And the truth is, like all Canadians, I was deeply concerned about the plight of the planet. Also, like most Canadians, I rarely did anything about i… - Rick Mercer

There is an expression in Ottawa that every member of Parliament believes they should be in cabinet and every member of cabinet thinks they should be prime minister. The exception is any member of Parliament from Newfoundland. They go to bed at night thinking they should be ambassador to Ireland.
What a job it would be, lying around the fancy house in Dublin, representing the not very pressing interests of Canada in the land of your forefathers. The spare bedroom in the house would be filled with a steady stream of relatives and old high school buddies hell-bent on having a party and finding out where their great-grandparents are buried. The best Newfoundland musicians would be at the embassy, hobnobbing with their fiddle-playing Irish counterparts. The kitchen parties would be epic.
Mother Ireland. The Emerald Isle. The Land of Saints and Scholars.
She's easy on the eyes and hard on the liver.

What does it mean to be a Canadian? Not only is it a wildly pretentious way to start a book, it is also a question that has beguiled us since day one.
Canada has been called a lot of things. We have been called one of the world's greatest democracies. We have been called a shining beacon of hope for those fleeing tyranny. Readers of the Toronto Star will know us as an evil construct built on the shame that is colonialism.
And, of course, we have been called stunningly beautiful and a terrible place to winter.
We are nothing if not self-deprecating. We pride ourselves on not taking ourselves too seriously.

A few years back I wrote a memoir.
It was a hell of a story - a gripping tale of how a young man overcame a privileged middle-class upbringing, only to become a national treasure by telling Americans that Canada was going to legalize insulin.