I’ve been remiss in mentioning a book the publishers Rodale sent to me at the end of the summer. I usually turn down offers of free products because I hate feeling obligated when it comes to writing reviews afterward, but when the rep told me what Debby Herbenick’s book, Because it Feels Good: A Woman’s Guide to Sexual Pleasure and Satisfaction was about, that Herbenick writes about sex from a psychological place as much as a how-to place, well, I was totally interested. Continue reading
Author Archives: Steffani Cameron
A Moment of Thanksgiving this Thanksgiving
Lucky us! I have half a mug of coffee left! Just enough for us to squeeze in a quickie!
What a FANTASTIC day. Beautiful, sunny. I’m going into work and kissing ass to have a short day. It’s fantastic working for women who understand that the here-and-now is as important as the year-end fiscal, and life is to be lived, not missed. Great bosses! Yet another thing I’m thankful for as Canada’s Thanksgiving weekend rolls into play.
Today is all but guaranteed, they think, to be the last day of unseasonable weather — tomorrow, the temperature drops like the NYSE after a Madoff scandal.
Oh, the difference a year makes. Every coloured leaf I admire makes me appreciate how far this year has taken me.
Last year at this time, it was just sinking in that I had done something horrible to my back. Had you told me then that I would be facing 9 months of rehab, the first three spent crippled, medicated, and in misery, well, the odds are I would have had a total mental breakdown, and come January or so, I pretty much did.
I enjoyed exactly 0% of last year’s autumn, and it broke my heart. I’m making up for it this year! Continue reading
Polanski Finally Pays, Hallelujah
This op-ed assumes you know that: Roman Polanski was convicted of “unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor” in ’78, in which he admitted plying a 13-year-old full of Quaaludes & booze with the intent of having sex with her in every manner possible. He pled guilty, public opinion came against the law who were going to let him off with a lenient punishment, and he fled to France, where he has lived pretty much ever since, enjoying their non-extradition policies. Upon showing up in Switzerland to collect a lifetime achievement award recently, he was finally arrested and will face sentencing for the conviction he’s been on the run from for 31 years.
I love the sense of ironic humour in how Roman Polanski was arrested for his 1977 rape at long last — he shows up to collect a lifelong achievement award, and the cuffs get slapped on. Beautiful. A crime he’s spent 30+ years evading, he’s finally going to be held accountable for. It’s existential poetry. Justice comes at last.
The reaction on the Polanski thing baffles me. Many in the public — probably because they actually KNOW the one in four people who’ve likely been raped — seem elated Polanski’s going to receive sentence for a crime he was long ago convicted for. Hollywood seems to be rallying behind their chosen director-boy.
Like Whoopi Goldberg on The View. Whoopi, in her infinite hit-the-nail-on-the-head articulate genius, said: “I know it wasn’t rape-rape. I think it was something else, but I don’t believe it was rape-rape.” Continue reading
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
Giving Myself a Headshake
I’m having one of those days.
I’m having a dislike-myself day. Or is it discontent with myself? ‘Cos I like myself way much and feel it’s worth taking action to end some of the feelings I’ve got today.
The content of my internal dialogue today is staying internal, I’m afraid. No nitty-gritty deets for you people.
But this sort of happens every time I approach a new era of change in my life. When I start it, it’s shaky and it’s more failure than it is success. I fall down. A lot. I fuck up. Constantly. And every time I fuck it up, I follow that up with beating myself up. Continue reading
In Which Steff Had The Worst Birthday Ever
The Age Fairy brought me another birthday. Don’t worry, I won’t spend it all in one place.
I got up this morning and I was at least 2.76% wiser. That’s pretty cool. Take what you can get in a recession, eh?
All I got for my birthday, really, is this curious sense of “What now?” that comes with the next morning when you’re staring at the new year ahead of you.
Last year, I didn’t have that. Last year, I was a little preoccupied, so this year’s feeling phenomenal in comparison.
As much as this is probably one of the most embarrassing stories I’ll ever write, it’s also a great example of why reflecting works so great sometimes to put some perspective on who you are and where you are in life. See, last year, I was not in my Happy Birthday Place. I wasn’t even in my Remotely Satisfied Birthday Place. Continue reading
Getting Philosophical as a Birthday Looms
Not too long ago, I learned of the Buddhist exercise that is tantamount to writing your eulogy for the life you hope you will have led.
I hadn’t given the idea that much thought until the recent days.
See, the thing about legacies is, they don’t just happen. They take years — often, decades — to carve out. Who we are, who we were, isn’t just some momentary snapshot — it’s a grainy 8mm movie that never stops playing.
Every day we have opportunity to contribute more to our lives. Every day is another stroke on the canvas of our legacy, another swath of colour or texture that contributes to the work of art that is our life. Continue reading
Losing Pounds? Losing Wounds.
I wonder, sometimes, how life knows to get the timing just right, so that, if you’re paying attention, you can use the synchronicity to really gain some wisdom.
Luckily, I tend to pay attention.
Tuesday has been “headtrip day” for two weeks now. Yesterday was jam-packed — a night of chatting with one of my best friends immediately after another trip to the headshrink, and then this morning I got to watch last night’s The Biggest Loser.
And I’m not sure where to start, so let’s do the Tarantino end-middle-beginning-takes-you-to-a-new-ending thing, shall we? Continue reading
A MiniEpiphany of Sorts
I know what I’m doing wrong. I’m not owning it. I’m not buying into it. And I sure as hell have not drunk the Kool-aid.
And I must. I must drink the Kool-aid.
The simple reality of my life right now is, I can’t afford to have one. I’m sick of constantly living in the red. Black, baby. Black is the new black.
I also have a book to write. Continue reading
What Little I Remember of the Day I Almost Died
I’ve been blogging six years now. There’s been some crazy stuff in that time. Five years ago this month, I’d almost died. I’ve never posted that story on here, just on my journal blog, and might as well. Here’s what I wrote about that day, a year after the fact. I’d write it differently now, but…
the happening scares me.
the not knowing is what terrifies me.
i remember getting on the bike, revving it, and riding off with my friends.
then, nothing. nothing until the dull fluorescent beige of the ceiling in the ambulance and a paramedic leaning over me.
“do you know where you are?” Continue reading