Rose's Cantina

Embed from Getty Images I will not speak his name. He does not deserve attention anymore. In some other cultures, this man would have been cast out into the wilderness, shunned by his people, at the very hint of the violence he committed against many, many women. In other cultures, he would be allowed to let his energy flow freely, and it would be the women who would be cast out for being dirty, evil, lesser. In our culture, it's somewhere in the middle. He has been cast out, in some way, unemployable in the vainglorious media where he toiled; he has been denied his hunting ground. But he still walks among us, his face allowed to feel the cold and damp of this spring/winter day. I hope the rain stings like needles. In our society, the women, too -- one named the others nameless -- have been singled out for punishment. They weren't believable enough, they didn't remember enough, they talked among themselves, reassured each other. In some cases, they cov...

#108274487 / gettyimages.com What is happening to this staid old nation of ours? First we had the crack-smoking mayor, then Justin "The Egg Man" Bieber. Now we have the King of Kink. Merde. Have you seen all the blogs about sweet little Jian Ghomeshi who got bitch slapped by CBC for his love of all things BDSM? Oh my . We thought he was just a creep. Now he's a creep with an attitude. He doesn't fight fair, according to the Toronto Star who interviewed four women who said he punched them and strangled them without their consent. Is he guilty? Not according to him. He told Facebook lovers on Sunday that he's into the scene -- nothing wrong with that -- and this is just a silly prank put upon him by a jilted ex-lover. Then he went on to list all his perversions, like any of us want to know, kind of like a 4-1-1 in case some young ladies on The Facebook might want to, you know, look him up. Got to hand it to Jian. He never met a twisted op...

Photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net (Rosemary Ratcliffe) I met my cousin Pat for coffee at Starbucks yesterday, and something terrible happened. We were in mid-gossip when I felt a prick between my second and third toe. My sandal went flying and so did a tiny little wasp which had insinuated itself into my shoe. "Quick," I said to Pat. "Can you go in and get some ice? She came back with a barista who was holding a teaming bag of ice wrapped in a cloth. You realize, of course, that there isn't much flesh on your toes, so the little bastard manage to stick its stinger right into the bone of my toe. And then he died a well-earned and nasty death under my shoe. Funnily enough, it didn't swell or hurt, so I continued my conversation with Pat and I went off to do some errands. About 3 a.m., my foot started to hurt like a bitch. The itch was so bad, that the sensation travelled to my other foot and up both my legs. So I crawled out of bed and reached for...

I've been mulling a change for some time. My old blog, Rose's Cantina, was turning me into a bitter old crone. I reminded myself of Granny Ina who used to hit the cat with her cane. The cat deserved a whooping, of course, because she was a miserable and mangy little cuss who lay in wait for Granny. When Granny came around the corner, Pixie would pounce on her leg, bite her ankles and sink her razor sharp teeth into the wrinkly old flesh. It was awesome. I realized recently if I didn't stop snarking at politicians and movie stars, I was going to morph into an eighty-pound dame who could wield a cane like a ninja operating nunchuks. So I've decided to change lanes and embark on a more positive, if not bizarre journey, which might land me a gig on CBC radio if I play my cards right. Think a mixture of Stuart Mclean and Jann Arden. Starden.  That's me. A little girl outstanding in her field. Just a country girl with a twang in my heart and a pack of do...