Rose's Cantina

   It's not yet December and already the dogs have cabin fever. And I am starting to resemble Jack Nicholson in the Shining. This little nugget -- look how cute she is hiding under the sofa -- has just destroyed Scott's boots. She's also shedding, as you can see, and has hidden an entire roll of toilet paper under the sofa. Yesterday, I was working on a deadline, trying to get an article written, and I heard a weird slurping noise. Upon investigation, I found Sophie eating the Bag Balm. Don't know what Bag Balm is? It's that vaseliney stuff that farmers use for cow teets when they become chapped. I use it for Gordie's nose. Sophie uses it to get high. After she ate the Bag Balm, she tore around the house like Rob Ford on a Friday night. Man's she's stressing me out. Finnigan is being an absolute asshole, barking incessantly, menacing me as I try to shovel snow from the stoop. Scott got mad at me when I threatened to take the shovel and pu

Rob and Doug Ford have just announced they are bringing Crazytown to YouTube as a series. It's entitled Ford Nation, but I have another name for it. Two Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. The pair are aiming for world domination. They think they can win the next election by recording their antics as some kind of reality show. They'll spew conservative values. They'll show all the best tourist spots for crack heads. They'll improve the bottom line of the LCBO. Be very, very afraid.  

You don't have to watch the clip below. Just show it to your children. Demonstrate to them that we live in a democracy with a highly effective system of government. We have a Senate that provides a unique check on the government, a sober second thought if you will, to make sure that the duly elected Members of Parliament don't do something stupid. And we have a government that provides clear answers whenever confronted by a scandal or a mistake. Show your children that we can count on The Stephen Harper Government to act, on behalf of Canadians, in a dignified manner during Question Period. Civics Lesson 101. Paul Calandra is an asshat.  

Photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net (sharrongoodyear) Okay, so here's the thing. My lovely daughter Marissa is getting married and I can't pay for the wedding. She and Jeff are doing their best to put the funds together. They're moving the venue to the Dominican Republic to save money. And they'll pull it off. Of course they will. I didn't raise Marissa to give up on her dreams. But I'd love to help her along the way. I'd like to keep the wedding here in Ottawa and let them have a stress free honeymoon. And, let's face it, I'm not looking forward to the Twinrix vaccine. But I'm broke. I'm unemployed. And I'm seriously stressed. In my effort to be a nosey, buttinski, I am developing a web series called Monster of the Bride. We're going to beg, borrow and steal -- well not steal -- to raise the money to give my daughter the perfect day. I've already got sponsors -- a wedding planner, hairstylist and a skin car

We were discussing my daughter Marissa's upcoming wedding, scheduled for the Dominican Republic in a year, and she said this. The guys are wearing shorts. And then this. But you can't wear shorts, mum. Oh, she of little faith. How on Earth could she imagine that I would do such at thing? Embarrass her at her own wedding? And you can't wear pants, either. Frankly, I was incredulous. I have not been in a skirt or dress for ten years. Even at my own wedding five years ago, I wore pants. Truth be told, I did look like a waiter from Hy's. I wasn't always this way. Used to have a fashion sense. But ever since I gained, like 50 pounds, I haven't figured out how to dress except to wear pants or the middle aged woman's fashion alternative, capris. I don't have a waist anymore, so I can't fit anything around the middle despite two years working out at the gymnasty. And I can't find a dress that looks good given the fact I have size gazil

Hello young Canadians. We know that the Senate scandal that threatens the Harper government may be confusing to you. You don't read newspapers. You don't watch the all news channels. We'd like to explain to you, in a way you can best understand, what the Senate Scandal is all about. The yellow figure is Senator Mike Duffy. The others are staff members of the Prime Minister's Office. Please note: The Prime Minister knew nothing about it. Really. A message from the Government of Canada  

That girl rocking the red dress is my daughter, Marissa Gagnier, who works for the Soshal Group in Ottawa. They just won The Exceptional New Business Award at The Bobs , which stands for Best Ottawa Business Awards and I couldn't be more proud. Marissa joined Soshal a couple years back as a "digital strategist" following a successful run at Corel Corporation. Soshal is a consulting group that helps clients "conceive, build and manage digital technology solutions that transform key areas of their business". They hire crazy smart young people who still have their original brain cells. She met the chief visionary of Soshal, Dave Hale, at Algonquin College when they were studying business marketing together. Since leaving Algonquin, Dave and his partners have built a successful company with clients that include Bell Media, the Ottawa Senators, CHEO as well as universities and colleges across the land. Soshal is one of those hot Ottawa companies where t

This is not Gordon Blackstone's finest hour. For the past two days, he's been in a diaper thanks to a very disturbing case of explosive diarrhea. It's always nasty when a dog has the runs, but the situation is made even worse by the fact that Gordie has no idea that he's shitting himself -- ever. He doesn't pant or squat. He simply poops in situ and our only clue that he's doing it is that heart-sinking pungent smell wafting from the bed, the chair where he's sitting with one of us or from the floor. For the past year, we've played nursemaids to our Jurassic Pug, trying to anticipate his bowel movements, but it's not always easy. He's a stealth pooper. Always has been, always will be. My friend Suzanne calls this butt disease. Her old dog, Buddy, had it and yesterday, she recommended a dose of Pepto-abysmol, something the bastard veterinarians sell to unsuspecting dog owners with a dispensing fee for triple the price. I'm trying tha

Toronto Mayor Rob Ford has been taking a lot of unfair flak of late from the elites who believe their own piles of feces don't smell. As Mayoral Bro Doug points out, there are a lot of stinkers on Toronto City Council who drink and drive, hire prostitutes, snort blow and consort with criminals. At least, Doug would say, Robbie's honest about it. I'm in Doug's court. I believe Mayor Ford has been good for Toronto and good for politics. That's because he's the ultimate populist, a man of the people, who works hard and parties even harder. Who cares if he takes out a hit on his sister's old boyfriend? Who minds if he gets hammered on the weekends? Who doesn't? Rob Ford has become an inspiration in politics. By lowering the bar, Rob Ford has made it possible for every living, breathing, hosehead and headbanger to have dreams of a political future. Hey, it beats Fort McMurray in ninety below. Politics isn't for the snoots anymore, the ones w

Back nearly 30 years ago, Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau forced John Turner to hold his nose and appoint a slate of people to the Senate and other patronage positions. At the time, I was working in the PMO in the correspondence division and I spent much of that time answering angry letters from Canadians about all the hacks that were being given these plum promotions on dubious credentials. There were postcards and phone calls, all questioning Turner's sanity. In his defence, Turner told Brian Mulroney he "had no option". That didn't fly with Canadians and Turner was turfed only four months into his job as Prime Minister. But the smell has lingered and the fetid bodies of Senators for Life are rising up and threatening a zombie apocalypse. This time it's Colin Kenny, a Liberal hack who was elevated to the Senate at the tender age of 41. Next year, Kenny will celebrate his 30th year in his job for life. What's even worse is that he has five years to go.

  CTV really hates the Hole in the Wall Gang. For months now, Bob Fife has been out for blue blood and now he's got his Christmas present early -- Tory platelets spilled all over the Parliamentary Precinct. As evidence of a CTV vendetta against the Harperites, I present Power Play yarn spinner Don Martin. Remember this? At most places, spewing this kind of venom would have been a firing offence. The piece was quickly yanked, no doubt, because it was lawyered but not before Don eviscerated Mike Duffy, the little nugget who was expelled from his mother's womb in PEI nearly seven decades ago only to make a recent return to claim an unlawful Senate seat. Thanks to the Power of Youtube, CTV couldn't make Don's diatribe go away. All it could do was take away Don's podium and add a seven second delay. Bell Media must be awfully happy with Fife and the gang not to mention with Mayor Rob Ford who has added to our viewing pleasure with tales of fine dining and l

The Parliamentary precinct is beginning to smell like a steaming pile of horse manure. There's no escaping it. Everybody -- the media, the cops, the politicians -- has a fork in it and they're all trying to find the Prime Minister. He says he didn't make the mess. His pals did. But that doesn't cut it with Canadians. Harper may not have created the shit, but it's on his shoes and anyone who's ever stepped in shit knows what that feels like. You try to wipe it off and it sticks to your hands and you can never, ever, get rid of the smell. It's sickening what's happening in Ottawa. And it's stopped being funny. Well, in truth, it's still a little bit funny. It's great to see Oz, the Great and Powerful, squirming in his seat, answering the Opposition questions in that same robotic tone until he can't take it anymore then hands it off to the Chief Parliamentary Clown Paul Calandra who would have made an excellent warm-up comic on the P

Does it bother anyone in this icebox country to know that more Americans know Rob Ford than Stephen Harper? On three separate versions of Jeopardy , the place where brainiacs go to die, contestants could not identify the man who has led this country far too long. Yet, ask anyone walking down the street and they will tell you that Rob Ford, God Bless Him, is the Mayor of Toronto. Canada, we have a serious public relations problem. Who's going to invest in a country whose biggest celebrity right now is Chris Farley? Who's going to want to come up here except for alcoholics and crackheads? I blame our Prime Minister who spends too much time in Europe and at hockey games. I'm betting that Stephen Harper could walk down the street in New York City without a ball cap and with a gigantic "Stephen Harper, Prime Minister" logo on his bomber jacket and he wouldn't get a second look. Yet, Rob Ford has achieved Alec Baldwin status not just in America but all over

The two things that scare me most are tornados and sharks. I've never been in the presence of either but I imagine both to be terrifying. The other night, I was awakened by wind whipping through my little neighborhood, gnashing at trees and upending bar stragglers. As I rubbed my tired eyes, Finnigan the Brave started nudging me to let him out which was really a bid to seek shelter in the front hallway. I couldn't really get back to sleep. So I laid there as my mind conjured dreams of monsters. Large grey funnels were coming at me, filled to the brim with Hammerheads and Great Whites. That early morning reminded me of pathetic fallacy. In layman's terms it means while a person's getting whipped up, shit is going down around them. Yesterday, pathetic fallacy played out for real, a mix of high emotions and swirling garbage. It was the ultimate smackdown. Rob Ford versus Toronto City Council -- which was quickly followed by Rob Ford versus the world. Fordnado. It

There are ways of talking to guys like Rob Ford. Don't say to him: "Look Rob, we're stripping away your powers." If you do that, he'll jump over tables and bowl over little old ladies to lay a whoopass on a lefty pinko swine in the audience. And he'll declare himself and his brother Doug a country state and declare you Saddam Hussein. To which you should be worried. Look what happened to Saddam! No, what they should have done was accentuate the positive. Tell Rob Ford he's gotten a promotion and that now he is, officially, the head of state. That means he can sit in the back of a limo drinking Lemoncello with Danny DeVito whom he will meet at the Toronto International Film Festival. He can talk on his cellphone in an unlimited fashion and wear whatever fancy togs he wants. Argo uniforms included. That's right, Rob. You are Head of State with no official powers. In effect, you are the Queen of Toronto. Go to everything. Talk to everybody. Ea

At about 4 this morning, I woke up and Finnigan was standing on my head. I moved his paw from my face and tried to make him get off the bed, so he crawled on top of me. An 80 pound black lab is a hard boulder to move. Was Sophie under him? After several tries, I got him to roll over. We began to spoon as he lay his big stupid head on my bladder. Okay, okay, he wants out, I thought. I looked at Scott who wasn't much help and staggered to my feet. Finnigan bounded off the bed and outside into a ridiculous windstorm that was churning in the yard like a mini-duster. He went to the end of the yard and just stood there, inanimate for fifteen minutes. He peed, then came in, but wouldn't leave the front hall way. I realized how deeply he had been affected by the television we had been watching. Get yourself to a sheltered area at the lowest part of your house. Which was exactly what he was doing. He just looked at me. What? You hear about dogs who save their masters from cer

Hilaria Baldwin, the wife of actor Alec Baldwin, took to Twitter yesterday to recount the terror she experienced the other day when pursued by the paparazzi. "Trust me, when you ask someone to leave you alone and they follow you, and encroach on your space, that feels threatening," she wrote, then added. "The news shows what is convenient for their story. They didn't show when (the photographer) approached me with my baby after I politely asked her not to." This really makes me mad. I told her, in my opinion, these photographers are stalkers who carry heavy and dangerous equipment. It's fair game, I suppose, for the paps to pursue criminals and bad-deed-doers, people like Simon Cowell. I have no problem with them chasing down the "stars" who actually pay their publicists to promote their whereabouts, people like Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton. But the media should draw the line when it comes to the families of celebrities particularly bab

People in Ottawa should not throw stones when it comes to Toronto's mayoral woes. How can we forget? Ottawa had Mayor Larry O'Brien. Clandestine meetings at Timmy's. Lunches at Hy's with folks he shouldn't have been talking to. Nosestretchers so long they reached from the council chambers to Elgin Street. He, too, promised to be a mayor with a lock on the treasury. All we got was baldheaded madness with a ceremonial chain around his neck. We put up with his antics, then his court dates for months. It's true Larry O'Brien took a leave while he was hauled up on charges. But the stench permeated the city like a skunk under the porch. That's why we have Mayor Jim Watson now. He is stink-free. Ottawans learned their lesson with O'Brien. We understood we needed a mayor who preferred to have tea with little old ladies. A man whose only blemish was that he was a Cabinet Minister in Dalton McGuinty's government. But Jim Watson had/has no flies. T

If you think Rob Ford is bipolar you truly need to educate yourself on mental health. It's utterly disgraceful (sic) at the ignorance of our society when it comes to mental health. I'm embarrassed to even read your post. This was a reader response to a question I asked on the Toronto Star's Facebook site about whether the newspaper had consulted mental health professionals about Rob Ford's state of mind. Could Rob Ford be suffering from bipolar disorder? I asked. I was shocked to read this personal attack against me. Why was the writer so angry? Why was he so quick to suggest that I was ignorant on the subject? It's been six years since Senator Michael Kirby asked Canadians to bring mental illness out of the shadows and shine the spotlight on a condition that affects one in five Canadians and their families. Since that time, very little has changed. There has been some attention paid to suicide and bullying but aside from these social problems, which are lar

  Rob Ford's wife Renata must really love the old coot. Why else would she show up after Ford bragged about not needing to eat a staffer's pussy since he gets plenty of sushi at home? Renata actually stood by her man after this admission, oh yes, and the admission that he likes to get behind the wheel while shitfaced. She's more than The Good Wife. She's The Great Wife. At least as far as Sideshow Rob is concerned. This is all a show of course. I'd bet good money that Ford's not even getting a hand job at home. And after today, I'm with the bookies who say he will be sleeping on the couch. She might be sticking up for him publicly but I'm betting the fine dining is over for good. What's the appeal in staying married to a guy who makes Tony Soprano seem like Billy Graham? It's certainly not his good looks. Or his Jackass sense of humor. It must be the money. She's probably counting on spending it all once he's locked up o

Speaking of fat asses , Scott forced me out of my comfort zone yesterday to buy a pair of pants. Most girls would get up on their stilettos and go "yee-haw", but not me. I hate shopping for clothes. Hate, I'm saying hate. I hate shopping for clothes the way my daughter hates asparagus. Don't make me. Shop, that is. It's vomit inducing. I hate shopping the way a cow might hate branding. Or a bug might hate being squashed under the boot of an insensitive unthinking pedestrian. The thing is, last year, I threw out all my fat pants because I'd lost ten pounds and had kept it off for months. That was back when I was on blood pressure meds and water pills. Now my BP is fine but I've whaled up again and no matter how much rowing and bopping on the elliptical I do, I can't shrink the muffin top. It feels awful and looks worse, like you're wearing a reverse girdle or a lifesaver around the middle. So I've taken to wearing yoga pants nearly ev

  Watching Justin Trudeau's performance over the past few weeks, I kept thinking that he reminded me of somebody. After watching Question Period this morning, it came to me. Justin Trudeau is our Sarah Palin. How else to explain his weird answer at a babe's night out this week about what country he most admires. After he made this gaffe, his handlers must have gone ape shit. Maybe he knows where China is, surely dad took him on a visit there as a wee tot. But surely, he knows something about China -- that great defender of human rights and master of environmental stewardship? Dude, these people grow food in their own waste! It's the home of bird flu! So far, we only see Justin when he's scripted. Quite obviously, his eggheads know that he can't be trusted to talk about the issues. He's already been caught telling fellow Canadians that Quebeckers are better than the rest of us. (The Tories reminded us of this with a clip of Justin in one

Last November 11th, after watching the ceremonies on Parliament Hill, Scott and I ventured over to Costco to pick up a few supplies. Normally, Scott would be selling Subarus instead of shopping, but Monday was his scheduled day off and a trip to the big box store is part of our routine. When we peeled into the Costco parking lot, we couldn't believe our eyes. The parking lot was absolutely packed with so much overflow, shoppers were spilling over into the Brick parking lot. Cart after cart came out filled to the brim with Christmas paper, wreaths, toys and electronics. Shoppers with glazed eyes were slurping ice cream and hoovering down hotdogs. It truly was a sight to behold. For many in this government town, Remembrance Day is not a day to reflect upon the good deeds and tragedies of battles past and wars fought. Instead it has become a day off without the kids -- who are spending it hopefully in their classrooms or assembly rooms reflecting on the good deeds and trag

If you were Rob Ford, a person considering treatment for binge drinking, wouldn't you be a little frightened right now? For months, the poor fellar has been hounded by a thousand cameras and that Katie Simpson who talks over everybody. He can't even get his drycleaning done. Rob Ford has become the most famous drunkard in the world, more famous than Hemingway or Ronnie Wood. More famous than Charlie Sheen or Justin Bieber. Winning, he's not. So how does a guy like Robbie, as his sister Kathy calls him, get treatment? Well, he certainly can't go to AA. There's nothing anonymous about Robbie Ford. He could lock himself away in a treatment facility somewhere, but that hasn't exactly worked for a lot of people. The success rate for in-house treatment or any treatment for that matter is less than 10 percent. So why spend upward of $100K on something that's probably not going to work? Even Rob Ford's mom says rehab is not for her little guy. What he

The founder of Lulu Liz Lemon, Chip Wilson, got his Y fronts in a knot the other day for saying that it's not the fault of all the little poor kids who make his pants that women look terrible in them. Some women just look awful in his yoga togs. It's true, he was committing the business equivalent of Harikari, but he does have a point. Some, no most, women look terrible in them. If you have a muffin top, a big ass, thunder thighs or general lumpiness, you should take your hard-earned hundred bucks and buy ten long Hello Kitty shirts and a fifteen pairs of leggings at Walmart. I have news. No one wants to see your cameltoe. No one. When I'm doing the downward dog -- which never happens by the way -- I don't want to look up and see your double wide ass looking back at me. It's bad enough that I get that view from the rowing machine. Ill fitting clothing on men and women should be banned from the gym. I saw a guy today in men's yoga pants and

I find it hilarious to see everybody running around like headless chickens, wringing their hands about what will be the fate of poor Rob Ford, the alcoholic and sometimes drug addict. Everybody seems to have an opinion on alcoholism, particularly people who aren't alcoholics. He should go to rehab. He needs an intervention. Somebody do something. But anybody who has an addiction to alcohol knows that only Rob can stop this insane behavior. Trouble is, he doesn't want to quit. He's nowhere near the bottom. So what if he loses his job? He's got lots of money. So what if every comic in the universe is making fun of him? He has his terrific family to enable him. His mum can't stop it? No, but she could slow him down. Turn off the money tap. His wife can't stop him? Throw his sorry ass out. The police can't stop him? Wait down the street until he gets in his car and take his sorry ass to jail. There are many people who can actually help Rob Ford.

The picture above shows my father Russell, in the centre, flanked by his brothers. The Simpson brothers all went to war and everybody came back of sound mind except for my father, who killed himself, the result of a drunk driving incident in 1957. I have documented my father's story in numerous newspaper articles published over the past two decades. Writing the story of my father and mother has helped me heal. And it has helped others who write to me about their own fathers who came home either neglectful of their families or abusive, alcoholic shells who have laid waste to their futures and their families. Oddly, sometimes I'm grateful my dad died. Terrible, I know, but there it is. I was the lucky one. I am an adult survivor of wartime PTSD. My mother was not so lucky. She died, broken and bitter, at the age of 66, a woman who was never embraced by the military community because of the sad fact that my dad didn't die in combat. Here she is with Gramps.

Well, it's nice to see that der burgermeister von Toronto , as Mayor Rob Ford is referred to in the German media, is making Canadians proud on the world stage. His crack-addled nob was featured as the lead on media sites on all continents yesterday after he admitted that he had indeed inhaled when he was roaming the city "in a drunken stupor".  He only did it once, he said. Once. And even then he can't remember because he was so "wasted".  He wants Police Chief Blair to release the video so he can see for himself how blotto he was. I'm sorry your honor, I don't remember smoking crack. I am Absinthe-minded. A clear-headed Canadian might ask the question: why wasn't he stopped before? Everybody on the planet has known since May that Ford was a lying, Range-roving addict but not one exorcism was performed. Why, for example, when the Toronto police had him under surveillance didn't they simply stop him as he was throwing liqu

Last Friday evening, Scott turned Sophie on her belly to examine her two week old stitches from her spay. "Call the vet tomorrow. This incision doesn't look very good." The "tomorrow" was Saturday and our vet isn't in on Saturday. It's one of these doctor-lifestyle things where vets, like family docs, would rather be running the New York marathon than tending to pets on the weekend. Sure enough, when I called, the answering machine instructed me to call the new emergency veterinary clinic that all of the local vets have invested in. The nice lady there advised that it would be a whopping $165 to walk in the door and suggested I call another vet in town. We do have a second vet for Finnigan, but he would have charged me at least 60 bucks as punishment for going to another vet. So we sat on Sophie's stitches until Monday. We arrived with Sophie and Finnigan in tow following our walk at Conroy Pit. "It will take a few minutes," the