Category Archives: Ethics

Oh, Tiger Woods, You FAILED Us… BAD Golfer!

Oh, boo-hoo. Really? Tiger failed you?

It turns out people are whining more about the fact that the mighty golf god Tiger Woods has proven to be all-too-human and just as flawed as most people in the public eye.

I can’t believe the air of entitlement from the public about this. Like Tiger Woods did this to YOU?

What did Tiger sign up to do in life? Be Jesus? No, as a toddler he picked up a golf club and showed a profound affinity to it. He didn’t enroll in Dalai Lama classes or learn how to hang out on a cross for three days and change water to wine.

He played GOLF. He hit a stupid ball with a stick, and he was INCREDIBLE at it. He became the best player to EVER play the sport.

He did THAT to the best of his abilities.

Then, like most profoundly gifted people, he fucked up in other areas of his life.

So what do we have now? We have blowhards like wanker-to-the-nth, Augusta Golf Club’s Chairman Billy Payne, saying ridiculous things like, “Our hero did not live up to the expectations of the role model we saw for our children. It is not simply the degree of his conduct that is so egregious here, it is the fact he disappointed all of us and more importantly our kids and our grand kids.”

Are you kidding me?

Here’s a chance for EVERY PARENT IN THE WORLD to do what they should’ve been doing all along:

Explain to the kids that celebrities are people, and they make humongous mistakes in life, too. Explain how “celebrity” usually means someone’s good at one special thing, and they’re probably better at that one thing than most people ever will be, but that “celebrity” also leads people to think that being GOOD at that ONE thing means that they get a pass on being good at many other things — like living a moral life — and that it’s important to remember how easy it is to let your life get out of balance and lose responsibility for yourself.

Like Tiger did.

Tiger Woods — THE GREATEST PLAYER IN THE WORLD, EVER — has screwed up and been human.

It’s a good time for EVERYONE to remember that if Tiger can be human, we probably all will be, too.

Naturally, Tiger’s brand of “fucking up” goes above and beyond the average person’s ability to do so — but so do the demands of his life, the surreality of HIS fame, and the enormously frequent opportunities to screw up. So, of course the scope of his fallout is legendary, because so is his life. Perspective.

A skill or talent, or even brilliance, does not mean someone is immune from insecurities, emotional baggage, mental illness, stupid judgment, or the ability to be a complete ass.

Let’s start judging skills, talent, progeny, brilliance, and scope for what it is — being good at ONE thing, not EVERYthing — and stop assuming it comes with some moral pedigree.

In our daily lives, we’re all flawed to varying extents, and none of us ever faces the vast temptations and moral compromises those in the public eye do, and yet we’d like to keep our skeletons well hidden behind our closets.

Unlikely any of us has ever had anything close to the sexual escapades and betrayals that Tiger Woods has come to light with, but it doesn’t make the demands we place on our celebrities any less hypocritical.

Get real, people. Morality should be taught at home and at church.

Expecting it from celebrities today is as stupid and naive as it was in Roman times.

Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Get the memo. And get over it.

A Far-Ranging Post on Letterman’s Sex Scandal

Ten years ago this week, I moved into my apartment. Wow. In the first few months, I was at home a lot. My mother had just died. When I socialized, I’d have people over. The rest of the time I spent in a blur of drunkenness, dope, and getting by in my dayjob at a bookstore.

My nights were usually spent falling asleep to David Letterman’s wise-cracking punnery and stupid human tricks. There are something comforting about Dave. A friendly face every night. I sure as hell didn’t have Mom’s there anymore.

When, in January, 2000, I heard Letterman had been rushed off for and emergency quintuple-bypass, I was horrified. I’d just lost my mother. NOT DAVE TOO.

When, in 2001, the Towers were taken out by terrorists and Americans died in the thousands, it wasn’t the President or the Pope I spent my time waiting to hear from as the heart of America lay barely beating on the dusty New York sidewalks — it was Dave, Mr. New York City. Continue reading

RANT: You Think You’re A Feminist?

I can’t stand elitism. I can’t stand the “we’re better than you” mentality. And I sure as fuck can’t stand when someone’s got to get their hate on just to get ahead.

A particular blog post from someone in the sex blogging community is ridiculously sexist and moronic in its simplicity, in my opinion. Because I don’t feel the need to sling mud and hurt anyone’s reputations, I’ll leave it anonymous.

The blogger in question had a shitty day. Some guy, after she admitted she was responsible for causing a car accident, mouthed off with “It’s always the woman’s fault.” Because of this, she turned around and decided to slag all “privileged white males” as being asses.

Now, if she’d gone and said instead that she WORKS with privileged white males who are all asses, that’d be different, but her post more or less painted all as the same, and THAT is something I have a problem with.

Here’s the deal. Continue reading

Woe is You? Oh, ho! Woe is US!

I’m giving a few people a stay of execution on Twitter.

Soon, the unfollows will commence, as I seek to find new folks to fill my ADHD hours with.

Who’s in danger of getting the axe? Anyone who keeps whining.

See, I’ll bitch. Bitching’s good. I encourage rants and bitching. I even encourage being argumentative and incendiary. (Obviously. Look at me!)

But if all you’re doing is whining about how the latest inconvenience in your life is, well, an inconvenience, or you’re moaning about what a loser you are, or doing the whole existential pity-party “Why me?” bullshit, well, I could probably be filling my cyberspace better.

Why you? Because it’s your fucking turn. Like it was for me for 10 years. Because that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Because, for the REST OF YOUR LIFE, you will experience inconveniences, tragedies, and heartbreak. Because that’s life. Because it takes thick skin. Because you have to want it. Because you have to FIND the good shit in the middle of the tough shit. BECAUSE. Because. Continue reading

Update on Murder

It’s official — my brother’s friend was murdered by a filmmaker trying to recreate a death from the show Dexter. He had paid actors and everything. John, my bro’s now-deceased friend, was indeed lured to the garage in which he would be killed (as there is no corpse, but investigators say the “forensic evidence” gathered in the garage is overwhelming) by the sick film-making fucker who posed as a WOMAN on Craigslist to get our friend out on a “date”.

Had John not emailed his directions to his date to a friend of his, the murderer and the location of the crime may have gone unfound by the police.

We’re all “internet” types — we’ve probably all gone on internet dates. Just because you THINK you should be safe because it’s mostly normal people on the web doesn’t mean that’s the case, and this crime makes it obvious that even men have a lot to be concerned about when it comes to meeting strangers, even if the stranger is supposed to be female.

I’m not trying to say no one should ever meet anyone off the internet, but going to someone’s home on the first date? Fucking moronic. Meet in public places. Follow your Spidey-sense. Do not ignore gut instinct. Do not get into their car unless you’re certain you can trust them. Be very, very scared, and very, very cautious, because this case ain’t just some TV show come to life. This wasn’t some big-city crime where some anonymous characters just up and offed someone. Edmonton is a small city, and this was in the suburbs, on a quiet street that’s well-patrolled by cops.

This shit happens in real life, and we all need a fucking reminder sometimes to be vigilant. Well, this is that.

RIP, Johnny. Here’s the most recent CBC story on the crime. And another story about the links to the show Dexter and other weird shit regarding this crime can be found here. Even the producers of Dexter have come out and admitted total shock that someone would copycat one of their fictional murders. (That “shock” is yet another thing I feel the urge to write about — and slam — but hey. Another day, another posting. This crime won’t be resolved for months.)

Of Dates, Diets, And Me

So, I’ve been dating more of late. Averaging one date a week these days, and it’s all right. Nobody has yet made me pitter-patter, but we’re getting better on the averages here.

My big sexual misadventure of a couple of weeks was the classic case of pulling the trigger way too soon (in more ways than one) largely because I stupidly gave in when instinct said “Stick to the script, girlie. Use the door.” Ultimately the blame lies with me because I’m the person who probably had better perspective that night, but hormones said “Get thee LAID.” Not what I had in mind, but.

Now, though, that’s not the problem. I’m not “going there” for the hell of it. Getting laid is nice, but I’m not doing it if anyone’s getting hurt, or if it’s just flat-out dishonest. And I just don’t feel taking advantage of situations for my hormones, either. It needs to be genuine, and the right thing for right then. As it turns out, I seem to be doing all the rejecting these days, which is new, which is good, but the guilt sort of sucks sometimes.

Like, Monday I had a date. To be brutally honest, I was disappointed to see he has a bigger weight problem than I thought, and that’s a big problem for me at this point in my life.

Here’s where I have to clarify: Hard bodies don’t interest me. Never have. Some are hot but in that “I’d fuck you but I’d never, ever trust you” kind of way. Is that bigoted toward excessively pretty people? Sure, but it’s going on the averages I’ve come to see in my own life. There are always exceptions, of course.

But like I told my date tonight, it’s about health and strength. I’m not strong enough to be around someone who loves food, and all the wrong kinds. I can’t. I’ve lost 50 pounds, gone from a 22 to a 16, and I can’t go back. Won’t. Dad almost died of diabetes. I was heading toward a future of heart disease and diabetes and premature death. I had the “This isn’t good” chat with the doc. I was filled with self-loathing and felt like I was out of the loop with life. I’m so much better than that now. I like this girl. I like her a lot.

And why wouldn’t I? I have changed everything.

So I had the decency to say I’d keep an open mind and if I saw him trending toward health and fitness, I’d develop an interest… most likely.* Which is true. He’s certainly of the “type” I gravitate toward. Very much so. But not at the price of putting myself around a life of excess, not anymore.

Bodywise, that “type” however tends to be guys just carrying a literal few extra pounds. Maybe 30, 40, 50 pounds overweight, depending on height and frame, just of the mildly “doughy” and comfy but nothing more than that. Kind of maybe at a max to the extent that I myself am presently overweight.

Cushion for the pushin’ and a little extra to soften the blow? Works for me.

But you got to know, I’m not keen on bones gnashing into me during sex. I dig madly the slap-slap-slap sound of flesh hitting flesh in the act. Thin-people sex doesn’t sound as fun. They need a little more slappin’. I really love skin, but more importantly, flesh. I’m all about the meat of it. Good firm meat, of course. Like firmness. Excessively jiggling meat, not so good.

But when I say “doughy”, I’m talking more in a Steven Page of Barenaked Ladies, not Jack Black. Geeky and softish but in proportion. What can I say? I’m that type, and I like that type. Says a lot about the light I see myself in, if anything, I guess.

Now, me, personally, I ain’t aiming to be slim and trim. Not in my goals at all, whatever you think of this weightloss quest. I see my ass being perfect at about a size 10-ish. Face it, in life and on this blog, my personality’s larger than life. “Slim” doesn’t compute when one throws it up against “Steff”. I mean, really? Foodie-sensualist-scooter-riding-feminist-geeky-sex-fiend girl? Thin? No.

I like myself a little on the soft side. Just not as much as I was. :) That problem’s solved anyhow. Like I wrote yesterday, waxing about the new loveliness of my thighs. Smooth, firm. Lovely! I like this. Shaving is so much more fun. Yet, my ass is amply grabbable. S’all right.

If my proportion stays as good as it is, but I just slim up a little more, then I’ll have what I think is the perfect body. Fuck the media, fuck size two, fuck DDs, fuck it all. I’m cool with a B-cup 10. The ever-perfect 10.

But I’d feel like shit if I just slammed the door of possibility on this guy, who has a lot to offer, but lives a different lifestyle than me right now. I’ve been that person. A little faith would have done me some good.

And it’s like that bumper sticker. “I may be fat, but you’re ugly, and I can diet.” Exactly. He’s cute.

Good people are good people, whatever their size. But they say your social situation dictates your fitness. Hang with overweight folk? You’ll be overweight. Why? They eat fat food, don’t exercise. Hang with thin people? You’ll lose weight. Why? Because they tend to eat better, exercise. Nature, nurture?

It ain’t science, it’s just environment. And given how much a glutton I am when the lovin’s good, given my foodie-sensualist bent, I need to be a very careful girl these days. Let’s nibble wee bits of wonderful cheese and lots of fruit, maybe a crumb of excellent dark chocolate, but nix the pizza. Choice is a wonderful thing.

And that’s the way that low-fat cookie crumbles. As did my date. With whom I’ve vowed to stay in touch with, and get to know, either way, with an open mind. Since he aims to “prove it”. Because good people are good people.

*Steff note: I should add he says he’s up to my challenge and says I should stick around. I said sure. We’ll see.