Tyler Yoder's Blog, page 19

Post the Seventy-Sixth: The Champagne and Caviar Picnic

After Friday’s excruciating hike, I wasn’t exactly up for Tacoma Pride, Gentle Reader – my blistered feet, my knee needing surgery, my skin red and raw. I intended to lounge around in my kimono and not even put weight on my legs at all.

Christopher Darling can be very persuasive, though, and he has ways of making me capitulate.

This picture is unrelated to that statement. Sometimes, a picture is just really great.

In this case, he used Ms. Capere to get me to give in. They were both very accommodating of my injuries, and I was feeling better, actually, anyway. So I put on my vintage-inspired Beach Attire, packed my cane and ukulele, and waited for my friends to arrive.

The inspiration. Mine is fitted for a man’s body, is black with a rust-and-gold floral pattern, and has a matching sunhat and neckerchief.

We met Christopher, and then – bless them both – Darling and Capere suggested we knock the champagne-and-caviar picnic off The List.  It’s been the item I’ve been looking forward to the most. We swung by Stadium Thriftway, where posh people and hipsters shop, and picked up all sorts of delicacies. There was Délice de Bourgogne and Drunken Goat Cheese; hummus and vegetables, naturally; red onion and lox; black lumpfish caviar* with lemon and boiled egg; tofu and avocado; champagne† Vega Madein Cava; companionship. For dessert, there were lemon cookies, some delicious sea-salt caramels, and vegan balls of various sweets.

After a long, lingering luncheon – the kind that I’ve always felt is one of life’s great pleasures – I strummed a bit on my ukulele; Darling read some Tarot – apparently all the upheaval and change currently in my life will result in womanly sadness, whatever that means. Of course, the book that accompanies his deck also says things like “A hand appears from out of the clouds, as usual“‡ and “This card is filled with the ordinary symbols, and I needn’t bother explaining what they shew.“§

As we waited for Doctor Boyfriend and Capere’s husband to turn up, we lounged in the shade by the famous Conservatory at Wright’s Park ß.

Off to the official Pride celebration we went!

We arrived just in time to see them re-open traffic to the street, despite the fact that the vendors and so on weren’t done taking their booths down. We had evidently lingered too long over lunch. We had to make a choice, then: Which of the block parties should we attend? Both the Silverstone and the Mix had claimed chunks of St. Helens Avenue in which to party. Both were charging about the same cover, and had similar acts – but the staff and atmosphere at the Mix have always been very good to me.

Surrounded by my people, we celebrated our right to gather, we celebrated our community, and we celebrated the wide panoply of people in all their despair and glory. Capere and I were pleased to get a do-over of our disappointing Pride, and this perfect afternoon was the perfect replacement.

*********

*My favorite affordable caviar. Capelin’s not much more, but lumpfish is perfectly acceptable and less expensive. Also: it is delicious. It’s caviar for the people.

†As we all know, Champagne is, strictly speaking, only ever made in Champagne, France. However, for purposes of the list, any sparkling wine will do, whether or not it’s methode champenois.

‡The Ace of Swords

§Justice

ß Fun Fact: This is where my parents were married.

Tagged: Andrea Capere, Champagne and Caviar Picnic, Christopher Darling, Darling and Capere, Doctor Boyfriend, Tacoma, Tacoma Pride, Tarot, The Mix, Ukulele, Wright's Park

Post the Seventy-Fifth: In Which I Demand A Blood Sacrifice

Oh, don’t be such a Puritan, Gentle Reader. It ended up not happening.

Bound by the constraints of The List, I was obliged to both attend a protest and to attempt to donate blood – despite the fact that it’s illegal for me, as a gay man, to do so. When I caught wind of the National Gay Blood Drive set to take place last Friday, I was thrilled – it was an opportunity to knock out two items at once, and attempt to do some good in the process.

I took to Social Media to seek a convenient proxy to give me their blood; in short,  I demanded a blood sacrifice from a willing straight person – nowhere in the list’s rules did it say the blood I donated had to be mine. I located a suitable stand-in, and we made arrangements.

Unhappily, my victim volunteer had returned to her home in Oregon a few days before the blood drive was to take place, and was left bloodless and cold. What’s a poor boy to do?

Return to Social Media to try to get another source of the good stuff. Miss Thrush was gracious enough to step into the gap at the eleventh hour. We made arrangements to meet the next day, after her doctor’s appointment, at a local café.

At the appointed hour, I had been sketching, writing, and idly reading for a bit of time, when I received a message from Miss Thrush: her appointment was going overlong – they needed to keep her for additional tests. I replied No Worries, and that we didn’t have to go to the drive – and, assuming I was out of luck and out of a ride, dashed out of wifi-range to the bus stop. I would later learn that after Miss Thrush left the hospital, she came and waited at the café for two hours. I felt like a heel.

In the meantime, I was in the hot-house of the bus shelter, suffering 90 degrees plus. When I eventually stepped into the air-conditioning of the bus, I sighed in relief, knowing that it was the last relief I’d feel for many hours.

When I debarked the bus, I had an unpleasant journey ahead of me, and I knew it. It’s eleven miles to my home, and the weather hadn’t let up at all. I had over-packed my satchel, Bucephales, as well, so I was laden with about fifty pounds and a ukulele. Nonetheless, my other option was “lay down and die” – and I’m far too stubborn for that.

Sockless, in cheap summery boat shoes, I began my journey. When I hit the first landmark, at the quarter-mark of the trip, my bad knee* began giving me trouble, and despite having everything else known to humanity in my bag, I had neglected to bring my cane. Welp. Nothing more to be said on that score.

Eventually I attained Arvingdale, my home, and I decided that I would have to cancel my plans to attend Tacoma Pride. My friends were not about to let me get away with that, as you’ll be able to read on Wednesday.

Tagged: Blood Sacrifice, Eleven Mile Hikes, Miss Thrush, National Gay Blood Drive, The List, Thwarted Adventures

Poetic Interlude LXVI

 
Re-Run
As cocky grins push back my cheeks,
And hands grope for – a pen,
I recollect the recent weeks:
I am in love, again.
 
Another boy eclipsed my sense;
My judgement fled before his face.
I stare, and with intent intense,
My pulse and pining interlace.
 
I could declare him peerless, true,
Or hymn his lips and teeth and eyes.
Let perjured poetry ensue -
I’ll sing him all the sweetest lies.
 
I am no cooing turtledove.
I swore that I’d stay cold, and coy.
I hate that I’m in love with Love!
Same old troubles, different boy.
 
©2014 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved
Tagged: Heartbreak, Love, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Romance, Tyler J. Yoder

Post the Seventy-Fourth: In Which We Talk To Strangers

The rural hamlet of Gig Harbor isn’t precisely known for its friendliness – quite the opposite, Gentle Reader. It’s commonly said to be quite snobby – and having lived here for a good many years, I have to unabashedly agree.  Further, it doesn’t exactly encourage… diversity. Self-expression. Differing from the herd. Um.

Not Pictured: Gig Harbor

While strolling through town the other day, I happened to remember that The List demanded that I, at some point, speak to every person to cross my path for an entire day. This seemed like an appropriate time for it, as I hadn’t seen anyone until I went on my walk, and I intended to go straight home afterward. This is known as cheating. Now, being me, I was dressed in my usual uniform – for those who are unfamiliar, think a plucky young lady from about 80 years ago.

This was sure to be exciting.

The Task: Speak to everyone to cross my path for an entire day

The Execution: This was more difficult than I anticipated, but as more and more of the passersby ignored me, the more determined I was to be aggressively charming to them. “Hello!” I would brightly intone, “How do you do?”

I must say that the most negative reaction I got was commonplace complete dismissal. More frequently, I’d get a smile back – particularly from joggers, who couldn’t spare breath to chat, I’m sure – and, once or twice, a frank and friendly brief conversation. Surprisingly, I got more hellos back than I didn’t.

The Verdict: Well, I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to greet everyone I see ever again, but a cheery greeting to a stranger is no bad thing. I could stand to be more friendly to the world at large, and I really think that I’d like to be.

Also, I noticed that women were most likely to say hello back, and the older an individual was, the more inclined they were to be friendly. I don’t know what this indicates, other than perhaps elderly ladies see me as a kindred spirit.

 

Tagged: Aggressively Charming, Being Friendly, Diversity!, Gig Harbor, Little Old Ladies, Talking to Strangers, The List

Old Lady Lays On Gravel For Surprising Reasons!

Hello, Gentle Reader. This is called Clickbait, and you’re welcome. Please enjoy this picture of a punchy dude with a baby strapped to his chest.

Post the Seventy-Third: In Which We Take The Sun

That I’m a delicate flower, Gentle Reader, is a truth universally acknowledged. Due to the harsh sun whilst working in the concrete business, my skin is no long porcelain white – but it never was, in the summer. I’m rosy red from May through September, burning over and over again, even while huddled in the shade. Further, if the temperature creeps above seventy degrees Farenheit, I begin sweating vast oceans.

I’m not very fond of the summer.

Pictured: Summer

That’s why something as simple as “Sunbathing” was placed upon the list. D’you remember the List?

The Task: Sunbathe

The Execution: Well, I had to take a few precautions before I could expose myself to the sun whose rays are all ablaze with ever-living torment.  I had happened to acquire some gauzy print fabric, and so I made myself a long, flowing, kimono. It was lightweight enough to not be a burden to wear, yet covered enough that I wouldn’t have sunburn over my entire body. I also donned a large sun-hat, because of course I did.

Dramatic Reenactment

I bravely gripped my iced tea and a three-volume novel, and stepped into the sun. 

I stayed out there for a full half-hour, and as per usual, I could feel my flesh begin to cook. I was sweating heavily enough that I’m sure my sunscreen all washed off. I wasn’t burned – just made ruddy, which I hate – but I wasn’t burned. This time.

The Verdict: NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE.

That is to say, the warmth wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but I was far too warm, there were insects all over the damned place, and there simply wasn’t a comfortable position to bask in the sun while still able to manage my book.

So: I still detest summer, sweating, and the sun – but, hey, I tried, Gentle Reader.

Tagged: Hatesphere, Redhead Problems, Stickiness, Summer, Sunbathing, Sunburning, Sweat, The Sun, Too Hot To Be Alive

Post the Seventy-Second: How To Cultivate An Elegant Turn Of Phrase

Who doesn’t aspire to the dizzy heights of the well-spoken, Gentle Reader?

Oh, dear.

Nonetheless, an elegant turn of phrase is a delight to the ear, and much in demand in all of the best circles. How on Earth can one achieve a smoother style of speech? I have just a few handy hints for you that ought to result in a more polished patter.

1. Expand Your Vocabulary

While this seems self-evident, it’s also often over-looked. The cornerstone of elegant conversation lies in using words both beautiful and surprising – you want to delight, to inform, engage, and entertain – you want to captivate the attention of your reader or listener through language. Therefore, spice it up. We’re not just talking venerable five-dollar words, either – though lost words like advesperate please the ear, very few people actually know what they mean. Instead, words that are well-known and underused, such as diversion, work best.

Suggested Speech: Cultivate; Litany; Delight; Observed

2. An Old-Fashioned Approach

Elegance, typically, is strongly styled on the most strictly conservative mores and morals in recent memory, coupled with a streak of independence and an original voice. The idea is to let your individual ideas and style shine more brightly against an understated backdrop – a sort of splash of color that catches the eye. Think of a carnation in the lapel of a well-tailored suit – the carnation’s what you remember. If the suit were wrinkly, baggy, torn, ill-fitting, or garish, the carnation would be lost. Remember, we must learn the rules, so that we may know in which way to most successfully break them.

Suggested Speech: I beg your pardon; ever so much; I’m so terribly sorry; How do you do?

3. Stylistic Devices

Anaphora, Assonance, and Alliteration, specifically. They are your friends, and you will come to appreciate them.

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase to add more force or meaning to the whole. For example:

“We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender.”

- Sir Winston Churchill

Sir Winston Churchill

Assonance and Alliteration are essentially the same thing, although assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds - any vowel sounds, generally – and alliteration is the repetition of consonants. They lend a lovely light to the liquid tones dripping off one’s tongue, n’est-ce pas? 

Suggested Speech: Go forth and indulge in fascinating conversations! I’m certain you’ll captivate your next cocktail party.

4. Foreign Phrases

If you’re confident, you can cultivate a little je ne sais quoi in your speech by dropping in foreign phrases. To be sure, you must be certain of what they mean and how to use them, and one must never be pretentious about it, but it does create a little sparkle, a little sizzle.

Personally, I think French is the most elegant, but that’s likely because I’m familiar with it.

Suggested Speech: N’est-ce Pas?; Je ne sais quoi; Quelle Dommage!

5. A Well-Stocked Cache of Phrases

Whenever you run across a beautiful phrase – in a book, in a poem, in the park, in your head – write it down. Think it to yourself, often – often enough for it to trace itself deeply on your shining synapses. Eventually, they will rise naturally to your tongue in conversation.

Suggested Speech: Litany of Resentment; gorgeous chaos; all centuries but this and every country but his own; electrical splendor

And there you have it, Gentle Reader. Go forth and indulge in fascinating conversations! I’m certain you’ll captivate your next cocktail party.

 

Tagged: An Elegant Turn of Phrase, Cocktail Party Chatter, How to Speak, The Art of Conversation, Tips and Etiquette

Poetic Interlude LXV

Literature
O! You be Ryder – I’ll be Flyte,
I’ll gently go to your good night.
Travel through my Antique Land -
Leave your footprints on the sand.
Bowl your heart right down my street:
We’ll see if it’s been shattered.
If my heart’s left incomplete?
Well, Dorothy Parker mattered.
 
Tell me I’m not Richard Corey:
Cast me in a brand-new story.
 
©2014 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved
Tagged: Literature, Patchwork Narrative, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Tyler J. Yoder

Post the Seventy-First: Pride 2014 Part II

I believe we’d just pulled up in front of a very posh home in a very posh neighborhood to attend Miss Spectacular’s bridal shower, Gentle Reader, and all three of us were a little intimidated. We were late, we were outclassed, there would be a wave of heteronormativity as soon as we entered the door, and even the bride only knew a handful of the people there. Boldly, we approached the manse.

Something like this, anyway

All eyes were on us as we entered in – but luckily, the bride was near the door and greeted us warmly. She was radiant, of course, as only a bride-to-be can be -

- and Ms. Capere, Mr. Darling and I clung close to her side. Miss Spectacular’s mother and sister, L and M, were nearby, and M was dispatched to bring mimosas to those of us who wanted them. Meanwhile, we all played an introduction/ice-breaking game. Then it was time to mingle.

By mingle, of course, Darling and I meant escape to smoke and take a selfie.

We spent about two hours there, huddling together in the kitchen, waiting for Spectacular to have a few minutes – and when she did have them, she gave them to us – but of course she was busy meeting her future extended family. When the clock chimed three, we took our leave and returned to Seattle, to prepare to the evening’s festivities.

Now Darling, as a go-go dancer, obviously had to consider Pride a work-weekend, and needed a Disco-Nap to get through the night. After hiking the luggage into his apartment, Capere and I went to get a cocktail or two for an hour or two, and left him to it.

We met a very nice, very cute, very straight bartender who, though his bar was only a block or two from the hill, was oblivious to the fact of Pride and was fascinated by it. We filled him in, inviting him to come dancing with us at the Mercury, and eventually wandered back to Darling’s. Though low on time, he did our hair* – and off to Pony we went.

I had packed a number of outfits for Pride, and planned to wear an outfit that night that is best described with one word: Grandmama. It was flapper-esque, a white fox-fur stole, a feathery-bejewelled turban – the works. Of course, I slipped a flask into the top of my tights before we slipped into the night, but after dropping Darling off at work, Ms. Capere and I were both nervous of it. We polished it off surreptitiously as quickly as possible, in case we had to abandon it at some point on entry somewhere.

We tried to hit the Wild Rose, the only lesbian bar on Capitol Hill, but their twenty-dollar Pride cover-charge put us off. It was the same at a few different places. As loathe as we were to get to the Merc quite so early, we found ourselves there before ten.

And something strange happened there, that night. The joy just seemed to drain out of both Ms. Capere and myself. We stayed for a little bit – Capere danced a little, I tried to make a little conversation here and there – but nothing doing. We returned to Darling’s, disappointed, before midnight, waking and irritating his roommate. At that point, we decided that we had better just go home.

Tagged: Bridal Showers, Capitol Hill, Darling and Capere, Pride, Pride 2014, Sarah Spectacular, Seattle, The Mercury

Post the Seventieth: Pride 2014, Part I

Ms. Capere and I were beyond thrilled for Pride. She had just returned from Namibia, and we’d spent an evening over wine, chatting about our Pride plans, and they fell into line like so many ducks in a row. I was to stay at her place on Friday, we’d pick Mr. Darling up Saturday morning and run out to Miss Spectacular’s bridal shower (“Pridal shower!” as I kept insisting. “Vital Tower!” was Ms. Capere’s reply.) We’d then hit one of the street parties on the Hill that night while Darling danced, maybe go to our trusty underground goth club, the Mercury, sleep, brunch, parade, and then hit the festival and the parties all night long.

The day before I was to meet up with Capere, I happened to jokingly consult a magic 8-ball at the store where I purchased my necessary boat shoes. I ought to have listened to its advice.

Will we have a good time at Pride?

Well, what do you know, anyway? You’re just a toy.

The next day, after we’d repaired to the Capererhardt home, Tranquility Base, we set in to watch a queer-themed movie for Pride Eve. Over cocktails made from exotic Amarula Cream, which Capere had brought back from Africa, we pondered the options. We wanted to see something traditional, that we’d grown up on: Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, maybe, or To Wong Foo: Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar – or even The Birdcage. Both Netflix and HuluPlus were disappointing in their pride-month LGBT coverage. We finally settled on Jeffrey, which is supposed to be a classic.

It was painful, in a way that can only be described by the phrase cater-waiter hoe-down-themed orgy. Patrick Stewart and Mother Theresa were the film’s saving graces. We went to bed, so as to be up bright and early, to zoom up to fetch Mr. Darling in the morning.

Tempus Fidgeted

We were running late, and we still hadn’t had our coffee when we hit the road the next morning. Swiftly grabbing some drive-through Starbucks, Capere and I promptly ran into traffic, giving us the opportunity to have a heart-to-heart. We finally fought our way off of the freeway to Darling’s building – which he had to dash back into thrice for various forgotten accoutrements. We were now on our way to Tukwila.

Wait, Tukwila? No! Tacoma!

Were we sure? No, we were not.

Between some of us forgetting to RSVP, to losing our invitations, and all of us wanting to stop somewhere for wine/card/gift, and all of us nervous about this bridal shower, we were certain we knew how to grown-up.

Miss Spectacular has been a good friend for years and years to all of us; though many of us have attended countless weddings over the years, this was the first shower we’d been invited to. As we pulled into the drive of a posh house in a posh neighborhood overlooking the Puget Sound, we had no idea what we were in for.

To be continued… Part II on Friday!

Tagged: Bridal Shower, Darling and Capere, Half An Hour, LGBT films, LGBTQIA Films, Pridal Shower, Pride 2014, Pride Weekend, Vital Tower