Rose's Cantina

One of Scott's best CBC friends died of a heart attack two days ago, while minding his own business, snorkelling in Costa Rica. Dean had been down there for eight days when he took his mask and flippers out to look at the little fishes. Did he see something scary? Did he just say to himself, well, if I must be going...? These things keep me up at night. Dean was probably 60 but always looked young for his age. He wore his hair in a bright blond shag for most of his life, looking for all the world like Tom Petty. As a newscamera and sound man, Dean lived his life on his own terms, breaking his neck a couple of times, daring the Gods to strike him down for a life full of war zones, beer and spliffs. There were many ways Dean could have gone, violently while on assignment or shockingly through his own bad habits and mischief, but he did it up right one last time with his wife of three decades in a resort called Paradise. Fitting. We heard the news yesterday just as the ma...

Scott and I had an uncharacteristic fight last night. We were watching The Biggest Loser , which was punctuated by television ads for last-ditch insurance to pay for funeral costs and "to leave a little something for those left behind." Scott has a modest insurance policy, as a CBC pensioner, which would be enough to pay for his funeral and some expenses. I've been bugging him to make sure I'm the beneficiary of the insurance. My jousting on the subject is usually met with a shrug and a stiff comment, something like this: "I'm not planning on dying anytime soon." Last night, I decided to press the issue. "You don't care about me," I said. "If you cared about me, you would have a will and a piece of paper stating what benefits I would get if you die." It was a cruel jab, I admit it. But it did the job. This morning, he called the CBC Pensioners Association and discovered that, indeed, he had no beneficiary listed...