On this, our national holiday, emotions cascade like the rivers flowing over, around and under. In our canoe, paddles flashing in our hands, a beer balanced on a rib between our knees through the white water, it is easy to produce this one québécois man gushing, thinking, writing. Although it’s not easy to write in a canoe brimming with joie de vivre! It’s not hard to share a beer, a smile, laughs with friends. What’s not to love? The nation. Such relief to think of Canada far away, receding into the distance; such a pleasure to feel the tribal love, the kisses and caresses, the irritation I bring from another place; such a horror to watch an abstraction called Québec in the papers or on TV. This I, now quebecois and sovereignist because I live in this part of the world where everyone who is pissed off and happy, a combination I can’t resist, is likely to be a Quebecer and a sovereignist. There are those everywhere who are happy to be pissed off; not whom I’m talking about here. Or, I will for a minute just to say that there are the politicians and corporate media consumers who desperately serve the one percent machinery of their convenient nations, whichever one, feeding on fear in the tribal gut. Oh, resist, paddle, sing, laugh, love, and pass the bottle all around – une grosse cinquante si vous plait, what the hell, unless, of course, you have a micro-brew on tap.