Tag Archives: popular opinion

Am I Really Channelling Dorothy Parker?

Watching Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep with Humphrey Bogart this morning had me waxing nostalgic on my Twitter feed.


smuttysteff I think I was born in the wrong decade. I think I should’ve been some bitchy vixen singing jazz in the ’30s.
smuttysteff The kind who laughed and blew smoke in mens’ faces. Yup.
DavidStephenson @smuttysteff No, you’re channeling Dorothy Parker http://tinyurl.com/2ml5ae
smuttysteff @DavidStephenson I’m channelling Dorothy Parker? Let’s hope I skip the alcoholism, depression, and lonely, bitter death, then, eh? šŸ™‚

It’s funny, you know. Dorothy Parker was known for her caustic way, her incredible essays and other writing, her brilliant witty but cutting use of language, and when she got old, she got all depressed that she was just a “wisecracker” and more or less drank her way out of this life.
It reminds me, really, of when I was younger, around 19 or 20, when I was super-popular and everybody’s friend, thanks to my wise-cracking ways that everyone loved, of a dream I had one night that pretty much literally changed me forever. Continue reading

A Ramble: Valentine's Day

This day, the 15th, is one of my least favourite days of the year for private reasons. I fucking hate it. So, I got to thinking last night as I smoked a joint and continued to write, and this is the rambling ode I had about being single on Valentine’s day, and I dedicate it to all those who rolled out of bed alone today and didn’t feel badly about it.
Iā€™m at home on Valentineā€™s night. Thereā€™s a Dr. Phil show on, about how to ā€œlove smart.ā€ Itā€™s a primetime special. Ever noticed how the matchmaker sites go onto full boil around this time of year? Notice the fix-up services advertising more these days? Itā€™s like the world conspires to tell you youā€™re a loser if a) youā€™re single or b) your lover doesnā€™t spend enough on you or c) your lover doesnā€™t put out.
Iā€™m reveling in my singleness this evening. I made garlic bread. With extra garlic. And spaghetti with meat sauce, something the wise would never eat in front of a date. Iā€™m wearing my cut-off shorts and a fleecy sweater. Iā€™m having an awesome night of relaxing, writing, cooking, watching a little telly, and reading. And deep down inside thereā€™s this niggling of ā€œBut they think you need a boyfriend. Do ya, honey?ā€
I know I had a moment of weakness last week, thatā€™s what I do know. I seized a moment with someone and let things go further than they should have, but for that night, regardless of what the future did or didnā€™t hold, companionship sounded like a good idea. There are people you know you can trust, even if you canā€™t imagine really being with them for the long haul. And there are weak moments.
Ultimately, though, I do love being single. I admit, I am alone. Iā€™m not lonely, though. Not usually. (Weakness, it happens.) And I resent Valentineā€™s Day (and the media and society) for seeming to think my lack of desire for a real, true relationship is anything less than healthy. I want a relationship, but I want the right relationship. Anything less than simpatico is just not worth my time, grief, or efforts. The right man, he gets it all. Iā€™ll drop anything for the right guy, you know. Iā€™m just a diehard romantic. But I scrutinize with the best of them, and I just want the right combination.
Otherwise, Iā€™ll keep my Sundays for reading the paper in my boxers and a t-shirt. Iā€™ll get up when I want, sleep where I want, eat what I want, and do what I want. I wonā€™t have to check to see if ā€œour scheduleā€ is clear, I wonā€™t have to worry about any of that. Like I say, when itā€™s right, itā€™s worth it, but when itā€™s not absolutely right, itā€™s infringing on my space.
That makes me very male in some ways, I think. Iā€™m not sure why more men feel that way than women, but perhaps it comes down to how comfortable they are alone. Itā€™s interesting, Iā€™ve seen an increase in the media, people bringing up something Iā€™ve long believed: One of the worst things you can say to a lover is what they said in Jerry Maguire, ā€œYou complete me.ā€
If you cannot be complete on your own, you are not a whole person. If you do not have a sense of self, you have nothing. If you cannot love yourself, who else can? These are clichĆ©s, and for good reason. Theyā€™re as true as they can be.
If you donā€™t know yourself when you fall in love with someone, youā€™re going to have the very, very rude experience of cluing the fuck in to who you are somewhere down the line, and that person youā€™ve committed yourself to is going to find out that they no longer fit the bill. Who you love must complement who you are, not complete it. Weā€™re foolish when it comes to love, we put the cart before the horse.
I long ago discovered that my ā€œfuctedness,ā€ as one pal would say, needed solitude. Every time I got into a relationship, I lost more and more of who I was. I became this person who needed to have that approval from ā€œthemā€ in order to have that sense of self. Now, I couldnā€™t care less. I know that the right people, the ones I want around me, they dig me. The ones who donā€™t dig me, donā€™t get me, and wonā€™t have me, and thatā€™s just fine. Donā€™t fight it, man. Go with the flow.
But when you really learn to dig yourself, you donā€™t need anyone anymore. You see people for what they are: Icing on a fuckinā€™ fab cake, baby.
See, the difference between those of us who enjoy being single and those who do not is pretty simple. Those of us who enjoy it, weā€™re optimistic about love. We figure, hey, if the timeā€™s ever right, if the cosmos ever aligns, then maybe weā€™ll come out of that with something/one we just canā€™t get enough of. Until then, weā€™re alone, and weā€™re going to enjoy it, ā€˜cos when that love comes, aloneness goes. And itā€™s more than aloneness. Itā€™s solitude, quietude. There are some things you will never, ever experience if you donā€™t command your time alone. Some of the most profound experiences of my life have come to me in moments spent completely isolated from the world.
I moved to the Yukon for one year when I was 21, and it was a profound experience all the way around. Before then, I was a popular gal and always had plans, always was out. I moved there and discovered the true art of being alone and loving it, and it changed my life. I remember a night right around summer solstice. It was daylight then from three in the morning until two in the morning, just an hour of dusk in betweenā€¦ fucking sublime. Sigh. You could sit and watch the sunset followed by the sunrise in the time it took to slowly nurse a single beer. I was having one of these profound days ā€“ a day in between nights at the bar, preceding a long weekend away, where we’d be camping at the foot of Mount McKinley and Mount Logan, the continentā€™s highest peaks. I remember thinking, ā€œIā€™ve got it pretty fucking good. This will be one of the best times in my life, and I will never, ever forget these experiences. But tonight I got to slow it down and keep it all to me.ā€
I packed up a few thingsā€¦ a joint, a couple of beers, some Robert Service poetry, and a sweater. I drove the car out of the city (of 15,000) into the nearby country, Milesā€™ Canyon, the Yukonā€™s mini version of the Grand, through which the Yukon river carved a wide and tumultuous path. I did a hike out to the edge of the canyon and found an isolated spot above the river where I sat leaning against an alpine fir and facing northward, where I could see the sun dead ahead, just slightly left of the magnetic north. It was midnight and the sunset wasnā€™t far off. The mountains lay before me to the north (and to the south and east and west) and the land was all reds and browns and greens and yellows with this beautiful deep blue sky. The light, as that incredible northern light is, was absolutely preternatural. Thereā€™s something angelic and sweet about the late eveningg summerā€™s light up there that bathes the world in buttery goodness. I did what I often do, I just sat there and watched how the light changed and shadows shifted on the landscape. Thereā€™s something profound about sitting there literally watching time pass by.
So all I did was sit there, consider my life, my place, the potential in my future, who I was and who I would become. To this day, that moment stands in my top twenty, if not my top ten, in my life experiences ā€“ and still, stacked up against international trips, true rites of passage, it holds its own, my friends. I was with no one. Nothing really happened. It was quietude in its finest. Not a human voice. Not a plane. Not a vehicle. Nothing electronic. No wires. Nothing. Just me, the gods, and the earth. And it was fucking incredible.
And when youā€™re afraid of aloneness, you miss out on moments like that. Moments when you sit around and connect with nature on your own time. A guy once said to me, Cities are built for distraction. Meaning, theyā€™re there to help us forget all the things we wish for, that weā€™ll never have. So too are the wrong relationships, Valentineā€™s day be damned.
When you spend more time alone, when you get really honest with yourself about what you ought to be valuing, you gain this inner contentment about what it is youā€™ve got, and you often develop clarity about what it is you need, and how to attain it. These are things, qualities, that many of my fellow (wo)men need to find.
I wouldnā€™t say that being single leaves me in a state of nirvana, but Iā€™m in a place that I really dig, and itā€™s because Iā€™ve come to feel that Iā€™d rather be alone than in a relationship where Iā€™m not fullyā€¦ I donā€™t know, what, plugged in? Iā€™m charged, heā€™s charged, itā€™s all good? I mean, Iā€™m damned good company, most times, so Iā€™d really have to value a guy to keep him around, is what Iā€™m saying. Lifeā€™s just too fucking short.
So, yeah, Valentineā€™s day. I digressed a lot there. Loveā€™s hard enough without cheapening it with commercialism. If you want romance, celebrate it always. If you want love, keep it year round, not because a calendar tells you itā€™s that time again. And love ainā€™t about what you can buy, people. These expensive giftsā€¦ really. When did generosity become about the almighty dollar? When did it stop being a thing of spirit, of gesture? I just honestly find that buying into this Valentineā€™s day bullshit really helps to make people forget what relationships ought to be about. The little things: The qualities shared, the words said, the actions done. Not the things bought. Not the fancy places we go.
But the very best thing about being a content, whole person in the search of love, is that when you find someone who really does deserve a shot at fitting that bill, itā€™s so incredibly rewarding to just drink them in. Theyā€™re not fulfilling you, theyā€™re just nurturing all that is good about you. Then, it feels like a gift, like something you should cherish. Something you want to cherish. Not a job, not an obligation. And isnā€™t that how things ought to be?