Speaking of killing Yanks, I miss Nova Scotia:

Again, the English usage (mostly the nautical jargon) is fantastic. Atlantic English is something different again. Alcohol is the key: Drink with Acadian chicks and the sons of rural families. You get code-switched sentences like, “Moment! J’alle au the gas station pour acheter gas for my truck” and usage that’s just not understandable “Alex! Alex! Tell me where you’re to! I wanna come to where you’re at” (which, apparently, is a statement about drinking)!

Just for a moment leave the unintelligible Newfie baywop aside. ‘T’s not dat ‘t t’ain’t beau’ful, dere just ain’t nah room fer ‘t ‘ere, baye.

Men don’t really sing in the West. There’s a weird gender-spanning neuroticism here that’s totally absent on the other coast. There’s a real sense of community there like nothing I’ve experienced here without being too drunk to enjoy it.

Belting that song in a Maritime pub Friday after work is the closest I’ve come to an authentic community experience in, let’s say… the last thirteen years.