Rose's Cantina

#157436043 / gettyimages.com It's been nearly seven years since I've lived in the real world, gotten up, got dressed and went to a real job. This is not a life that I've chosen; it's a life that has chosen me. Since I've been on Plant Earth, I've only worked in real jobs for five years. Five years, and I'm coming up on 58. Not much to put on the old resume, is it? Itinerant. That's the word that comes to mind. How did this happen? Life happened, of course. I came out of journalism school with the usual expectations and sat myself down at a typewriter -- man, now this is really aging me -- and set about to have that exciting career that was promised me. I had that for three years, first as a part-timer, then as a full-time night reporter for the Ottawa Journal . Then the paper folded and I was out on my ass. I freelanced for the Ottawa Citizen for about year, writing a music column and all sorts of stories about going out in th...

Rose-French relations hit a new low this morning. At 7 a.m. I received a missive from across the pond saying that my superiors had lost confidence in me. That's because I inadvertently put two sentences in a paragraph that weren't supposed to be there. Me, I thought it was no big deal. But to them it was as if I were Paula Deen and I'd just called Kanye West the "n" word. I've already been laid off for the summer. Now, the icing is running fast and furious down the bodice of the McArthur Park cake. It's looking like I'm going to be sacked. Hard to tell with the French. Last time, I thought they sacked me, I went into a corner moping for two weeks and then the frantic emails started with my post-pubescent boss wondering where I'd been. Then I started getting emails from my other Parisian colleagues wondering why I'd sent them all letters of adieu. You see, my bosses keep a list, some sort of ledger with one column only outlining my ...

5:30 a.m. Awake with a start realizing that you're on deadline in France. Hobble out of bed, let the dogs out, put the kettle on. 7:00: Four web stories written. Mission accomplished. 7:15: Push button to send invoice. 7:30: Off to gym. Then to Farmboy to pick up kale and carrots for juice. 8:00: Head ache. Back home to feed the dogs. 8:30: Peck the husband on the cheek. Send him off to sell cheap cars to sacked public servants with severance. 9:00: Check Facebook, Twitter, newspapers, look for fodder for the blog. 9:03: Score! Rob and Doug Ford. This shit literally writes itself. 9:15: Blog finished. 9:30: Juice and three egg omelette 10:00: Check email. Nemesis in France is fired because, to quote her words, "everybody hates her and thinks she's evil". Think to oneself: God has answered prayer. Send the Holy Spirit a high five. 10:05: Send condolences. Secretly hope she drops off the Eiffel Tower. 10:10: Note to newest boss. We will hav...

It appears my dreams of a future in journalism have been, once again, dashed. For the past year and half, I have been on a wonderful, almost unbelievable, journey. I was called upon to create a new magazine in Canada, part of a chain of magazines worldwide. The topic is unimportant, suffice to say it involves commiting medical journalism, one of my favorite areas of interest. I absolutely love creating new magazines. I've done it maybe ten times in my career and I'm good at it. Lifelong learning has been a passion for me and I'm always amazed at how small our personal worlds are and how much we do not know. Part of the allure of being a journalist is being able to interview smart people: doctors, scientists, difference-makers. Interviewing them makes me want to be a better person. Anyways, the magazine is now in its eighth edition and the company has now set up a website which means that I can now commit daily journalism. Haven't done that in 20 years. It's...

I sat bolt upright in bed last night as I always do every two months or so. Then the reel started..hydro...cable...credit card...Fido. I'm just minutes away from them all being cut off -- okay, not minutes, I exaggerate, as all freelancers do. But it's getting close. So is my payday. I can practically smell the Euros being deposited into my BMO account! That's what I tell my creditors anyway. I work for an international magazine that publishes every two months, which is my main gig. I do other things but being editor-in-chief keeps a body busy enough that it's hard to take on other commitments. I'm paid fairly well for my job so it allows me lots of other time to get into mischief, or look for other jobs when I start to panic. The thing is, because the magazine is published every two months, I only get paid every two months so my financial situation requires a lot of juggling, not to mention phone calls to utility companies pleading for more time. As soon...

If you're reading this, you might have heard me on CBC radio's DNTO today. I was talking about how I suck at job interviews, how when asked my strategy to further the aims of an animal welfare group, I replied: "Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat". Needless to say, I didn't get that job. I'm always nervous about public speaking, but it's pretty good on the radio, especially if you're talking to WINNIPEG from OTTAWA. They put you in a little box and basically, you just talk to yourself, which I'm always doing. You see, I'm a shut-in, a freelancer, which is Ottawaspeak for "chronically unemployed". There's another word for it, a word used by perpetual gas bags and chest puffers who are also unemployed. They call themselves "consultants". The Canada Revenue Agency has another word for us. It's called "tax evaders". Seriously, you know you suck at freelancing when you don't bot...