Rose's Cantina

About ten years ago, I created a media frenzy after I complained in the Ottawa Citizen that my daughter's school was sending her home for wearing a "belly top". I thought the principal was being ridiculous. The top was not at all revealing. Besides, Marissa was still in that square tween stage, boobless and curveless. There's more skin shown on Toddlers and Tiaras . The story went viral. Editorials were written. National television embraced the story. Lines were drawn on both sides of the belly button. I still believe that school dress codes are stupid and are enforced by stupid and ugly-minded control freaks who want to quash a child's creativity and self-expression. There have been many times I've wanted to tell someone that what they're wearing is inappropriate. The color is wrong for them. The style is way off base. But I keep my mouth shut. It's not my business. And unless there is a hint of pubes, school officials have no bu

In a couple of hours, I'll be back at the Ottawa Hospital for my regular volunteer duty with Doris, my friend who broke five bones in her foot eight weeks ago. She's getting a walking cast today -- hopefully. I can't believe it's been eight weeks, although I know Doris has been counting the minutes. She's confined to a tiny area of a couch that has stuff piled all over both arms. The only activity Doris has managed has been bathroom duty a few times a day, because she's on strict bed rest. She was warned any standing could compromise the healing process. So she's Ellen and Live! with Kelly hemmed in. Poor Doris. I really feel for her. She hasn't been able to get out of her apartment because the wheelchair the hospital sent is too big for a regular car. So she's been going stir crazy, and has taken to calling me nearly daily with nothing major to report. The good news is that her husband Bob has rallied. He himself was in rehab this tim

The papers and social media today are filled with stories about abuses of power by the Harper government. The first story I read was an investigative piece by Canadian Press concerning the Conservative government's obsession with branding everything with "The Harper Government". Apparently, many announcements are delayed because of interference by the PMO and Privy Council office. Government bureaucrats have done their best to resist putting "The Harper Government" in the body of their press releases but have been told to surrender or else by the PCO. Columnists are complaining about the branding of the Grey Cup game with Defence Minister Peter McKay standing on the field accepting thanks for Canada's success in Libya while military bands play in the background. All Peter needs is a curly wig and gold braid and he's set. There is another story about the military being hogtied by the politicos, forced to suppress costing information about th

At last, a sensible suggestion from Canada's doctors. Do away with parking fees at hospitals. Level the playing field. Take away unnecessary stress from patients. Pity the downtrodden who are forced to come to the hospital every day. Stop taxing the poor and the sick. The hospitals will ignore this advice, of course. They depend on parking fees to pay for medical equipment. The same way the province depends on seniors to lose their Old Age Pensions at the government-run casinos. But the argument has some merit. A few weeks back, I was acting as a volunteer driver for my friends Bob and Doris when Doris was in the hospital and Bob was sick at home. It cost about $100 to a) stay with Doris during her emergency treatment b) visit Doris in the hospital c) shuffle Bob around to various doctors appointments. Usually, we can get around the parking fees because we live close to the hospital. If Scott or Marissa needed to go to emerg or an appointment, I'd simply drop th

I got an anniversary card on Friday. It's been exactly one year since I joined the Ontario Government's Health Care Connect program which is designed to match orphaned patients with family doctors. About every quarter, I get a form letter saying the program is still looking for a doctor for me, and reminding me not to give up the search myself. Fortunately, I am in good health and I have the ability to seek out medical attention when necessary. For example, I needed cataract surgery and got it through a referral from my optometrist. Today, I will be on the phone to get a breast exam to the Ontario Breast Screening Program which I can access without a family doctor. But like thousands in this province, I have to rely on over-crowded, uncaring clinics for my medical needs. When I'm really sick, as I was three weeks ago, I can take myself down the street to the Ottawa Hospital's urgent care centre. This, to me, is not good enough. On at least two occasion

Before another guy in this town drops from a heart attack playing hockey, something should be done about this problem. Four times in the last week, amateur players have had to be brought back to life with defibrillators. Often times, the players aren't that lucky. Just last year, the news business lost CP photographer Tom Hanson to this senseless activity. He was only 41. A lot of members of the defib club are guys with young families who leave them in the lurch in a vain attempt to relive their youths. Every amateur team -- even pick up teams -- should insist the guys get their hearts checked out, along with a full physical, before they step on the ice. This is always what the management at gyms tell you to do and most people don't do it. But working on your pilates or walking on a treadmill doesn't come close to hockey in terms of the physical demands placed on the heart. Hockey is all about going from stop to sprint, a very dangerous activity even fo

Tomorrow, my son Nicholas Alexandre turns 26. Hard to believe it's been 26 years since that wintry night in Regina when little Nicholas Bumblebee came into the picture. A lot has happened. Time for a short recap. Nick survived all those baby struggles: not having a thyroid gland, as well as an 18 month developmental lag which brought us to the hospital every week for four years for occupational therapy, speech therapy and physical therapy. He survived the messy divorce and five years living with a step monster who made him eat Beefaroni every night in the garage while she made gourmet meals for his father. Those were bad years for my eldest son, so bad we used to call him Nickerella. He survived the boarding school which followed the step monster years. He tells me he's part of a class action suit which has been filed against the owner of the school. Apparently, the headmaster is being charged with failing to provide the necessities of life to some very troubled tee

  My friend Suzanne got a sign yesterday, God's way of telling her to slow down and pay attention to her life. Perhaps she was getting ready for Christmas, or a regular visit from her grandson, Bam Bam. Maybe she was getting set to direct a nativity pageant. She posted on Facebook yesterday that she had accidentally dropped her iPhone into the john. "I was setting it down when I tripped over the rug, so it kinda became like an iphone curling rock and just slid right off the counter, perfect bulls-eye." Fortunately, the iPhone still worked, though she admitted it had now acquired an "ick" factor. She urged her compadres not to text or phone her until she had Brillo brushed it clean. Have I mentioned that Suzanne is a germaphobe? I have a question. What call was so important at 6:30 a.m. that it couldn't wait for the morning constitutional? Perhaps her husband Norman was on another field trip to the Caribbean and had a small window of time in w

Is anybody else upset about the attempt of imperialist forces to thrust Black Friday down our little Canuck throats? I opened the paper and there were ads for Black Friday everywhere . The Brick. Sports Check. Sears. Last time I checked, Canadians were still trying to pass off monopoly money for currency, and we were still celebrating Thanksgiving with turkey and cranberry in the month of October. Our Thanksgiving tradition involves sitting around the flat screen patting our bellies and giving thanks to Ted Rogers. It's not about steeling ourselves for the mall mashup to spend money we don't have on iPads and Old Navy Jeans. It's not even December 1st. I find it offensive, this American creep. Black Friday shows the worst part of the American dream. Traditions like Black Friday and keeping up with the Obamas are what got Americans into trouble in the first place. It's never bothered me before. But then, I've never seen Black Friday sales in C

So it comes down to this. Marci Ien is the new co-host of Canada AM. At first, I thought they were kidding. But no. The dumb news reader is going to be interviewing Canada's newsmakers every morning. Well, at least she can pronounce their names. Obviously, the brain trust couldn't find a living, breathing male in this country -- not even another fabulous one -- to get up with the paper boy to give us our news. They've already used up their bullpen. Rod Black. Dan Matheson. Keith Morrison. Being CTV, they wanted somebody already on contract with a no-inflation clause in their contract. No wonder they didn't do a big reveal. They were revealing that they were recycling. Once again. They just didn't want to spend the money. Nobody wants to get up that early. Nobody wants to compete with Good Morning America . Or Breakfast Television on CITY-TV. It's a puzzle. Seamus announced he was leaving two weeks ago and I guess they all went &qu

I totally ran out of clean Lulu Liz Lemon yoga pants today, so I went rummaging through the back of my closet looking for a pair of jeans. Yoga pants are the modern day equivalent of the stretch peacock blue pants my mom used to wear at my age. They are warm and comfortable and have the right amount of give to compensate for a middle age woman's burgeoning omentum. Last year, in an optimistic afternoon, I bought three pairs of jeans at Addition Elle. I found them today, there in my closet, still too skinny in the middle for me to wear. It brought a tear to my eye. I was discouraged. I've been working out like a fiend for nine months now and I haven't lost enough middle fat to fit into those jeans. Nine friggin' months of six day a week slogging on ellipticals and rowers, and still not a significant enough weight change. I had hoped that I wouldn't have to buy Spanx for the Christmas season. I hope and pray for a lot of things. Employment. A proper

As if the CTV National News wasn't fabulous enough, there is word this morning that Seamus O'Regan will be joining the program starting Monday. Apparently, he will be doing a regular segment spotlighting other fabulous people. Like Ben Mulroney. Okay, Craig Oliver isn't replacing him, but he should be. Ginger needs a new gig to take him into his 90s, and a stint on AM would supplement the Old Age Pension quite nicely. I mean nobody ever leaves CTV, right? Uncle Lloyd is still doing standup at W5, never quite answering the first W. Why? Rod Black checked out of the AM Soundstage a few years ago, only to be resurrected at CTV covering the lycra and lace figure skating circuit, surrendering his God given good looks and talent for a gig comparing cod pieces to pantyhose. Seems to me that the last one who got out alive from CTV was Norm Perry. Unless you count all those CTV rejects in the Senate. And poor Craig, well, he's too friggin' old for t

I hate being patronized by Americans, especially in our own Canadian media. There's an op-ed piece in the Globe and Mail today by the actor and director Robert Redford who emplores us, as Canadians, to reject the Jellystone pipeline. Now, I don't know about you, but I don't think there's much I can do about the pipeline. I suppose I could write a letter to my MP, but he's a Liberal and I doubt that the Harper government will listen to him. I suppose I could rail in this blog against the pipeline and its impact on the environment but I don't think it will do any good. So I'll probably lay on the couch this afternoon and try to figure out how to make enough money to pay my Hydro bill. What I can do is stop buying the Globe and Mail , until it stops running drivel written by actors who are supposed to be experts on the environment. Really, Bob, the whole Jellystone thing is more about ruining your backyard than mine, isn't it? I doubt Bob Re

So Jimmy and Peter are walking down the street after school, and Jimmy pulls out a joint. Jimmy takes a drag and hands off the joint to Peter. "Thanks, man," says Peter who gives off that cute little cough, the one that makes a parent proud. Suddenly, a police cruiser squeals to a stop in front of them and a blond pony-tailed constable jumps out. "Hold it, boys, stop right there. You are under arrest." "WTF?" says Johnny. "What are you arresting us for?" "Trafficking." "But we're just sharing a smoke." "Sorry, boys, there's a school down the road, see? You're in big trouble." And with that little Johnny goes immediately to jail. When he appears before the judge he is given a mandatory two year sentence. Meanwhile, all your plans for Johnny's dentistry career have gone up in thick, acrid smoke. Welcome to the Wonderful World of Omnibus, ladies and germs, where sharing a little

It has recently been brought to my attention that I am gluten intolerant. I am intolerant of many things: bad commercials, rude people, stupid song lyrics. Abdominal fat. But I have never, ever, been intolerant of sandwiches. I love sandwiches. Pastrami on rye. Egg salad. Chicken club. Even avocado and tomato. The sandwich is the perfect meal. It's quick, it's easy to make, and you really can't screw it up. A sandwich fills you up, like you're an empty car at a gas bar. There are many condiments available to spice it up, tang it up, make it gooey. Salsa, mayo, mustard, relish. Hummus. I love having one of those BLTs that bleed tomato down my arms. Or a sandwich that is so big you can't get your gob around it. I will have none of those. Today or tomorrow. The mind wants what the mind wants, but the gut. The gut is all supreme. Today, I crave a sandwich. But, alas. I am having soup. :(

There will be a lot of testerone expelled at bars today over an article in the Ottawa Citizen which explains why hormones make women crazy. It's definitely worth a read, ladies, if you want to get your blood boiling. The author, David Sherman, explores in detail all the crazy behavior women experience every 28 days as well as the absolute nuttery that accompanies perimenopause and menopause. It's true that our hormones do sometimes get the best of us. I, myself, spent years being held hostage by the hormonal rollercoaster which left me often times shaking from panic attacks and unable to leave the homestead. But I will go on record as saying I have never slugged a man with a leg of lamb when I was on the rag. Nor did I plug a husband with a bullet for using the wrong dish towel. I especially take issue with the writer's description of men as the softer sex, gentle folk who sit on the sidelines puzzled by the strange behavior of their spouses. "If men

My son Nick came up from his lair sporting a pair of unkempt side burns and some scruffy chin hair. He looked like Wolverine, if Wolverine were a short, glassy-eyed pot smoker and not Hugh Jackman. "Why don't you shave that off?" I pleaded. "Can't," he sniffed. "It's Movember. I'm doing it for Shyla's dad." "It's Movember," I retorted. "Not Sidevember or Chinvember." "I know, but I can't grow a moustache." And with that, he took himself and his bong back downstairs. In certain communities, it's Movember forever. Guys grow facial hair not to support cancer but to support their slacker lifestyle. They're too lazy to shave. Some can't wait for Movember when the boss says it's alright to sport any type of pube-style facial hair. Some, in fact, do raise money for prostate cancer research while the others claim they're movembering to raise awareness. I'm calling

It seems NBC news is borrowing from a long Canadian tradition by hiring Chelsea Clinton as a roving television journo. This follows its hiring of Bush and McCain spawns. This is causing a fuss among the newsies in the U.S. who feel that hiring the daughters and sons of former presidents smacks of desperation on the part of the network. We, in Canada, say: why worry? Our airwaves are brimming with the expulsions of prime ministers. We have the ever-ready Ben Mulroney, Catherine Clark, Sasha Trudeau and Sophie Gregoire-Trudeau all littering up the national broadcasters. I'm presuming Ben Harper has a pretty good career lined up for himself with Sun TV when he's out of high school. I don't remember any of them doing time at journalism school, unless you count charm and prep schools as breeding grounds for investigative journalism. I don't think I'm wrong here, but I believe there is not one Canadian who likes Ben Mulroney except members of his immediate

There was yet another disturbing incident yesterday involving an OC Transpo bus driver and passengers. The bus was late, a passenger wanted to know why, the bus driver basically told him to mind his own business and abandoned the bus on a busy Ottawa street, leaving passengers in the lurch for a couple of hours. Welcome to Ottawa's bus wars, ladies and gentlemen. Bus drivers have had enough and they're not willing to take it anymore. They get spit at, they get sworn at, they are secretly photographed, they are disrespected, especially by the management of the transit services which just recently cut 100 bus routes to save money. As a result of management's ineptitude, bus drivers are having to explain to cranky customers why the buses are running 45 minutes late, or not at all. The public is hunting for bear, retaliating against the bus drivers who went on strike a couple of years back, leaving passengers stranded, having to hoof their way to work over the col

It seems our prime minister is faltering in his quest for world domination. Sure, he and Barry O'bama were all smiles for the photo ops. But when they got down and dirty at APEC, Barry showed Steve-o the hand. He might even have farted in his general direction. Not much of a bromance when you come right down to it. Harper seems not to understand how little Canada means to the rest of the world. Except for our comedy. And our music. And even in those arenas, the Brits are gaining on us. Goodbye SCTV , Hello, The Office . Goodbye David Foster . Hello Simon Cowell . About the only things Americans respect us for are our cheap drugs and our looney-tune acrobats. And Lorne Michaels. Anyway. Steve-o should take some tips from former prime ministers to improve our influence south of the border. The Yanks hated Trudeau. But damn it, they respected him. He shunned Reagan, but he dated Barbra Streisand. He was too cool. And left them wanting more. Mul

Star-gazers might want to note that Michael Keaton is coming to town in a couple weeks to shoot a movie called Penthouse North . He's playing the googly-eyed bad guy. Figures. I used to be a big Keaton fan in the early days. When he played Beetlejuice . And Mr. Mom . When he was on the Night Shift . In other words, I used to love the old Michael Keaton, before he played Batman . Talk about casting against type. Tim Burton must have been doing some pretty good 'shrooms in those days. We rarely see Keaton these days -- I saw him last week in a bit turn as a janitor on 30 Rock . Mostly, he's been doing cameos. Which pretty much explains why he's coming to Ottawa. Ottawa, the graveyard of old movie stars and has-beens. Lou Diamond Phillips. Cuba Gooding, Jr. Christian Slater. They come to Ottawa as a last resort, to star in rock bottom remainders usually destined for U.S. cable. Like the Lifetime Network, with such inspired offerings as A Nanny'

I woke up this morning feeling, well, curmudgeonly. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's the general economic downturn. Maybe it's my age. In any event, it's time to vent. I would like to know why Prime Minister Harper has left his homeland and become a professional world traveller. He's in Hawaii for yet another one of those stupid A meetings and one of the three amigos is a no show. So why didn't he just cancel the trip? And why does Laureen Harper have to tag along to Hawaii for the A-something meeting? Shouldn't she have her glue gun out decorating one ball or another? Would she be going if the meeting were in Afganistan? I was at the gymnasty yesterday, on the rowing machine, and I noticed a couple of Lou Lou Liz Lemons standing on the spiral staircase having a chat. People couldn't get by. The two stick figures were completely oblivious. What's with that? I felt like yelling at them to move along. The gymnasty has more emp

I was given a little Remembrance Day blessing yesterday by an old high school chum. Barb managed to track down the death details of two of my relatives after I had written, in a blog, that I knew their names but not their stories. Just after I posted the blog, Barb came back with the stories, which I want to share with you today. Herbert O'Neill was my Granny's first husband and the father of young Vern who was mentally challenged. I have his memorial medal from World War One but I had no information about him. Granny never talked about him nor did she talk about her nephew, Bobby, who also died a hero in the Second World War. I've often wondered what happen to them. And here it is. Herbert was a private with the Canadian Army Medical Corps. He died during an air raid on May 19, 1918 at the age of 39. He wasn't a young soldier, as I assumed; he was middle-aged man with skills he believed would be invaluable in the war. He is buried in Etaples Cemetary in Fra

After watching the Remembrance Day ceremonies, we decided to pop into Costco to pick up a bag of dog food. (Costco has the best price on dog food, and with three hungry mouths to feed, a $25 bag of Kirkland dog food can last us two months!) Anyway, we got there today at 12:30 and had to park in the "additional parking". I go to Costco every week, and with the exception of St. Jean Baptiste Day when the Quebec Costco is closed, I've never had to park there. Immediately upon entering the store, the bile began to rise up in my throat. The place was packed with public servants, bank employees and posties all fighting over the last Christmas ball. Nearly all the carts were taken. We weren't ten steps in when Scott disappeared into the crowd and my head started spinning and sweat beads formed on my brow. This was Remembrance Day and all I saw was a human car wash with people buying gaming systems, flat screens and tourtiere the size of ancient turtles. In my 5

When my Granny Ina lost her husband, Herbert, on a battlefield in the First World War, a grateful nation sent her a medal and a note from King George V. He whom this scroll commemorates was numbered among the those who at the call of King and Country, left all that was dear to them, endured hardness, faced danger, and finally passed out of the sight of men by the path of duty and sacrifice, giving up their own lives that others might live in freedom. Let those who come after see to it that his name not be forgotten. My grandmother put the scroll away. I found it, when I was a curious kid rummaging through her sock drawer looking for hidden candy. The medal and scroll, obviously, hadn't meant much to Granny. She never talked about Herbert. It was as if he hadn't existed. The only evidence of Private O'Neill was the man who lived with us, his son Vern, a 50-something oddity with the mind of a ten-year-old who used to take me out on Hallowe'en dressed li

The nutritionist Leslie Beck reported a study in yesterday's Globe and Mail which reveals too much sitting can lead to cancer. Last week, that same newspaper reported that too much drinking can substantially increase the risk of a woman's dying of breast cancer. According to studies, we can also get cancer from processed meat, farmed fish, barbecues, fat, sugar, diet products, cell phones, computers, overhead lighting, recycled air in sealed buildings and the sun. And, of course, smoking. People most at risk are golfers, swimmers, office workers -- including doctors and nurses -- bloggers and people who go on the Sparks Street mall for the annual Ribfest. The only things that don't cause cancer are plants and grains grown organically under the Alberta tar sands. (This message brought to you by the Alberta tar sands lobby.) So if we don't want cancer, we have to eat a lot of broccoli and quinoa while standing. Enough already. This conversation is givi

There are many things I love about Ottawa. It's a beautiful, family-friendly city. It's clean and it's culturally vibrant. That said, I'm getting pretty sick of some of the behavior of late. People should stop trying to villify the city's bus drivers. That's right, I said it. Put your cell phones away, people! Bus drivers, like other drivers, are not perfect but in 80 percent of the time, they get you to your destination, they are helpful to riders who are having difficulties and they are friendly. Like the singing bus driver, who was told to stop singing because of bunch of snooty and entitled passengers didn't like his tune. They complained BY EMAIL to OC Transpo so the brass hauled the guy in and told him to stop being so cheerful. Now to the matter of the bus driver who yelled at the kid with autism. Nobody saw the entire encounter so that YouTube video was probably taken out of context. The kid admitted that he had been reciting a p

There was a story in today's paper about a talk Barbara Walters gave to a Jewish fundraising dinner in town last night. I thought: good for Barbara. She's 82-years-old and still going strong. She continues to work on a regular basis on two television programs: The View and 20/20 . And she continues to be a gadabout in New York, seen at all the swish parties on the arms of some very powerful men. Oh yes, and she is a grandmother. That's not usually heard in her introductions. Last night, she told the gathering about a conversation she once had with the late, great Katherine Hepburn. Asked about her life's accomplishments, Hepburn said this. "I made enough money to support myself and I wasn't afraid of being alone." Oh, Lord, I thought. How sad. Barbara has certainly followed Hepburn's lead. She has been much married -- and badly, as she admits -- but Barbara has always been an independent soul, supporting her parents and her sister ov

Waiting for Scott at Starbuck's today, I was fiddling with the radio, trying to find a radio station that would stop blathering at me and would start playing some interesting tunes. I'm not much for commercial radio, and I've given up on The Dawg because of the news reader named Alissa who keeps dropping her "Gs". The quality of radio has indeed gone to the Dawgs. Anyway, I was stopped in my channel surfacing on The Jewel when I heard an advertisement for same day MRIs. "No waiting," the announcer crooned. It got me thinking that an MRI would be a great gift for Dad this Christmas. "Hey Dad, we all chipped in this Christmas and instead of getting you the big screen you wanted, we got you a full body scan!" It would be a bummer, though, if the scan revealed that Dad had inoperable cancer. Or any other disease that could be detected at, say, Stage One, but could only be treated at Stage Two. I'm thinking Dad would be leavin

At last, someone has come to the aid of our little Buckaroo friend, the Beaver. Grant Hooker, the CEO of BeaverTails -- that gooey, doughy, bad carb mess --has decided to erect a three metre tall Beaver monument festooned with 147 Christmas lights to protest a Tory Senator's call for the termination of the Beaver's status as Canada's national symbol. Nicole Eaton is asking Canadians to consider dispatching the toothsome rodent in favor of the Polar Bear. It's about time someone stood up for the Beav. Consider the fact that the Beaver represents the multicultural nature of this country. He is a brown. The Polar Bear is a white and we know that whites have dominated these soils for far too long. Secondly, Beavers are plentiful in lakes owned by people of both linguistic nations, and it is a proud resident of all First Nation communities. The Polar bear is a resident of the North. It should therefore be considered a marginal candidate for the iconic status

Dear Vera: I am writing this from Soest, Germany, the winter of 1954. I'm getting pretty bored over here, especially when I'm not feeling much like going out. But I can't be bothered, as all the fellas want to go out and have a few and start looking around for women. Though I have not always been a perfect angel myself, I can't and won't be like the rest, or perhaps should I say the biggest percentage of guys. I like to go out and have a few drinks and try and forget a few things, but I can't see how some of the guys are married, and, from what I can gather, have very nice wives and kiddies, can go ahead and do the things that they do and make such damn fools of themselves. With you and the kids to look forward to, I haven't any inclination to bother with them. Just to give the army something to think about, I have requested that I relinquish my stripes as I shall be taking my discharge as soon as possible. Under the circumstances, I see no reason