Canadians in general get a bad rap. Which is strange; I’ve as yet to meet a Canadian I did not like.
To be fair, I’ve only traveled extensively through British Columbia and Vancouver Island. It is conceivable then that I’ve yet to encounter the Canadian equivalent of our New Yorker, that the average citizen of Blackhead, Newfoundland, makes your New Yorker look like one of those irrationally exuberant Munchkins that greeted Dorothy and Toto.
There may well be northernmost Brahmins in Toronto that sneer down their ski ramp noses at their Boston inferiors. I don’t know. I just know I’ve never met a rude or inconsiderate Canadian. And certainly not one I wanted to kill.
Oh, on occasion I’ve wanted to stuff a sock in Keanu Reeves’ mouth and I’m still undecided as to the worth, not to mention sanity, of the meta- meta-automaton that is Bill Shatner these days. As for Celine Dion, well…
But these are minor quibbles, easily forgotten once you remember that Canada has also given us The Cowboy Junkies, Neil Young, Alex Tebek, Leslie Nielsen, William Gibson and a host of others. Hell, Shannon Tweed alone made late 80s cable palatable; were it up to me the whole of Canada would get a Get Out of Rendition Camp FREE card just for that.
Then take into consideration that Canada has not turned out a George Bush or Dick Cheney analogue.
Make that two Get Out of Rendition Camp FREE cards.
So, yeah, when Canada foists a prepubescent teen on us as the next singing “sensation”, I say cut them some slack, okay? Soon enough the kid will grow, his balls will drop, his voice will alter and he’ll fade away into whatever wormy woodwork exists for past-their-prime prima donnas.
No need, certainly, to put out a contract on the guy, much less go after his junk with a pair of garden shears. That’s just cold.