Rose's Cantina

  Update: This post was written earlier in the week before Philip Seymour Hoffman died tragically of an overdose. I think it makes it even more poignant given the fact that Hoffman had a life long struggle with an opium addiction. RIP, young man. Hey parents! Remember when your kid came up to you when he was 16 and said this? I can do whatever I want. I'm 16. That's when he stopped going to school and started smoking weed and fornicating in the bushes. What's that you say? Your kid never did that? That's because your kid was the one in my basement dealing the weed. Justin Bieber is just going through a phase. The difference between Justin Bieber and your kid is about 30 million buckaroos. So chill. The kid's not going to be found with needles sticking out of his arm with a strangely accented doctor singing over his dead body. He's not Michael Jackson. He's Corey Feldman. The trouble with Justin is he wants to be cool, and he's just

Years ago, in a land far, far, away, the scribes from Parliament Hill used to take off for a long, liquid lunch on Friday afternoons at the Bel Air which was on Queen Street near the Sparks Street Mall. The Bel Air disguised itself as a pizza parlour, but it also had a swanky restaurant on top where the under-paid, over-refreshed set could put molar to some nice steak and seafood. One long afternoon, one of our notable scribes finished his lunch, then slyly dipped his paws into the lobster tank and set off onto the Sparks Street Mall to "set free" the lobsters. Yesterday, I had a flashback to that day. Trudeau, the younger, just dipped his well-manicured hand into the Senate tank of sharks and jellies to set free the lobsters. Who knows if they will make it to the Ottawa River before their oxygen runs out. This is a masterstroke worthy of Jerry Yanover, the Cheshire Cat who brought down the Joe Clark government while holding hands with Queen of Hearts, Allan MacEache

I had the television on mute yesterday because, mostly, I watch CTV and I couldn't take another minute of Bell "Let's Talk Day". It's not because taking mental illness "out of the shadows" is a bad cause or anything. And I'm happy that Bell raised millions of bucks to fund new projects and programs. Though, couldn't Bell have done the same thing if it just donated the millions it spent on commercials advertising their phone services? Sorry, it's just the cynic in me. I can't afford a Bell smartphone, so I suppose my texts didn't count. Did you notice, all the people who were on the television seemed to be handpicked from the J. Crew catalogue? Not a one of them had a knockoff handbag and cheap shoes. Also I didn't see one black person. Just earnest white breads with straight white teeth and highlights. And don't forget the celebrities and elite athletes lining up to talk to Ben Mulroney -- another luckless individu

It sounds so simple, doesn't it? Baby steps. Take a vacation from your problems. But sometimes, baby steps are all a person can take when faced with a mental illness. When my anxiety disorder was in full bloom, it was all I could do to get to the office. I couldn't take the bus. If I got on the bus, in only minutes, I was off it walking sometimes miles to get to my destination, So Scott had to get me in the car for the drive to work, all six minutes of it. Every day. I would clench my hands around the door handle, close my eyes. It will all be over soon, I would say. Sometimes, the drive to work seemed like hours, especially in traffic, especially when he took the highway. When I got to work, I'd rush up the elevator to my spacious office and close the blinds, methodically turn on my computer. I always got to the office early so I had a half hour to calm myself, have some coffee, read the newspaper. Guz frabba. Then, and only then, I could function. For

When my brother Gary was a young lad attending public school, the teacher called in my mother for a conference. "Mrs.. Simpson, I don't know what to do with Gary," the teacher said. "He's stupid." Gary wasn't stupid, of course. He was just one of those students who might have been called special needs in our current education system. But he didn't have special needs. He just needed to be taught differently. There was no help for kids like Gary back in the 60s. Fortunately for him, he majored in perseverance. Gary is a rower and a marathon runner. He doesn't give up even when faced with adversity. His struggle did one thing. It made him dogged, and as a result of his sheer pig-headed determination, he went on to get his undergrad degree and a masters. He is now a principal in London, Ontario who works with kids with ADHD and other learning issues. A few years back, he was named principal of the year in London. Our family could not be more p

I came across a job description the other day, one that suited me to a tee except for one "mandatory" requirement. The person to be hired needed a master's degree. Usually, I just virtually throw these job ads in the garbage because I've spent too many years getting rejection emails from recruiters and h.r. pros because either my French wasn't good enough or my security clearance wasn't high enough. This time I called to plead my case. For thirty years, I've been working in the health and social policy sector as a speechwriter, researcher, editor and general wonk. I have often bragged that I wrote the social policy section of the first-ever Liberal Redbook. Remember that old saw? The job ad was looking for someone with a specialty in mental health, and I had spent several years as the editor of a prominent magazine for psychiatrists. I'd also written speeches for both the federal and Ontario ministers of health. The project in question was someth

On January 28th, Bell Canada has invited us all to talk about mental illness. Why wait four days? Let's talk now. I'm sorry Ma Bell, but as I don't own one of your phones, I can't text on one, and therefore, I can't donate five cents for every text I send to the cause of fighting mental illness. Also can't contribute to your bottom line. Sorry. So I'll talk here, in this forum. First, let's start with your commercials. How much research went into your commercials because they are completely bogus. The first scenario, above, would never happen. First, that guy doesn't look depressed exactly. He looks like he might have lost his keys and is trying to make a mental note as to how to find them. Or maybe he missed his hockey game cause he slept in. In any event, if he were in a state of depression, he would not be sitting in front of a window with the blinds up with phone in front of him. He would be in bed, in the dark, so no one would

Some people have been asking, Rose, what gives? Have you given up blogging? The answer is complicated, sort of yes and no. I blame my pug Gordon Blackstone. Those of you have been following Gordie's exploits will know that we've been on pug death watch for some time now. The poor little fellar had a stroke before Christmas and has completely lost the use of his back legs. He's also blind and incontinent in the back door area, meaning he has become an indiscriminate pooper. As a result, surprises can be found in the bed, the Lazy Boy or on his pillow. I don't mind this so much. His poop isn't runny. It's rather firm and easily picked up -- not a big effort, one I'm used to making given that Gordie has never been really housetrained in all his 13 years on this planet. No, what gets me about his current situation is the whining. For three months, I've been nursemaiding the little bugger, sitting with him, because he will not sit alone, not for

Annual Weather Summary: November 2013 to October 2014 Winter will be warmer than normal, with the coldest periods in early and mid-December, late January, and late February. Precipitation and snowfall will be above normal in the east and slightly below normal in the west. The snowiest periods will occur in early to mid-November, late November, early to mid-December, mid- to late December, and early January.   JANUARY 2014: temperature -6.5°C (4°C above avg.); precipitation 85mm (10mm above avg.); Jan 1-6 : Snowstorm, then flurries, cold; Jan 7-10 : Sunny, mild; Jan 11-17 : Snow showers, mild; Jan 18-22 : Rain, then flurries, colder ; Jan 23-28 : Periods of rain and snow, mild; Jan 29-31 : Sunny, cold. FEBRUARY 2014: temperature -7.5°C (2°C above avg.); precipitation 40mm (20mm below avg.); Feb 1-6 : Sunny, turning mild; Feb 7-10 : Snow, then sunny, cold; Feb 11-20 : Snow showers, mild; Feb 21-25 : Sunny, mild; Feb 26-28 : Snow showers, cold. -- Old Farmer's Almanac  

I knew the day would come. It was inevitable. French was finally breaking up my family. My middle son announced last night, at his birthday dinner, that he was going to move away to another part of the country because he couldn't get a decent job here in Ottawa because his French isn't good enough. Too bad. Stef's a talented lad, great with people, well educated, enthusiastic. But a smart guy like Stef can only be a server in a restaurant for so long. It's not a job for an adult. Pity the poor kid who tries to make a respectable living in Ottawa only to find the only jobs available to him are jobs in the service industry serving bread and wine, wrapping the cutlery in linen, taking abuse from the rude, pandering to the rich for tips. As Stef said last night, and I couldn't argue with him, Ottawa has become a place where the old people live. Without your C levels, it's as good for jobs as the rusty old car town I came from and moved here from. There are

As any kid will tell you, adults are stupid. Adults worry about things that don't matter, we care about things that are not relevant and we put out too much effort in such endeavors as cleaning the house when it'll just get dirty and making the bed when the bed will just be unmade again in a few hours. Kids understand it's important to save energy for killing zombies. I see you there, shaking your head and wagging your finger, but they may be onto something. In fact, they may hold the key to surviving climate change. Here is the kid's survival plan to keep you safe, in good weather and bad. Shelter in place When the temperature dips below freezing, it's best to curl up in the basement and play video games or try to find the real meaning of life from watching Green Day on the You Tube channel. Stock up Make sure your cave is fully equipped with supplies designed to give you energy including Skittles, Doritos and a full case of Red Bull which will gi

My friend Will Chabun pointed out this story from the Daily Mail. Today is Blue Monday, the most depressing day of the year. Blue Monday was originally identified in 2005 by academic Cliff Arnall, who thought it fell on the last full week of January. He calculated the date using a variety of factors including weather conditions, debt levels, failed New Year’s resolutions and the number of days that had elapsed since the end of the Christmas holidays. But over the past three years, researchers analysed more than 2 million tweets posted by Britons in January looking for negative language and phrases indicating a drop in mood. They found that today, there will be nearly five times the average number of tweets relating to guilt, as people abandon their promises to pursue a healthier lifestyle. The analysis, by drinks company Upbeat, also found complaints about the weather will be six times higher than usual – and men will feel more miserable than women. Today has also been dubbed

I have just returned from the Rexall Drugstore where I waited ten minutes to get the flu shot. I didn't feel it, not even a prick. Gosh, I thought, the pharmacist is a lot better than the nurses at my doctor's office, which is next door and had a line up of about fifty people who presumably were there because they have the flu. I didn't see one person who was sick at the pharmacy. The line up at the Pharmaplus was exactly no one except a worried gentleman who never had the flu shot before, a man who grilled me about how many times I've had it, whether I had side effects. I thought, man up, dude, it's just a flu shot. I get the flu shot ever year and this is why. I got a job at the Bruyere Hospital after SARS hit Ontario. I worked for one week, then felt sick and my boss told me not to tell anybody. I ended up so sick I had to quit my job. My health crisis lasted six months, during which time I nearly coughed up both my lungs. I believe I'm lucky to be

Spoiler Sport Alert! When Scott got home from not selling cars last night, we decided to finish off the Christmas liquor, watch Jimmy Kimmel Live  and have a discussion about Downton Abbey . We were discussing Downton , not watching it, because I have sworn an oath not to rent it and watch it on me own, although I did watch Return to Downton Abbey which wasn't the smartest move given I'm only on episode four of Season Three and now I know three of the characters aren't coming back. Of course, I already knew this because I watched The Damned View the other day and all of this was revealed. I don't really care as I wasn't very attached to Matthew, whom I found to be rather wimpy and stupid. I mean, what aristocrat wouldn't take Livinia's money? A rather bad aristocrat, Lord Grantham would have said. I didn't like Mrs. O'Brien either, though I did like Sybil. She was a bit of a spit and polish, just like her grannies. Childbirth is an awfully

I rolled over in bed last night, and my foot landed on a wet spot. Normally, in a loving adult relationship, this would be seen as a good thing. Alas, neither of the adults could be held responsible. Earlier, Sophie had been running in and out of the bedroom and decided it was too cold to go out, so she left me a nice warm present which quickly turned to an icy cold and revolting dagger on which I placed my right foot. So there I was, half asleep and too tired to change the sheets, too kind to wake Scott who was snoring on the other side of the mattress. There are times like these when I wish we were characters on one of those TV Land programs where couples slept in two separate beds. At least there would be a warm place in another bed whenever something awful this way comes. So I was awake and annoyed at one thirty, which is always a dangerous time to be awake. Mid-morning wakeage often means that the night will be long and sleep will be fitful, not at all eased by the acapella

At ten minutes to midnight, I turned off the television and went to bed. Kathy Griffin still had her top on and Anderson Cooper still had not penetrated a woman. Not much else to see after watching Miley Cyrus prance around a cold stage twerking a little person with gigantic cone-shaped tits, right? As a result, I'm sitting here in the dark at 6:30 on the morning of January 1st drinking a weird concoction of carrots, ginger and apples and waiting for the Chai tea to brew. I've already checked the job boards and I'm still not a backend developer or a digital strategist. Gosh, the jobs out there sound dirtier and dirtier. The job boards have become a bit like that old obituary joke. If you don't see your name (or occupation) then you're still alive or unemployed. I am still unemployed, but not for long. You see my New Year's Resolution is to get a job. That and make sure nothing else breaks in my house, including Gordie the pug. In 2014, I hope to bec