothers ...
On the use of the word 'eh' ... '
Eh?' is what separates Canadians from the unwashed, envious hordes outside their national boundaries. (You know who you are.) 'Eh?' is the secret password, the cross Canadian countersign, a two-letter, single-syllable symphony that takes years of diligent study to master. It must flow naturally into the sentence. It must never stand out, never call attention to itself - and yet must remain inextricably linked to the harmonious whole. It should trip melodiously off the tongue. "Howzit goin', eh?"
Canada's multilayered, contextual use of 'eh?' is often compared to the American use of 'huh?'. This is erroneous. Americans don't have what it takes to wield and 'eh?'. That may sound harsh, but it is true. The authors of this book have a whole slew of thick-tongued, slack-jawed American cousins who have never mastered the intricacies of end consonants. Simple sentences like "That was priddy good, eh?" come out as one extended vowel movement: 'Thaa wuh raal guh, huh?"
On curling (the ultimate Canadian sport - pass through any small Canadian town and you can't miss the numerous signs to the curling rink) ...
Canadians invented it (maybe), developed it (certainly) and refined it (the shot clock and the drunken bonspeil (a tournament) and Canadians are the best in the world at it. Forget hockey. Curling is the answer. Curling is the cure. Curling is Canada.
And what is curling exactly? It is a sport of great skill in which players compete to see who can drink the most and still stand on ice. Even better, it is a completely democratic undertaking. Anyone can play, regardless of physique, ability or sheer slothfulness. In what other sport can you drink and smoke while playing the game? Even bowlers have to occasionally put down their glass of beer and butt out their cigarette in order to participate. Curlers do not. In fact, curling is the only sport in the world where you can win while you are taking a leak. True story. The 2000 championship was won while the team captain was in the can. Seriously. So don't say that curling isn't heroic.
And exciting? Whoo-boy. It's a game of inches. It's psychologically compelling. Imagine a chess game played on ice, with non-stop moments of excitement. Or moments of great inertia, broken intermittently with some action, or ... well, okay, it's basically the same game as shuffleboard. Only on ice. If you aren't familiar with shuffleboard, it's the game you sometimes see in Canadian bars and taverns where you slide little disks back and forth on a surface that's occasionally sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. Closest disk to the centre gets a point. Same thing with curling, only on a larger scale.
On beer ...
A sociologist - particularly an incompetent one - might explain the Canadian affinity for beer something like this: For all its tourist-brochure-encoded imagery of majestic mountains and rugged malamutes, Canada is a hopelessly middle-class, surburban nation whose average citizens couldn't pick a moose out of a police lineup. If Canadian society were an actor, it would be described as having 'bland good looks'. The Kevin Costner of nations, that's us.
Understandably, most Canadian would rather cling to an outdated stereotype: that of the rough-and-ready, frontier-bred Canadian, big of heart and blue of collar - an outdoorsy, affable, individualistic yet law-abiding, broad-chested guy. Beer, then, is a psychological prop in this national lumberjack role-playing game. A totemistic touchstone if you will. So you can see just how incompetent a sociologist would have to be to come up with such a theory. (We're sure glad we didn't suggest it).
No. The Canadian fetish for beer goes deeper than mere role-playing. Much deeper. It springs from the dark, musty, mildewed corners of the national psyche. It strikes at the very heart of the Great Canadian Inferiority Complex vis-a-vis (who else?) the Americans. Simply put, brewing beer is one of the few things that Canadians do better than Americans. Which may also explain the irresistible attraction between beer and curling.
On popular music ...
If we're going to talk about popular music, let's talk about music that is really popular. Let's talk country. Let's talk western. With Shania Twain shaking the charts, we at the HTBAC Institute thought we would jump on the bandwagon as well. (And with a name like 'Shania Twain', she didn't have much of a choice, did she? What else could she be, except a country and western singer? "Hello, I'll be your neurosurgeon today. The name's Twain, Shania Twain" Can't see it.) Country music is about cheatin' and drinkin' and runnin' around, and not enjoying any of it. The songs have titles like "Rocking Chairs and Tomatoes - That Bernice Canned for Me" and "Why Don't you Love Me Like I Loved You Before?"
Other styles of popular music include Cape Breton fiddle tunes. Or rather 'tune'. There is only one Cape Breton fiddle tune in existence. It goes like this: 'diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-dee' (repeat).
And then there is the Canadian crooner song, as exemplified by a strange stick-insect woman from Quebec who shall remain nameless (Celine Dion). Once Celine latches onto a note, you can't shake her off. She's like a Rottweiler on a kitten. She will hold that note forever and squeeze it like a lemon, until she wrings out every ounce of overwrought emotion possible. "I neeeeeeeeed you, I feeeeeeeeeeeeeel youuuuuuuuuuuuuu'. It can take Celine upwards of two days to finish a song. Heck, she's still trying to wrap up her performance at the Millennium Concert (Remember that? In Celine's mind, the dawn of the Second Millennium was of less significance that the fact that Celine was - ohmygod! - retiring. At least for now.)
Celine Dion is, of course, a mutant. (That was her in the opening scene of the X-Men movie.) No real human being can sing like that. For average slobs, the musician of choice is Bryan Adams - who has been around, by our calculations, since forever. If you want to become a star in Canada, you could do worse than follow Bryan's shining example. How to write a Bryan Adam's song? Simple. Only three elements are needed: crashing, over-the-top guitar riffs; a loud raspy voice: and lyrics stuffed full of cliches. Also note Bryan's clever use of 'gonna' and 'wanna.' Every song Mr. Adams has ever written contains the word 'gonna' or 'wanna' somewhere in the lyrics. Hence, the Ultimate Bryan Adams Song would be titled ... 'I'm Gonna Wanna Gonna Go.' Most depressing thought of this entire chapter? Unlike virtually every other artist in Canada, Bryan Adams has relied solely on his talent. As far as we know, he never received a single Canada Council grant, nor did her benefit from any of the CRTC's parochial Can-content laws. Bryan became a huge international star purely on the strength of his music. He's a 'people's star.' In other words, it's all your fault.
So, there you have it - a small (okay, so maybe I got carried away on the sharing front) introduction to how you can become a Canadian. Next on my reading list is 'Why I Hate Canadians' by Will Ferguson.
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