Wednesday, 17 June 2015

Canada's military: The Sultans of "Schwing"

In an interview with CBC’s Peter Mansbridge broadcast Tuesday afternoon, outgoing Chief of the Defence Staff Gen. Tom Lawson said men are “biologically wired” for such behaviour.
A report this spring found that women in uniform endure hostile work environments due to an “underlying sexualize culture” that leads to sexual harassment and sexual assault. The 88-page report by former Supreme Court Justice Marie Deschamps, written after hundreds of interviews with active members, found that “there is a broadly held perception in the lower ranks that those in the chain of command either condone inappropriate sexual conduct, or are willing to turn a blind-eye to such incidents.”-- The National Post

Well, isn't that special!
The commanding officer of Canada's military -- outgoing, thank God! -- has just revealed the underying root cause of the biggest crisis to hit the armed forces in decades. Not enough bullets? Needing bigger airplanes? A lack of nutritious rations based on the Canada Food Guide?
Na uh.
It's the Schwing factor.
The boys in various shades of green and periwinkle blue are pinching bums, and raping and purple nurpling their colleagues, because they are "biologicially wired" to do so. Said another way, in the spirit of Rock of Ages, they are "hard, hard, hard wired" to commit sins of a sexual nature.
Well, he said it, then he retracted it.
Too bad, so sad.
Lawson's highly paid media coaches must have been shitting themselves.
Let's face it, Lawson was saying what everyone without a vagina in the military really thinks.
That tenting is not about pitching, that boobs are God's great gift.
In the words of Steve Miller,"I really like your peaches, wanna shake your tree!"
What do they give our military boys, in terms of training videos? Copies of Game of Thrones?
Lawson may be thinking this, but he has no business saying it.
I wasn't surprised, either, when I saw all the old retired limp dicked military boys posting on Facebook about it yesterday, as if Tom Lawson was General Patton.
"Atta boy, Tom!" "You got it, Pontiac."
Here's the truth.
Whether boys are "hard wired" to Schwing their chubbies in the general direction of their female, or male, colleagues is irrelevant. When I was in high school, every boy had a big notebook, but they weren't allow to whip out their dicks and do stuff with them.
That's because, in high school, there were rules, as there are in general society against sexual harassment and rape. People go to jail for it, people get fired for it.
The military has always had a rape culture, don't ask, don't tell.
The brass have been hard wired to ignore it.
That's the problem.


Sunday, 14 June 2015

Stephen Harper: A Trip Down Memory Lane!

In a recent advertisement, Prime Minister Harper can be seen sitting in his office, with a voice-over suggesting that he doesn't make political decisions based on ideology. Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we? Just for old times sake. Pick number one on the playlist, or enjoy all these great videos.

Sunday, 7 June 2015

Ottawa's 100 Mile Diet: You Just Can't Get There From Here

Advertisement: Come to Lansdowne Market this Sunday to grab breakfast, the first strawberries of the season and other local favourites, then join in the FIFA fun.
This Sunday, June 7th, the market will be running a free shuttle bus to accommodate market customers during the FIFA Women's World Cup games (1pm: Norway vs. Thailand and 4pm: Germany vs. Côte D'Ivoire). Or, come early to avoid the rush. The market will also be open for extended hours — 8am until 4pm — this Sunday only.
To access... the market shuttle, park in Carleton University's Lot 7 for $4/day. The market shuttle will run every 30 min (with a lunch break from 12:15 to 1:00pm) dropping off and picking up at the east end the market in front of the Horticulture Building.
Leaving Carleton University, Lot 7
8:15, 8:45, 9:15, 9:45, 10:15, 10:45, 11:15, 11:45, 12:15, Lunch Break 1:00, 1:30, 2:00, 2:30, 3:00, 3:30, 4:00

Leaving Horticultural Building
8:30, 9:00, 9:30, 10:00, 10:30, 11:00, 11:30, 12:00, 12:30, Lunch Break 1:15, 1:45, 2:15, 2:45, 3:15, 3:45

Please note there is no onsite parking at Lansdowne after 10am.

Like that's gonna happen.

For the past two years, our summer tradition has been to take the dogs to the Conroy Pit, then amble over to the Ottawa Farmer's Market, which was located a Brewer Park. It was always an expensive run, costing us between $60-$100, as we voluntarily paid 10% more for eggs, cheese, fresh produce and herbs.

We paid the ransom almost gleefully.

That's because there is nothing more wonderful, for this farm girl at least, than to chow down on dirt-to-table mixed greens, sustainably-raised meat, and dew-glistened strawberries that were picked hours before. I love it, love it, love it.

Unfortunately, I haven't been to the Ottawa Farmer's Market once this year because it moved from Brewer Park, where there was plenty of free parking, to Lansdowne which is in the Glebe, where there is no free lunch. I don't go to the Glebe, not since we had our car towed for accidentally parking a smidge across some entitled Glebite's precious driveway, one that couldn't be seen from the street!

I do love the Farmer's Market, so I've been tempted to break my rule, but naw, forget it. Going to the Glebe is just too much trouble parking-wise.

I suppose I could take the bus and drag my six bags of groceries over two buses, while watching them wilt and have teenagers spew spittle over them, but I'm not going to. I live a block from the grocery store and a couple miles down the road from farmers. I'll get my produce there.

Yesterday, I pondered going to the Farmer's Market on Main Street, only to discover that it isn't there anymore because Main Street looks like a gigantic sinkhole. There is so much construction on Main Street, even God has left St. Paul's University.

And don't get me started on Westboro. You can't park in Westboro, unless it's two in the morning.

Sure, I could go down to the actual Market, but that would mean paying for parking, jostling with street people, and having to listen to my former neighbor play the flute. Oh yes, and the first and last thing to assault the senses is the smell of pee in the parking garages.

It's not fun.

To make matters worse, there is the damned FIFA thing going on at Lansdowne, so for the next two weeks, the Farm Marketing folks are cheerfully suggesting people take the bus from Carleton University (schedule reprinted above) and pay $4 for the privilege. For some of us that $4 would have paid for a pint of strawberries.

So I have to drive over to Carleton, park my car, get on a stinky bus shuttle with sweaty men in Tilly hats and sandals with their wives inappropriately dressed in sun dresses (no bras) to go to the Glebe and buy my strawberries, only to get back on the bus and do it all over again. Ain't gonna happen.

I'm staying away from anything that FIFA sponsors, just like I'm staying away from Bernie Madoff.

This year, farm-fresh for me will mean actually going to the farm to get my veg.

Too bad for all the vendors who used to like my money.

Sometimes this city sucks.


Saturday, 23 May 2015

Press Gallery Dinner 1980: The year of the gams

If you've worked on Parliament Hill, you have no doubt been to a Press Gallery Dinner.
The dinners these days are relatively staid affairs.
Except for this year.
This year, our Elizabeth May extinguished herself by going postal on the Conservative Cabinet, f-bombing her way to a hook off the stage. Good for Liz. There's more than hot air in that helium balloon, and we frankly applaud her for whipping it out.
That said, it was a frankly amateurish performance for Lizzie (who took and axe, gave the Tories 40 wacks), and it was pretty tame compared to Press Gallery Dinners of yore.
I was reminded of this last night when the old codger Ray Stone filled my inbox to the brim with photos of pre-eminent journalists wearing chaps, and drunkenly crooning on stage, to the delight of a mostly male crowd back in the 70s.
There were only a handful of women allowed at the Dinner back then, when I was a sweet young thing trying to break into serious journalism. The women allowed in were either seriously working journalists, or politicians. There was a no wives rule, which meant that the men could get up to all sorts of nonsense, mostly drinking, losing their cars and puking in the hair of other journos.
Some of us, who were not members of the Gallery, got in because we were part of the Gallery show, which went on sometime in the middle of the night. It was a swinging dick contest with lines like this:

Jean-Luc, a steamin' and a strokin'
Jean-Luc, got his caucus in his hand.

There were songs you wouldn't hear today, like the one sung by Don Newman and Peter Van Dusen about the CBC, entitled The Johnson Fags, after the head of the CBC and what was deemed a preponderance of gay men doing his dirty work. Yeah, that wouldn't happen today.
Evan Solomon would have a stroke.

I got talked into doing mostly stripper pole work, as evidenced by this photo.

That's me in the front with the black hair. I was a hooker, a can-can dancer, etc. etc. always in the chorus, never the lead. That was left for the off key Gayle Morris, who did yo-girl's work as the Governor-General, Barbara Frum, and so on. There were other women in the Gallery, but none of the rest of them wanted anything to do with the Gallery show. You can't blame them. Many had worked hard to overcome all the bullshit that came with getting that golden ticket and they weren't going to put on a corset and be mocked by their limp dicked colleagues.
Me, I didn't know any better.
Back then, I could be talked into anything.
Which is exactly why nobody took me serious until my boobs started sagging and my hips started spreading.
I had to work in the trenches for two decades, drowning under the glass ceiling that was being propped up by serious women. I thank them today for their hospitality, and their generosity; otherwise, I would have ended up like Joan on Madmen.
Oh wait...
Nevertheless, I am wistful for the days before children, the times when I never had to buy a drink at the Press Club bar, Not to mention gams that didn't pucker and jiggle.
Oh well, even now, I look better than Michel Gratton, God rest him and his budgie smugglers.


Thursday, 21 May 2015

This is where I leave you...for now

Hello CBC friends:

I know you are CBC Radio friends because I check my stats every day and more than 600 people have visited this blog in the past three days. That's thanks to my repeat performance on

Maybe you're wondering what happened to me after my husband left me at the airport to take a trip to Bermuda to go fetch his new wife. Well, a lot of bad stuff happened, and a lot of good stuff.

I raised my three kids in near poverty while he climbed up the corporate ladder. Today, he is a multimillionaire with a six figure pension. He's still a big shot.

I've moved on.

I beat the odds and married my third husband 12 years ago, and we are going strong.

It hasn't always been easy, but it's been interesting.

You will find my blogs about my life, a well examined life, in these pages. I wrote this blog for four years and it helped me heal, and it helped me learn about myself. Along the way, I made some great friends.

I don't miss the old husband, not at all. He not only didn't show up at his daughter's wedding, he didn't even send a card. Who wants a guy like that in your life.?

So take some time to enjoy the stories within these pages. Send me a note. I'd love to hear from the people who cared to listen to my sad, sad story.

Maybe one day, I'll be back. Maybe CBC will give me my own sitcom?

For now, this where I leave you...for now.

All the best, Rose


Sunday, 22 February 2015

Kathleen Wynne, Justin Trudeau and the thrusted penis of power

I nearly wept this morning reading Robin Sears' scathing analysis of the current state of politics in Ottawa and Ontario. Sears used two examples to demonstrate why voters, old and young, are so cynical.

Example A: Ontario Premier Kathleen Wynne's chief of staff is fingered by the province's Chief Electoral Officer for trying to bribe a hard working Liberal to stop him from running against the preferred candidate. (Criminal charges pending.) Example B: The well-coiffed son of a former revered prime minister accepts sloppy seconds from the Prime Minister. Mucho gusto!

As a voter, I'm loving it. I find day-to-day politics exceedingly boring, and I frankly don't care where John Baird hangs his hat.

I'm here for the dirty stuff.

Ontario never, ever, disappoints. And we have David Peterson to thank for all of it. Peterson is the Canadian version of Kevin Bacon. All the shenanigans -- and people -- can be all tied back to Peterson, even Robin Sears who once toiled for Peterson as his man in Hong Kong.

We have Peterson to thank for some of the great scandals and bungles.  Ontario Place, Fridge-gate, Patti Starr. And now he's given Kathleen Wynne the greatest gift of all: Pat Sorbara.

Pat Sorbara once toiled in the office of Shelly's husband. She ate bear paw with the Chinese. She organized and whispered in the backrooms with the best of the good old boys. Now she's taken everything she learned at Peterson's knee and smeared it all over Kathleen Wynne like cream cheese on a lox bagel.

It's what happens, you know, in politics. Some people leave and grow consciences and make money, like Robin.  Other people can't seem to manage it in the private sector. So they hang around and begin to smell bad. After a time, like many old pros, they begin to develop political amnesia. They might have read the rule book back in the 80s, but it's soon been forgotten amidst the thrill of using the thrusted penis of power.

Given Wynne's trouble, Justin Trudeau might prove to be a genius after all.

He may have been right to turf all and sundry political veterans from his team. Names like David Smith, Gordon Ashworth, Terry Mercer have all been scrubbed from the walls at Liberal Party HQ. The good news is that Trudeau's team may be political dementia-free but the bad news is that it leaves a vacuum on the team which needs to be filled by someone. So I guess that explains why Eve Adams, is to Trudeau at least, seen as a good catch. She has absolutely no links to Liberals whatsoever, so she is perfect for his new-fangled team: devoid of any loyalty whatsoever, willing to use her Jimmy Choos' to step on anyone to do his dirty work, certain to spill the guts of Stephen Harper all over the floor.

Trudeau may, indeed, be offering Kathleen Wynne a solution to her current dilemma. She will be looking for people to fill in the blanks of her office when she has to turf David Peterson's sloppy seconds. And there are plenty of federal Liberals out of jobs thanks to Justin. And old Liberals have to work somewhere, right?

Perhaps this is all some grand Liberal strategy, wherein the Liberals take a page out of the playbook of, say, Twin Peaks or the X-Files. Hmmmm, maybe the Twilight Zone.

In the meantime, we lovers of As the Political Stomach Churns, can't wait to see what will happen next.


Monday, 16 February 2015

Family Day is the Stupidest Holiday Ever

Family Day is the stupidest holiday ever.
It only makes sense to skiers and provincial civil servants.
Teachers, maybe.
But for the rest of us, Dalton McGuinty's legacy is nothing more than a huge pain in the ass.
You can't buy groceries. I hate any time I can't buy groceries.
You can get your mail delivered, but you can't get your drink on.
The kids are off school, but you have to work.
It's a babysitter's dream; a parent not so much.
Those of us who work on Family Day can't get anything done. In my case, I work with doctors and their associations from across Canada. The doctors are at work, a lot of them, but the associations have the day off -- in Ontario.
I can't take the day off because the rest of Canada doesn't have the day off.
So it's a kind of damned if you do, kind of holiday.
Aside from the huge inconvenience, Family Day falls on one of the coldest days of the year.
That means it's too cold to take the kids anywhere other than to the movies or the mall. Ooops! Not the mall cause the stores are all closed.
So the parents who do take the day off have to listen to screaming rugrats and indoor fights or spring for a new video game for the PS4.
Family Day is expensive.
Sure, you can take them to the museums in Ottawa. Again, ca-ching.
Anyway, I don't have school aged kids, so I don't care about all that.
But I do care about my gym and it is full of little ankle-biters. The pool is full of peeing, pooping, farting little tykes, so I'm not going near it until next week.
That's why I'm here at my computer, talking to you, you who work for the federal government, you who run a daycare, you who have clients NOT in Ontario.
How's Family Day going for ya?
Passive-aggressive, that's what it is.
Thank you, former Premier McGuinty.
I will think of you today when I don't get my emails answered.