The Road Years Quotes

“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.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“Over the last thirty years, I don't think I have ever visited Ottawa and not taken a stroll around the buildings for a gawk. If you find yourself in the nation's capital on a fine, brisk day, I recommend you walk across the Alexandria Bridge over the Ottawa River to Quebec. From there, you will get the greatest view: the back of the buildings, even more magnificent than the front, and they jut out dramatically over the river's escarpment. Also, from this angle you see the beauty that is the Parliamentary Library.
I feel about these buildings the way some people feel about sunsets. The way Justin Trudeau feels about mirrors. I can gaze at them all day.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“The Hill has always been one of my all-time favourite places. Not because of the people who sit in Parliament. Those I can take or leave. My affinity for the place is all about the bricks and the mortar - not the pricks and the mortals.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“But I will say this: one of the drawbacks to life in Toronto is that it is very hard to escape. It's possible. But for the most part, if you want to get out, it means taking your life in your hands and travelling on Highway 400.
Ontario is Canada's largest and most populated province, Toronto the country's largest city, so it is only fitting that Toronto has a modern highway that functions as a racetrack filled with millions of cars that act as if they're fleeing for their lives. Before you hop on the 400 and go for a spin, it's a good idea to get your affairs in order.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“I once said to her on the phone, "Jann, this group of kids in Newfoundland have won a spot at a rock camp showcase in Madrid. They are fundraising. They need to raise ten thousand more dollars if they are going to make the trip."
Before I could finish talking, she said, "Okay, I'll give them five grand, you do the same, and it's done, easy."
I answered, "I was going to suggest we sign a picture for them for their auction."
Thanks to Jann, they made the trip. She changed the lives of a group of teenage rock and rollers that she didn't know.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“But it was a great day for Stephen Harper the man. Because on that day he made the difficult and personal decision to come out and reveal his true self. And by doing so, he learned that the people who were the most important to him, those who loved him, his base, would accept him for who he was.
A piano-playing elitist.
Disturbing? Yes. A dealbreaker? No.
They decided to hate the sin, not the sinner. He survived the duet.
And in certain circles, it was never mentioned again.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“It takes hard work and mad skills - the exception being Justin Trudeau, who only had to remain upright. His becoming prime minister was predetermined the moment he was born on Christmas Day 1971.
In many ways Trudeau is like the Harry Potter of Canada's natural governing party. Powerful forces inside the Liberal Laurentian elite, forces we muggles could never understand, used magic and Quebec to give him the keys to the prime minister's office. No amount of blackface or condensation could stop that from happening.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“Prime minister of Canada. Can you imagine a better job?”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“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 it. I did turn off the light over the porch every Earth Day, and I proudly tweeted about it, but it was time to up my game.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“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.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“But legend has it that when Sir John, or JohnJohn as he was known to friends, signed the country into existence, he eloquently defined what it meant to be a Canadian. Unfortunately, the next day, crippled from the sauce, nobody could remember what it was he said. "I remember it was jolly good," said Sir Edward Barron Chandler. "Mais oui," said Sir Jean-Charles Chapais. "Magnifique!" They then had a round of straighteners and started all over again.
The answer to what it means to be Canadian was lost to the ages.
For his part Macdonald had no recollection of signing anything important, let alone saying anything profound. In fact, he only learned he'd helped form a country when he read about it in a day-old newspaper on the train home. That's a hell of a thing to find out you've done while you're nursing a hangover. Also, he was missing a shoe.
Personally, I blame this prime ministerial blackout for the fact that, 150 years later in 2004, nobody had answered the question yet.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“For those of you with a passing memory of grade-school history, our so-called founding fathers signed Canada into existence in 1867. The location was Prince Edward Island. A bloat of prosperous men from all over British North America came together and, fortified with a ridiculous amount of liquor, they argued and drank until a country was born.
It was not an immaculate conception; it was a messy one.
Modern-day Canada prides itself on being a diverse nation, and the Fathers of Confederation were no slouches in that department. There were many shades of white and a variety of English accents. Diversity was encouraged as long as everyone was Protestant. Rumours persist that there were a few Irish Catholics in the mix. If true, they kept their lifestyle on the downlow.
The man at the centre of the founding bender was Sir John A. Macdonald. He would go on to become Canada's first and drunkest prime minister. After we was sworn in for the first time, he was asked what is the most he ever spent on a bottle of whiskey. His answer? Forty-five minutes.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“In my early comedy days, I made loads of fun of this guy. "The Spicer Commission spent millions of dollars," I declared, "they produced five phone books' worth of paper - and they still didn't answer the question." I added: "Our founding fathers would have been appalled."
This was back in the day when you could use the term "founding fathers" and not get hissed at.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .

“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.”
― Rick Mercer, The Road Years: A Memoir, Continued . . .