Monthly Archives: September 2008

Steff the Singing Fool

Opera Man always makes me smile.
There are a few Vancouver characters that the locals who’ve been here for years know about. Like the Rock-Art Guy. Or Opera Man.
Over the the 12 years I’ve lived in Vancouver proper, once in a truly blue moon the cosmos aligns ever so fortunately, and I luck out and happen upon Opera Man taking a stroll. Nowadays in his 60s, he’s a shorter, smaller, slimmer Italian man who shuffles casually with his hands clasped behind his back and just belts out baritone operas at will. He oozes joie de vivre.
I’ve seen Opera Man when I was depressed as I’ve ever been, and when I heard him and his spontaneous operatic bliss, I couldn’t fucking help but grin. Big. I love that man. Big love. If there’s a “Dude, you rock, and make Vancouver Vancouver” award, he gets one.
Me, I love to sing. But I’ve always been a coward. I have an all right voice. Took voice training back in the day. I’m deeper-voiced, with a throaty, sultry rattle, and smooth power when I want it… but I’m shy.
One of the many “Making Steff Rock” projects I’ve undertaken in this year of conscious changing-of-self is that of trying to force myself to be a bit bolder, less afraid of being spotted for being myself out loud… in all my trouble-making or bold ways that I usually keep somewhat under wraps amidst the general populace.
So, tonight, cycling home along one of the more travelled bike routes, I decided to sing out loud. Continue reading

To Dabble or Not to Dabble

I’m all torn these days. The more I consider relationships, the more I realize I don’t really know what I want, nor what I can handle. I’ve accepted a date for sometime next week with a poly guy. I’m curious as to whether I can process such a relationship.
I’m not concerned about my ability to take more than one lover, if I’m open about it and don’t have to juggle or lie or anything. I can’t do the duplicity thing.
My concern is whether I’m too jealous or possessive, whether my insecurities will get the better of me, whether my competitive nature makes me unlikely to play well with others in the picture. I really don’t know. Am I built for the variety and openness of a poly relationship?
I got told I gotta get off the fence and figure it the fuck out. Hence the date.
I know I don’t have a “regular” relationship in me. I’d love a friends-with-benefits situation, but I know, inside, I’m kinda wanting to taste my way through a few male specimens. I want variety. I want to consume men instead of food. But I don’t want to go sleeping around. I figure 2-3 lovers could be fantastic.
But then can I deal with the flip of men having the same variety on the side?
Well, there’s really only one way to find out.

Celebrities & Smut: Mirren on Date-Rape, Duchovy on Sex Addiction

Late last night I put a cutesy “Helen Mirren rocks!” kind of posting up, and I woke up to see a message from Abby Dabby pointing out that Mirren has gone on record as saying date rape isn’t really something the courts should be involved in.
In an article coming out in the UK’s GQ, she’s said:

The actress also stated in the candid interview with British magazine GQ that it would be hard for women to press charges against someone they had planned on being sexually active with.She told the publication, “I was (date-raped), yes. A couple of times. Not with excessive violence, or being hit, but rather being locked in a room and made to have sex against my will.”
“I don’t think she (a female rape victim) can have that man into court under those circumstances.”

Every single time I have sex, it is a choice. Every single time I choose to be active, my partner’s receiving a gift from me. If I don’t say yes, it’s not a choice. If there’s no choice, it is arbitrary and a situation of force.
Force means rape. Continue reading

The Most Annoying Conversation

I had a chance to go to a huge party Saturday night, but I decided I wasn’t very much on my social game, and that a simple one-on-one conversation would be better suited for the day I should have after a long week, so I made plans for a drink with someone instead.
Well, so much for being on my social game.
It was my first time meeting this guy. I figured, smart conversation and some drinks, a nice mellow time, right?
And maybe that’s how it would’ve felt if I could have gotten a word in edgewise. But I didn’t. So, no, not so nice, not so mellow.
While I’m often excessively articulate and pretty quick-thinking about it, I go through phases where I’m thinking more than speaking, and when I do talk, I’m a bit more measured and slow about it. I often like to do crazy things, like think before I speak, so I’ve been known to take something like 5-10 seconds to formulate my comment.
But apparently hesitation kills and no one should be allowed such time before speaking, if my night was any measure of that. My drinks-date interrupted me every single time I spoke. Not once could I naturally finish my thought. Every. Single. Time. I even got pissed off now and then at him interrupting, and CONTINUED speaking, despite him not stopping his interruption. Still, didn’t take the hint. I even said, “You talk too much” and made a couple comments that way, and, nope, didn’t slow him down a stitch.
And then the other thing was, any thing I did manage to say, he either turned it into a statement about him and his life, or else he just flat-out said he didn’t like my opinion. (I said, “I want to go to New York soon” and he goes, “I hate New York, it’s all concrete.” Well, I’m not fucking visiting there for a park, now, am I, when I live in a rainforest surrounded by ocean, mountains, and amazing land? Like New York’s competing with THAT? I’m going for a concrete jungle and “the city that never sleeps”. Fuck. Stop making me justifty myself.)
I gradually just stopped giving a shit and phoned the conversation in. Why fucking bother? Like anything I said mattered anyhow? Every time I spoke, I was interrupted, or informed that my opinion wasn’t at all correct. Way to make a companion feel like they matter and have something to contribute, huh?
I wanted to bitch-slap myself yesterday when I realized I was doing the story-trumping thing myself. You know, say someone goes, “I just climbed a mountain!” and you go, “Wow. Which one? Oh, I’ve climbed that seven times. It’s pretty shitty. Next time you should–” and it’s all right when we do that once or twice, it happens, right? But I think I did it a few times yesterday and I thought, “Wow, you arrogant cunt. Shut up.” So I shut up and listened then on.
This guy needs that inner voice to do a little shouting, methinks.
The irony of all this is, I recognize I’ve become too internal and too into myself of late, so I’ve been working to try and make myself a better listener and a more measured and gracious speaker. I was never, ever as bad as this fellow is, but it certainly serves as a reminder of why I’m trying to take myself to a new level as far as the give-and-take of conversation goes.
If people tell you that you talk too much, you probably do. Maybe you should listen.
If you like interrupting people because you think what you have to say is so brilliant, maybe you need to understand that it’s rude and it’s offensive, and it’s essentially saying to people, “I don’t give a shit what you have to say, because I’m wittier and better than you.”
Next time I want to feel not smart enough or not appreciated, I know who to call.
But, you know, I’m gravitating toward people who know how to make others feel appreciated and liked. It feels good. Who knew?