Rose's Cantina

I woke up in the middle of the night and padded over to the computer to check the progress of Hurricane Sandy. I was really expecting for the worst, and there was some pretty bad news. Fires. Flooding. Displacement. But fortunately for the size of the Bosnywash Megalopolis, there weren't a lot of casualties. Not like Haiti, which apparently saw 68 storm casualties. Despite claiming its mandate was to be the voice of the world, there was nearly no talk on CNN about Haiti and all the people in that storm-torn place who are once again displaced or worse. This makes me sad. It reminds me that the United States continues to be a myopic place. It's to be expected, of course. I'm sure if we had that kind of devastation here in Canada, our focus would be our own backyard. But I do think the Canadian media would take time to recognize the others who have been hurt during such a terrible storm. My Facebook friend, the writer Jon Katz, blogged today that he and his wife ga

Hello. I'm back. Miss me? I've been travelling. Well, that's not quite true. I've been attending a learned conference in downtown Ottawa with horrible consequences. Usually when I go to such things, I stay at the hotel so there's always a place to put my extra shit. But this conference was different. It was in my town of origin which meant that I had to pack my tennis satchel with a camera, a tape recorder, my iPhone, my Kindle, copies of the magazine I edit, notepads, pens, lipstick and identification. Damned those magazines are heavy! Note to self: must rethink the stock. I got through the first day alright, but then I had to hurry to catch a bus -- something I haven't done for many, many months -- to get home and make it to the Liquor Barn on time. I was stressed. I was sweaty. Oh yes, and the nice conference people gave me a SWAG bag full of cool stuff -- really just pens and a clip board -- in which I put my hard covered notebook and my Kindle.

It was hard not to blow my coffee through my nose this morning when BCE CEO George Cope expressed his "shock" that the CRTC turned down his company's bid to acquire Astral Media. He claims sucking another great Canadian company into the BCE vortex was "essential" to mount a domestic response to the "over-the-top" contenders who are picking off subscribers. As Barack Obama said the other night: "Could you please repeat that?" I just signed up for Netflix and I've literally stopped watching television on Rogers, another one of the conglomerates that are gouging Canadian pocketbooks with their huge fees for cable and premium networks. Right now, I'm paying as much to Rogers as I pay to Hydro for my electricity. For what? So I can watch Honey Boo Boo and Cake Boss ? On Netflix, I have been able to connect with some of the great shows made over the last few years. Last week, it was Damages , this week it's Freaks and Gee

Remember the story from the last provincial election when the McGuinty brothers showed up at a house on Alta Vista drive? It's a real knee slapper. The home owner took one look at the brothers, pointed to David and said: "You, come on up here." He then turned to Dalton: " You , get off my lawn." After McGuinty's performance last night, I see the gentleman's point. He better not come onto my lawn any time soon, lest he feel the warm blood oozing from his calf after I sick Finnigan on him. What an ass.. The coward Dalton McGuinty. It's a good title for a western. I voted for McGuinty over the past decade. I let his followers put a sign on my lawn. Today, if I see him, I'll want to punch him in the face which is exactly the sentiment most MPPs must be feeling today. When your party members, just a month before, give you an 85 percent endorsement as their leader even though you've dragged them down into the depths of electoral hell,

The Hillcrest High School gang used to call our place "the bus stop". That's because we lived one bus stop from school and ours became the place where all my boys' friends would hang out. During the high school years, our place was dripping with teenagers. They were all nice kids, very respectful and quiet. Of course, they were quiet because they were stoned through much of high school. They'd all go for a walk, come back and congregate in Stef's room and play guitars and talk. In the summers, they were a constant fixture in our backyard where they were free to drink some beer, toke and talk. Okay, so Scott and I weren't the perfect parents but we felt the kids were at least safe at our house and not bringing home hefty fines as "found-ins" in the neighborhood park. All of the bus stop kids came from decent homes. Their parents were teachers, business executives, firefighters, accountants and such. They all lived in very nice homes and

Once again, the Americans are rewriting history. Ben Affleck's new blowjob, Argo, gives nearly full credit to the CIA for saving the hostages who were captured in Iran 32 years ago, when in fact, it was the Canadian ambassador Ken Taylor and his crew who were the real heroes. Oooops! Apparently, Ken Taylor was not even invited to the screening of Argo at the Toronto International Film Festival, even though he was in Toronto at the time. Guess we know why. Ken Taylor is pissed at Ben Affleck and Canadians should be pissed at him, too. After much pressure, Affleck added a postscript to the film saying that Canadians were the real heroes, well, mostly. Just proves what a douche Ben Affleck is.  

I saw my cousin and her husband yesterday, and she's never looked happier. Pat and Don are attached at the hip. They go everywhere together, and do everything. It's hard to believe this is the same long suffering woman who put up with my biological cousin for decades, only to throw in the towel in her 50s. That must have been a scary time for her looking towards old age without a partner, living in an empty nest, with a precarious retirement ahead of her. I was so thrilled when she partnered up with Don as she neared 60. When my husband left me in my 30s, I had three small kids and I was absolutely terrified. I spent 10 years raising my kids on my own and I learned to be self-reliant. I grew during those 10 years, learned to unclog the sink and fix the toilet when it over-flowed. I became fairly well adept at putting together kids' toys and Ikea furniture. But I have to admit that I was happy, grateful, relieved even, to meet Scott nearly a decade ago. Like Don and P

Apparently, the greed of the City of Ottawa knows no bounds. Unless you've been living under a rock somewhere, you've probably heard that Ottawa city council voted yesterday to allow the Ontario Lottery and Gaming Commission to proceed to the bidding process for a new casino for the City of Ottawa. That's exactly what we need -- another gambling establishment in the Ottawa-Gatineau region. People can already lose their money at Lac Leamy, along with their houses and church funds. They can also meander down to the Rideau Carleton Raceway and Slots to play the ponies and machines. Why do we need another place for people to lose their pension cheques and their children's university funds? Because all of our Ontario gambling revenue is going into Quebec. That's why. Mayor Millhouse and Uncle Daltie want that money to stay in Ontar-i-ar-i-ario. They're also hoping that a full blown casino will pick the pockets of all the conventioneers who come here to lea

Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian friends and their families. May your pie be sweet and your stuffing be savory. May your actions be kind and your thoughts be loving. It's a time to give thanks, be with family and remember those loved ones passed.  

I don't spend much time thinking about American politics. The campaigns are too long to pique my interest and the rhetoric is often too much to bare. But the campaign has suddenly become interesting because the president tanked during the election debate. You might call him Barack Obomba. Now all of a sudden there's horse race between Barry and a guy who's named after a garment because, as Barbara Walters noted yesterday, suddenly Mitt has shown himself capable of being "presidential". Holy shit, the left and George Clooney are screaming. We might lose this election!!! Okay, folks, cool the fuck down. As we know in Canada one debate does not an election make. Not counting, of course, the debate between Mulroney and Turner, but Turner was going to lose anyway. Obama's a terrible debater because he never debates. He dictates. That's what presidents do in the U.S. They tell people what to do. Trouble with Obama was that he didn't even tr

At the National Press Club bar, there was always one guy. The guy who held back while the others held court. The one everybody looked to for answers to the question of the day. The guy who could clean anybody's clock at trivia, on any subject but never bragged about it. The guy who showed quiet competence at the office. The guy who kept the coolest head. Al Toulin was that guy. He was a gentle giant, with a great sense of humor to go along with his tremendous sense of history. Al was habitual. He took his lunch every day at Dapoe's bar in the lower part of the Press Club. He devoured books like they were candy. He was one of the boys but would spend time with a kid brought to the office by a single mother, distracting him while mom got her job done. I spent more than a few lunch hours with Al and the boys shooting the shit. Every time I did, I learned something. I didn't know Al well, but I liked him. Everybody liked him. He was that guy. Al left this world

Everyday, I drive Scott to work and this gives me the opportunity to listen to private radio. Don't get me wrong. I love the tunes. I'm happy to rock out to David Wilcox or the Boss. Sometimes I like to crack the window, open the roof and blast it out, just like the homies in the next car. Unfortunately, this is a rare occurence due to the very existence of some Ottawa morning teams. Over the course of the twenty minutes it takes me to drive Scott to the car dealership, I'm lucky to hear two great tunes. That's because all I hear are bad commercials in heavy rotation, long monologues, dick jokes or deejays riffing against one another, trying but not succeeding to be funny. Some of the on air talent is so young and inexperienced, they can't even answer their own trivia questions with a computer right in front of them. God, I miss Kevin Nelson. The man knew how to be a good deejay, when to play music and when to shut the hell up. I even miss The General,

I've been fighting my weight for 26 years ever since my first pregnancy when I gained 40 pounds of non-baby fat. I was a size 12 when Nick was a glint in his father's eye and a 16 by the time he arrived. I didn't get rid of the baby weight from him and packed more on with Stef. It took me five years but I finally got back to my fighting weight. I had a third baby, Marissa, yet managed to keep the pounds off for a couple of years. Then I ballooned back up again. I lost the weight again when Mr. Big got out of Dodge. From the time I suspected the affair until it was confirmed -- six months -- I lost the forty pounds and then some. For much of my single mother life, I was rake thin and crazy as a fruit bat. When I met Scott -- he wide of girth -- I was getting happy again and fat. We've been together nearly ten years and over that time my weight steadily climbed back until I became an unhealthy 220 pounds. That was two years ago; through diet and exercise I&#