Rose's Cantina

There is a sidebar to the gruesome case of the dismembered unfortunate which has official Ottawa all a-twitter. Do political parties receive such ghastly gifts on a regular basis? Newspapers today are reporting that a number of MPs have received -- let's call it what it is -- shit in the mail -- as well as interesting artifacts and lube cream apparently made from what's inside what people need lube for. Back in the 1980s, I worked at Liberal Party headquarters when Pierre Trudeau was still king. I was a writer and opener of fundraising letters. We always got great, great mail. That's because Canadians take great care in responding to political fundraising letters, spending hours crafting them and getting them just right. My favorite was a letter from a disgruntled fellow who sent us a picture of his lower torso and erect penis spraying his male seed all over himself. "Thanks for the letter," he wrote. "Here's my contribution." The sec...

Dear Harley: All is forgiven. This morning, I woke up and put on my favorite Radio-Canada t-shirt, one I've had to suck my gut in to wear, and it was loose. Oh, how I love you, right now. I've lost two pounds, which for me is a near impossibility. I've been going to the gym for a year and a half and only lost five pounds, so two is a biggie for me. Scott, on the other hand, bastard that he is, lost eight pounds over the last three days. That's men for you. Let's go golfing; I've never been before. What? I beat you? That's impossible. I can't believe I made a souffle; I've never cooked before. What? You can't make a souffle? Sure, you can. Rotten bastard. The Ex-lax is going in the smoothie for sure this morning. Seriously, nothing could dampen my mood. Even the intimidating Shrek-sized jar of vanilla whey powder I had to lug home from the gymnasty. It's so large that my tiny perfect hands can get around the jar to open it. I...

Dear Harley: Some experts advise that a person who is dieting should have a partner to share the pain. I disagree with this idea. I love my husband, but I hate being on a diet with him. First, he can lose 20 pounds in a day blinking and it takes me a year to lose five pounds going to the gym nearly every morning. He says it's because he has more weight to lose; I think he's just being diplomatic and that he's internally rubbing his intestines together in glee. That's just my thinking. He's not that competitive. He loves me and doesn't want to hurt my feelings, but the whole situation just pisses me off. But that's not the only reason I loathe doing the twin diet. I may be an obsessive-compulsive, who counts each morsel of food going down the gullet, but at least I don't cheat on my diet. I'm a perfectionist and believe if I stray in any way, I will gain ten pounds. Now don't get me wrong. It isn't that Scott is sneaking c...

The Huffington Post is reporting today that most women with big breasts hate them. This may come as a surprise to men, who love them. Please, dudes, let me school you. Despite what the creator of Mad Men implies, women with big boobs generally do not get ahead at the office. Well, that's not true. Women with big boobs get ahead if they are fat, mean and unattractive. Attractive women just get cornered in the stairwell by the boss after a long lunch. When I was growing up in journalism, I was teased mercilessly. One photographer used to call me Rosie Tits. I hope he died a very long and painful death from prostate cancer. A woman with big boobs is never taken seriously. She spends much of her time craning her neck to see the eyes of men who NEVER look her in the eye. And I swear, most men don't realize they are staring at a woman's rack. Or they don't care. Big boobs mean you can never wear a nice swimsuit, tank top or a halter. You can't wear many k...

Dear Harley: I was so happy to get your reply to my tweet yesterday. It's pretty unusual for a busy guy like yourself to take interest in the weight loss plight of an ordinary citizen like me. I can't really compete with your clients: J Lo, Miley Cyrus, Rachel McAdam, Halle Berry and all the other movie stars you train into ripped shapedness. So your tweet was well appreciated. I was pretty sure, when I asked you what I should drink on the Twenty Days to Swimsuit Ready diet, that you wouldn't say "vodka" or "red wine". Basically, you're telling me what I already know but don't want to hear -- that I must drink more water. Like most people, I don't drink enough water. In fact, I have a full glass of the stuff that's sitting here, right next to my computer, and it's been here since 7 a.m. Just can't choke enough of the stuff down. But I'm trying. Yesterday, which was my first day on your diet, was brutal, let me tell ...

There's a story I like about the demise of the newspaper business in Canada and it goes like this. A Montreal Star editor back in the 70s decided to take a vacation. When he returned from his rest week, he discovered the newspaper had folded. So he and a group of editors and reporters got in their cars and drove down the road to Ottawa where they took jobs at the Ottawa Journal . A year or so later, the guy decided to go on vacation again. When he returned, he discovered that The Journal had been closed along with the Winnipeg Tribune . Needless to say, the poor fellow never wanted to go on vacation again. I've been up close and personal with the abrupt endings of several newspapers in Ottawa. The first, in the late 70s, was the closing of Ottawa Today . I had been assigned by my editor at the Ottawa Journal  to verify rumors that the troubled newspaper was on the slow slide; I had a couple of rogues in the newsroom who kept me posted on the paper's rapid ...

Dear Harley: Well, it's the first day of My Revolution. I'm up at the crack-o dawn with Finnigan who would not let us sleep past five-thirty. We were a bit concerned about the little guy; we watched last night in horror when he swallowed a chew bone whole. You may not know this but I had a two year old retriever years ago who dropped dead after eating a slew of muffins left out by the nanny. So you can imagine how terrified I am that Finnigan will be dispatched by a chew bone while still an infant. I may be paranoid but I still remember the time Oprah's lab choked on a ball. We must be vigilant. These dogs are stupid. I was playing ball with Finnie yesterday and he knocked himself out when he slammed his head against the wall. Given his state of whimpiness and clumsiness, we're thinking of renaming him Sidney Crosby. I digress. Today, I weighed in at 217. It seems I put on two pounds yesterday wolfing down paella, cheesecake and margaritas. Time to ...