This one's for the gals.
I know - you get along so well. You go shopping for shoes and he tells you which ones to buy. He's up on all the latest gossip and he knows whoever the fuck Cisco Adler is. You get drunk on tequila and he cuts your hair and you laugh about your bangs in the morning.
But don't fall in love with your gay friend. Your gay friend is gay. If you fall in love with your gay friend, you are really just avoiding falling in love at all.
You can like your gay friend a lot. You can even love your gay friend. A lot!
But don't fall in love with your gay friend. He will never love you in that way.
Even if he does get drunk and play with your tits.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
How to deal with a D.O.U.C.H.E.
OK, it's time to wrap my head around the thing that just chaps my ass about being around a certain kind of diva: Entitlement. Rather, my perception of his or her outrageous sense of entitlement.
The reason that this irritates me so much is simple: I recognize that a false sense of entitlement is a trait that I dislike in myself, and I can't believe it when someone acts like *that* kind of diva and just gets away with it. I think it's rude. And to a Canadian, that's really, really bad.
Entitlement. That's not necessarily a bad word. That's a neutral word, right? When I work I expect to be paid the amount that's on my contract. I have a right to be paid. That's a kind of entitlement that stems from a mutual agreement: I work, you pay. You work, I pay. We have an agreement! You're entitled!
Some agreements are unstated, but defined by a job position: a doorman holding a door on my behalf, for example. (Not that that happens too bloody often.)
And some of the things that we think of as mutual agreements are not really agreements at all. They are at best assumptions. Manipulations of circumstance. At worst, they manifest as Parasitic, Unsustainable Succubus relationships. At very worst, they manifest as a series of P.U.S. relationships as each host is steadily worn out and the parasite moves on to the next juicy prospect.
This is the territory of the Bad Diva. Only, let's not put that value judgment on them. Let's say he or she is a Diva Of Unconsciousness Calling His-herself Entitled. Let's call them a D.O.U.C.H.E.
The thing about a D.O.U.C.H.E. is that he or she has to have some kind of power - a power to do something or be something or represent something or give something. You can't be a D.O.U.C.H.E. if nobody wants anything from you. So they use that power to manipulate people into doing things. And when they get what they want, they are "happy". And when they don't get what they want, they are one unhappy D.O.U.C.H.E. Because in the D.O.U.C.H.E. 's mind, the or she is entitled to your time and attention. And never mind something so concrete as a mutual agreement, no, because a D.O.U.C.H.E. is entitled to your energy whether they have explicitly asked you for it or not. In this arrangement, you are worse off than a slave. At least a slave gets an order directly.
The sad thing is this: If you expect people to give you everything and do everything for you, you no longer experience the joyous, surprising power of gratitude. And let's talk about the "happy" D.O.U.C.H.E. He or she feels a kind of temporary happiness, a stopgap emotion, until his or her next whim is fulfilled... or not.
Here's the thing: A D.O.U.C.H.E. is actually a sad kind of creature. His or her happiness depends entirely on external circumstances. Having substituted a kind of social puppeteering for any kind of real effort on his or her own part, (especially the effort required to build and maintain relationships with mutually beneficial integrity) a D.O.U.C.H.E. is a person with little sense of his or her own character. Believe it or not, a D.O.U.C.H.E. will often have very low self-esteem. They just don't act like it.
So what can you do if you have a D.O.U.C.H.E. in your life? I find the best thing to snap me out of D.O.U.C.H.E.-like behavior is to ask me if I'm asking you for XYZ (whatever it is to which I'm falsely entitled) and if I say yes, then negotiate for what you want in return. Sometimes that's all it takes. For example:
Me: "It's cold in here. Are you cold?"
John: "No."
Me: "I'm freezing."
John: (reading at the computer) "Hmmp"
Me: (singing a song in a childish voice) "freezing, freezing, freezing, Johnny's wife is freezing"
John: (problem solving) "You could turn off the air conditioner"
Me: (escalating, because I don't want to get up and do it myself, still singing) "if you let your wife freeze you can't get no blowjobs! No no no no... no blowjobs from a frozen popsicle wife!"
Wisely, after five years of marriage to me, John has caught on to this behavior.
John: "Are you asking me to turn off the air conditioner?"
Me: "Yes."
John: "If I do, will you give me a blowjob?"
Me: "No."
John: "Well turn it off yourself, then."
Me: "OK"
John has had the patience to learn to cut through my bullshit with a few well placed questions. And I have learned from John and some of my other dear friends that bullshit is not the most efficient path to getting what I want. Consider this, alternate exchange:
John: "Can I have a blowjob?"
Me: "Yes, if you turn off the air conditioner first"
John: "OK."
It's so simple, really. Clear communication begets the joy of gratitude. And blowjobs.
The reason that this irritates me so much is simple: I recognize that a false sense of entitlement is a trait that I dislike in myself, and I can't believe it when someone acts like *that* kind of diva and just gets away with it. I think it's rude. And to a Canadian, that's really, really bad.
Entitlement. That's not necessarily a bad word. That's a neutral word, right? When I work I expect to be paid the amount that's on my contract. I have a right to be paid. That's a kind of entitlement that stems from a mutual agreement: I work, you pay. You work, I pay. We have an agreement! You're entitled!
Some agreements are unstated, but defined by a job position: a doorman holding a door on my behalf, for example. (Not that that happens too bloody often.)
And some of the things that we think of as mutual agreements are not really agreements at all. They are at best assumptions. Manipulations of circumstance. At worst, they manifest as Parasitic, Unsustainable Succubus relationships. At very worst, they manifest as a series of P.U.S. relationships as each host is steadily worn out and the parasite moves on to the next juicy prospect.
This is the territory of the Bad Diva. Only, let's not put that value judgment on them. Let's say he or she is a Diva Of Unconsciousness Calling His-herself Entitled. Let's call them a D.O.U.C.H.E.
The thing about a D.O.U.C.H.E. is that he or she has to have some kind of power - a power to do something or be something or represent something or give something. You can't be a D.O.U.C.H.E. if nobody wants anything from you. So they use that power to manipulate people into doing things. And when they get what they want, they are "happy". And when they don't get what they want, they are one unhappy D.O.U.C.H.E. Because in the D.O.U.C.H.E. 's mind, the or she is entitled to your time and attention. And never mind something so concrete as a mutual agreement, no, because a D.O.U.C.H.E. is entitled to your energy whether they have explicitly asked you for it or not. In this arrangement, you are worse off than a slave. At least a slave gets an order directly.
The sad thing is this: If you expect people to give you everything and do everything for you, you no longer experience the joyous, surprising power of gratitude. And let's talk about the "happy" D.O.U.C.H.E. He or she feels a kind of temporary happiness, a stopgap emotion, until his or her next whim is fulfilled... or not.
Here's the thing: A D.O.U.C.H.E. is actually a sad kind of creature. His or her happiness depends entirely on external circumstances. Having substituted a kind of social puppeteering for any kind of real effort on his or her own part, (especially the effort required to build and maintain relationships with mutually beneficial integrity) a D.O.U.C.H.E. is a person with little sense of his or her own character. Believe it or not, a D.O.U.C.H.E. will often have very low self-esteem. They just don't act like it.
So what can you do if you have a D.O.U.C.H.E. in your life? I find the best thing to snap me out of D.O.U.C.H.E.-like behavior is to ask me if I'm asking you for XYZ (whatever it is to which I'm falsely entitled) and if I say yes, then negotiate for what you want in return. Sometimes that's all it takes. For example:
Me: "It's cold in here. Are you cold?"
John: "No."
Me: "I'm freezing."
John: (reading at the computer) "Hmmp"
Me: (singing a song in a childish voice) "freezing, freezing, freezing, Johnny's wife is freezing"
John: (problem solving) "You could turn off the air conditioner"
Me: (escalating, because I don't want to get up and do it myself, still singing) "if you let your wife freeze you can't get no blowjobs! No no no no... no blowjobs from a frozen popsicle wife!"
Wisely, after five years of marriage to me, John has caught on to this behavior.
John: "Are you asking me to turn off the air conditioner?"
Me: "Yes."
John: "If I do, will you give me a blowjob?"
Me: "No."
John: "Well turn it off yourself, then."
Me: "OK"
John has had the patience to learn to cut through my bullshit with a few well placed questions. And I have learned from John and some of my other dear friends that bullshit is not the most efficient path to getting what I want. Consider this, alternate exchange:
John: "Can I have a blowjob?"
Me: "Yes, if you turn off the air conditioner first"
John: "OK."
It's so simple, really. Clear communication begets the joy of gratitude. And blowjobs.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Bad Diva! Sit! Entitlement.
So in reading my post from yesterday I was thinking about the difference between I'm worth it and You Owe Me.
The difference is one word and a whole lot of drama. The word is entitlement. And entitlement is the root of so much misery. The belief that the world exists to serve my needs actually does nothing for me except make me pissed off when it turns out to be untrue.
So the key to happiness seems to be negotiating a fine balance between pursuing my goals and being grateful for what I have.
I'm in Philly in the middle of a sound check. I'd like to have the time and space to expound on my theory that the Bad Diva needs to shake the entitlement and regain a sense of gratitude and wonder.
I'd love to have the space to do that. Will I pout about that today? No, I don't think so. I'm going to get my big girl panties on and do the show. Because that's what the Good Diva does.
The difference is one word and a whole lot of drama. The word is entitlement. And entitlement is the root of so much misery. The belief that the world exists to serve my needs actually does nothing for me except make me pissed off when it turns out to be untrue.
So the key to happiness seems to be negotiating a fine balance between pursuing my goals and being grateful for what I have.
I'm in Philly in the middle of a sound check. I'd like to have the time and space to expound on my theory that the Bad Diva needs to shake the entitlement and regain a sense of gratitude and wonder.
I'd love to have the space to do that. Will I pout about that today? No, I don't think so. I'm going to get my big girl panties on and do the show. Because that's what the Good Diva does.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Diva rule numero uno: I'm worth it.
One must not make oneself cheap here - that is a cardinal point - or else one is done. Whoever is most impertinent has the best chance. --- Mozart
I read this quote the other day on a great blog called The Positivity blog and, you know, Mozart has a point.
I heard Chris Rock say something similar on Inside the Actor's Studio. He was talking about how he had achieved a certain degree of success and job offers were rolling in and he turned to his agent and said "You're my agent. Get me something I don't deserve."
When I think about it, this is probably cardinal rule number one of the diva. I can't think of a bigger defining characteristic. The diva knows his or her worth. And is continually willing to push the upper limits of same.
How does that make you feel? It makes me feel nervous, quite frankly. I get this distinctly Canadian voice in my head that goes "Well, you don't want to take that too far, I mean, jeez! What if people think you have a big ego? What if people don't like you? What if you don't get the job because you're asking for too much? What if? What if?"
Well, what if? Does asking for more money automatically make you egotistic? Not if the service you're providing is worth it. What is the value that you are creating? Are you earning reward comparable to that value? You're worth it.
Does insisting on certain standards make you a diva? Are they reasonable standards? Do you have agreements in place around those standards? You're worth it.
Does pursuing higher standards and higher pay make you a bitch? Not if you're not bitchy about it. Mozart's use of the word impertinent is lovely. Because sometimes when one is not willing to "make ones self cheap" one's best tactic is just that: Impertinence. Impertinent is such a great word. It's a cheeky kind of word. It's pert. It's spunky. It's friendly. It implies speaking out in an unsubmissive manner, even in a situation where a certain amount of submission is expected. Impertinence is a great tool when used judiciously, and with a smile.
So how about it? Are you worth it? I'm worth it. And more.
** Oh, one other thing about Mozart? According to his Wikipedia entry:
Particularly in his youth, Mozart had a striking fondness for scatological and sexual humor, which is preserved in his many surviving letters... Mozart even wrote scatological music, the canonLeck mich im Arsch" (literally "Lick me in the arse", sometimes idiomatically translated "Kiss my arse" or "Get stuffed")
This fills me with great joy.
I read this quote the other day on a great blog called The Positivity blog and, you know, Mozart has a point.
I heard Chris Rock say something similar on Inside the Actor's Studio. He was talking about how he had achieved a certain degree of success and job offers were rolling in and he turned to his agent and said "You're my agent. Get me something I don't deserve."
When I think about it, this is probably cardinal rule number one of the diva. I can't think of a bigger defining characteristic. The diva knows his or her worth. And is continually willing to push the upper limits of same.
How does that make you feel? It makes me feel nervous, quite frankly. I get this distinctly Canadian voice in my head that goes "Well, you don't want to take that too far, I mean, jeez! What if people think you have a big ego? What if people don't like you? What if you don't get the job because you're asking for too much? What if? What if?"
Well, what if? Does asking for more money automatically make you egotistic? Not if the service you're providing is worth it. What is the value that you are creating? Are you earning reward comparable to that value? You're worth it.
Does insisting on certain standards make you a diva? Are they reasonable standards? Do you have agreements in place around those standards? You're worth it.
Does pursuing higher standards and higher pay make you a bitch? Not if you're not bitchy about it. Mozart's use of the word impertinent is lovely. Because sometimes when one is not willing to "make ones self cheap" one's best tactic is just that: Impertinence. Impertinent is such a great word. It's a cheeky kind of word. It's pert. It's spunky. It's friendly. It implies speaking out in an unsubmissive manner, even in a situation where a certain amount of submission is expected. Impertinence is a great tool when used judiciously, and with a smile.
So how about it? Are you worth it? I'm worth it. And more.
** Oh, one other thing about Mozart? According to his Wikipedia entry:
Particularly in his youth, Mozart had a striking fondness for scatological and sexual humor, which is preserved in his many surviving letters... Mozart even wrote scatological music, the canonLeck mich im Arsch" (literally "Lick me in the arse", sometimes idiomatically translated "Kiss my arse" or "Get stuffed")
This fills me with great joy.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Hard-Earned wisdom #1
Hard Earned Wisdom: Here's where I share the advice I wish I'd gotten when I was twenty. Or I got it but I totally ignored it. Whatever.
Let's talk about high heels. I read some fine advice in Nina Hartley's Guide to Total Sex.
She says something to the effect of: Wear Heels, Bring Flats.
I'm a huge fan of high heeled shoes. Heels are attractive, elongating the leg, making your bum sway when you walk... Even the pain can be sexy. You know those guys who hang themselves from hooks as a spiritual practice? I know how they feel.
It doesn't make sense, so don't even try. It's beautiful, and sometimes that's reason enough. Many, many things have been destroyed in the name of beauty, and baby toes don't have any real purpose anyways.
All the same. Bring flats. At the end of the night you know what's not sexy? Hobbling. Hobbling is sexy to only a select few weirdos. Hobbling is for pussies.
Or worse, STAGGERING. Like if you've had too many mojitos and all of a sudden your balance has gone the way of Michael Jackson's career? The dicks you attract at this stage of the night will be dicks of your own design. Don't go sneering to your girlfriend, honey, 'cause it's all you.
Even WORSE - and then you just say "FUGGIT" and take off your shoes and dance your dirty-ass feet down 2nd Avenue. That might be cute and when you're twenty. Drunk-ass-skank-foot at thirty-seven? NOT. SO. MUCH.
Hard-earned wisdom #1: Wear heels. Bring Flats.
Let's talk about high heels. I read some fine advice in Nina Hartley's Guide to Total Sex.
She says something to the effect of: Wear Heels, Bring Flats.
I'm a huge fan of high heeled shoes. Heels are attractive, elongating the leg, making your bum sway when you walk... Even the pain can be sexy. You know those guys who hang themselves from hooks as a spiritual practice? I know how they feel.
It doesn't make sense, so don't even try. It's beautiful, and sometimes that's reason enough. Many, many things have been destroyed in the name of beauty, and baby toes don't have any real purpose anyways.
All the same. Bring flats. At the end of the night you know what's not sexy? Hobbling. Hobbling is sexy to only a select few weirdos. Hobbling is for pussies.
Or worse, STAGGERING. Like if you've had too many mojitos and all of a sudden your balance has gone the way of Michael Jackson's career? The dicks you attract at this stage of the night will be dicks of your own design. Don't go sneering to your girlfriend, honey, 'cause it's all you.
Even WORSE - and then you just say "FUGGIT" and take off your shoes and dance your dirty-ass feet down 2nd Avenue. That might be cute and when you're twenty. Drunk-ass-skank-foot at thirty-seven? NOT. SO. MUCH.
Hard-earned wisdom #1: Wear heels. Bring Flats.
Schadenfreude! Men in Heels!
My friend Stephanie just posted this on Facebook: If you want to see some true female Schadenfreude, watch the video and read the comments on this page:
What It Feels Like For A Girl: We Challenge A Man To Walk A Mile In Our Heels
This video is laugh-out-loud funny. The premise is that the gals from Jezebel challenge Gavin McInnes from Street Carnage to walk a mile in their shoes, in this case, a pair of white 3" stilettos. There's so much wrong with this video it's right.
Let's start with the shoes. White. 3". Stiletto. There's absolutely no reason for anyone to wear white 3" stilettos for anything other than irony. If you're wearing shoes for ironic purposes, you're just not trying hard enough. They were ugly in the 80's and they're ugly now, Louise.
And if that's a stiletto, I'm Grandma Moses. Anything fatter than a crayola doesn't count.
And then there's Gavin. Bearded, makeup wearing, surly, Gavin. This delicate flower walks like a footballer and drinks like one too. His descriptions of nails being pounded into the balls of his feet are spot on. My favourite part is when his wife comes to pick him up in the mini van.
His female companion gives some advice that's really shady, too. Just watch the video through and then come back.
OK, I'll tell you what she says: She says "You know what helps with the pain? Drinking. Like when you drink a lot and you don't feel much pain? It's kind of like anal sex."
I hope she's kidding, or I wouldn't want to be her asshole.
What It Feels Like For A Girl: We Challenge A Man To Walk A Mile In Our Heels
This video is laugh-out-loud funny. The premise is that the gals from Jezebel challenge Gavin McInnes from Street Carnage to walk a mile in their shoes, in this case, a pair of white 3" stilettos. There's so much wrong with this video it's right.
Let's start with the shoes. White. 3". Stiletto. There's absolutely no reason for anyone to wear white 3" stilettos for anything other than irony. If you're wearing shoes for ironic purposes, you're just not trying hard enough. They were ugly in the 80's and they're ugly now, Louise.
And if that's a stiletto, I'm Grandma Moses. Anything fatter than a crayola doesn't count.
And then there's Gavin. Bearded, makeup wearing, surly, Gavin. This delicate flower walks like a footballer and drinks like one too. His descriptions of nails being pounded into the balls of his feet are spot on. My favourite part is when his wife comes to pick him up in the mini van.
His female companion gives some advice that's really shady, too. Just watch the video through and then come back.
OK, I'll tell you what she says: She says "You know what helps with the pain? Drinking. Like when you drink a lot and you don't feel much pain? It's kind of like anal sex."
I hope she's kidding, or I wouldn't want to be her asshole.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Just a little post about me.
I'm Cass King, and I am a diva. Sometimes. I have a bit of a Clark Kent / Superman thing going on. I'm a thoughtful, shy, kind of nerdy Canadian with a longstanding obsession with all things glamorous. But not trendy Mariah Carey kind of glamour. More like Old-Gay glamour. Marlene Dietrich. Busby Berkeley. Bob Fosse. Theda Bara. Alan Cumming. Hedwig... you get the picture. Vamps, tramps and trannys. Glamour with teeth. Glamour that will leave you nursing your welts in a puddle of your own sweat. Glamour from the Old Cunty.
When I was really little I used to just sit and stare at the picture of Liza Minelli on the cover of my Mum's Cabaret album. The shorts with the sequins on the crotch, the halter-vest, the stockings, the boots. The voice. The star power. I wanted to be just like her. Of course the character of Sally Bowles is an alcoholic, self-absorbed liar but we'll get to that later.
I was a ham from an early age, always wanting but never getting that lead role in the school musical. There was a little problem... auditions. Any time I'd try to sing in front of people I'd be overwhelmed with self-consciousness and I'd just start to cry. Not like sobbing, but ... leaking. I had excruciating stage fright. I was assigned to the chorus, where people wouldn't notice if I leaked.
In retrospect, choice of material might have had something to do with it... I don't think anyone wants to hear "I don't know how to love him" sung by a twelve year old. But inside, I knew I could sing like Helen Reddy. You nearsighted bastards.
As I grew into my early twenties I was fascinated with Cabarets and Sideshows and Carnies and Fetish balls and all manner of sleaze. I still am.
I also started writing, just a little bit, for fun. And I read some poetry on some open mic stages and gradually I got the bug. And I worked out my stage fright. Eventually I got really involved in the Poetry Slam and took 5th place in 1998 at the National Poetry Slam in Austin, TX.
I was also a Cigarette Girl (probably one of the last!) at the Blue Lizard Cocktail Club in Vancouver. This was during the lounge and swing revival of the late 90's. From there, I became the emcee and hostess. I wanted to sing out, Louise! So I sang, briefly, with a great band called the Jazzmanian Devils.
In 2001 I met my partner John Woods and we embarked on this project known as The Wet Spots.
We sing sophisticated sex comedy songs. I get to be as glamorous as I can possibly be. And I travel a lot in the burlesque and variety circuit worldwide. Life is a cabaret. I have authored my own reality.
And when I'm out of costume people don't recognize me on the street. I am Clark Kent.
I think that's why I've started this blog... to explore what that power is... the power in the costume... the lights... the rehearsal... the act. And to explore the creative and destructive power of the Diva.
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