Tyler Yoder's Blog, page 26

Post the Twenty-Ninth: In Which My Fears Are Revealed

Okay, Gentle Reader, I need to tell you something. Full disclosure:

I am fucking terrified of the trip I’m about to take. However, I know that if I don’t go, I will probably die. My life was out of my control, going some pretty dark places – Europe has been a beacon of hope, giving me something to strive for, something to aim for, something to live for – I’ve regained at least some control; I have a plan, a direction, and a positive answer, for once, when I’m asked what I’m doing with my life.

This. This is what I’m doing.

And yet –

I know that adventures sometimes mean that you don’t know where you’re going to sleep, but I’ve never had that experience for more than a few nights at a time. Apart from a few scattered nights that are already arranged, that’s going to be the case for the next year or so. I’ve never really been homeless before, and even though I’m doing this on purpose, and it’s actually a positive thing, it’s rather overwhelming.

Not only that, Maman is selling off my childhood home – I completely support this; she’s a widow, on her own, and Arvingdale is a big property that is crumbling around her. It’s in bad enough shape that whoever buys it will essentially just be buying the property, and will likely bulldoze the house. Which is fine; I just won’t be here to help her move, or to tell her definitely not to sell my great-great-grandfather’s baleen or things like that.

Not only will I not have a home, but I won’t have a home. And the stuff that keeps me in tune with my ancestral roots is likely to be gone as well.

All gone.

I’m also, obviously, worried about money. Who isn’t? I have some put away, and I plan on earning while I’m on the road if I can, but obviously travel is expensive and that has been preying on my brain, because of course it is. I’m not worried about money for essentials like food so much as I’m worried about paying for hostels and train tickets and bus fare. I’m fairly sure that tarot readings won’t be earning me that much.

Uh, there’s also the language issue. My German’s shit, my French is… dodgy, and my Spanish is nonexistent. So that’s a thing. A very significant scary thing, particularly as I’ll be on my own on the road, and not only will I be often lonely, but I won’t even be able to communicate with the people around me, thus reinforcing my loneliness, and fear over being able to make my way about, have a place to sleep, etc.

Oh, hey, that reminds me: I will also not have a place to retreat to when in the throes of crippling depression, which is a thing that happens – well, not that often, but often enough that I need to worry about it. I’ve been wondering how I’m going to cope with that on the road for the last nine months, and I don’t have a clue as to how to answer it.

Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being confidant that I can pull this off, that no matter happens, things will work out in the end. Any ideas on how to cope with all this crippling doubt? Most welcome.

Tagged: Doubt, Europe, Fear, Full Disclosure, Maman, non-whimsy, Rambling Nonsense, Worry

Post the Twenty-Eighth: In Which Oysters Are Gratuitously Shot

February’s event wound up being at the Tides Tavern in my hometown, Gentle Reader, as they were holding their annual Tapmaster Festival, wherein they host sixteen local craft breweries on their taps; if you try all sixteen over the four-day-fest, you get a shirt. Not exactly what I was hoping to attend, but it fulfilled my requirements, in a pinch.

The event I wanted to attend featured Caitlin Dougherty of Ask A Mortician

The Task:

Attend a Festival/Street Fair Every Month For A Year

The Execution:

At any rate, mostly because it was nearly the end of the month and I apparently have a festival quota I have to make, I hit the Tides. Now, I’ve never been particularly fond of the Tides – it’s popular, but in my experience, if you’re not a regular, the service just isn’t up to par. Naturally, the place was packed to the gills for the festival, and I quickly grabbed a table to myself.

Now, this was during lunchtime, but the thing that grabbed my eye was the oyster shooter that’s on the happy hour menu – taking an oyster shot just so happens to be on The List. Once the waitress made it over to me – seriously, the crowd was atrocious – I inquired, and despite being off-hours, they made an exception because putting a raw oyster in a shot glass doesn’t require extra effort. Hooray!

The Task(s) Revised:

Attend a Festival/Street Fair every month for a year; Take a Raw Oyster Shot.

The Execution (Resumed):

So I was thrilled – however, that was absolutely the last I saw of my waitress  that was the last I interacted with my waitress.

The bartender brought my oyster shot and my beer; I put off taking the shot because while I love oysters, and I love sushi – well, I’ve heard awful things about oyster shots. It’s like swallowing snot, I’ve been told, or you end up chewing the damn thing forever – it just never ends. I wanted at least a beer in me before I attempted what would surely be disgusting.

The beer I chose was the Flying Monkey Pale by the American Brewing Company of Edmonds, Washington.

I’m really sorry to say that it was just on the drinkable side of putrid. I mean, I drank it; it wasn’t vomit-inducing – obviously, it wasn’t to my taste, but it was a little more than that – there were backnotes that reminded me of the sickly-sweet scent of garbage juice. The flavor was fine, until those hit – no matter; it just wasn’t my beer. I like ambers; I only chose it because of the name. I polished my pint off, squinted menacingly at the waiting mollusc, and knocked it back in one.

The oyster’s flesh was firm and tender and yielding; not chewy, not snotty. The flavor raw was just the same as if it had been parboiled before frying; the cocktail sauce washed in at just the right moment, when the oyster intensity grew tiresome. Then, because there was a lemon wedge and I wasn’t sure if it was the done thing, I bit the lemon. The noisy frat-boys, the working men on their lunch breaks, and the wealthy, retired, former frat boys meeting their wealthy, retired friends didn’t even give me a glance, so I guess it must be.

I then waited another half hour – empty beer, empty plate – before any of the wait staff stopped by my table. I watched my waitress chat casually with her coworkers, and then take out a crossword puzzle*. A crossword puzzle. I was ready for another beer, at least, or maybe for a proper bite of lunch beyond a single raw oyster, and I waited patiently as the six other waitresses and innumerable busboys orbited around in their ineffable dance, just watching my waitress ponder what precisely belonged in nine-down. She then took a break to check on the tables framing mine, while gliding past me without a glance.

The same bartender who’d brought me the beer and oyster earlier saw that – she darted over, apologetic – she was graciousness itself. She offered to get me another beer, or get the waitress if I wanted to eat – she was apologetic, kind, and a pleasure. At that point, though, the festival atmosphere was too much for me and I wanted out. The bartender brought me my check; I paid, and left the Tides Tavern without a second thought.

The Verdict:

The oyster was amazing and I could easily take half a dozen for a modest meal. I suspect that this is because I ordered it off peak-hours, and they’re fresh and local out here (Minterbook Oysters are harvested just down the road from my mother’s place). In other parts of the world, or more frantic hours at the bar, I’m sure I would have gotten a less-appealing oyster in my glass. As far as the festival? Well, I was willing to try the other beers, if I’d been able to order them.

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*I don’t begrudge her doing the crossword in downtime. I don’t mean to be one of those patrons – I really don’t, I’ve waited tables, I get it – but I really was looking to spend some money there, to enjoy the festival and take some lunch. I don’t often complain about service, if that gives my dissatisfaction any weight.

Tagged: Beer, Craft Beers, Craft Breweries, Dining Out, Festivals, Local Bars and Restaraunts, Local Oysters, Luncheon, Raw Oyster Shots, The List, Tides Tavern

Poetic Interlude XLVIII

Gentle Reader, Dorothy Parker is stepping in to provide our Poetic Interlude, as I am indisposed. Enjoy; this is one of my favorites – and reflects my current mood.

Parable for a Certain Virgin

Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine;
Refresh your recollection,
And sit a moment, to define
His means of self-protection.
 
How truly fortified is he!
Where is the beast his double
In forethought of emergency
And readiness for trouble?
 
Recall his figure, and his shade—
How deftly planned and clearly
For slithering through the dappled glade
Unseen, or pretty nearly.
 
Yet should an alien eye discern
His presence in the woodland,
How little has he left to learn
Of self-defense! My good land!
 
For he can run, as swift as sound,
To where his goose may hang high—
Or thrust his head against the ground
And tunnel half to Shanghai;
 
Or he can climb the dizziest bough—
Unhesitant, mechanic—
And, resting, dash from off his brow
The bitter beads of panic;
 
Or should pursuers press him hot,
One scarcely needs to mention
His quick and cruel barbs, that got
Shakespearean attention;
 
Or driven to his final ditch,
To his extremest thicket,
He’ll fight with claws and molars (which
Is not considered cricket).
 
How amply armored, he, to fend
The fear of chase that haunts him!
How well prepared our little friend!—
And who the devil wants him?
Tagged: Dorothy Parker, Guest Posts, Poetic Interludes, Poetry

Post the Twenty-Seventh: In Which I Am Fit To Be Tied

The Task:

Well, Gentle Reader, according to The List, I was to wear a tie or bow tie every day for a month. I chose February – not because of its shortness, but because I didn’t want to commit to bringing ties with me to Europe unless I really wanted to. I’m also trying hard to only own the items I can carry on my back, so that limited my wardrobe choices. You’ll likely see outfits repeated multiple times. Also, selfies really aren’t my thing. Nonetheless, as promised, I wore a tie or bow-tie every day this month*. Behold:

The Execution:

Click to view slideshow.

The Execution:

Right, so I’m actually pretty pleased with the ties and so on. The reason I grew so quickly tired of this project is because I’m growing my hair out, and it’s at an awful stage; taking a selfie everyday just reinforced how much I hate what it looks like right now. Other than that? Aces.

The other thing I noticed, particularly in the first half of the month, was how quickly I was bored with the plain black tie – I had designated that my “travel” tie so that I wouldn’t be packing a million of the damn things, because that’s not minimalist at all. However, by the end of the month, I was sort of missing it, so there’s that. I’ll probably pack that tie, and wear it reasonably often.

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*It’s also likely, if you ran in to me this month, that you didn’t see me wearing a tie, because the days I saw people were, of course, days where it got uncomfortable and took it off. Because of course that’s how things work. Oi.

Tagged: Bad Hair, Bow-Ties, Clothes, Fashion, Sartorial Splendor, The List, Ties, Vanity

New Music, Part Five

In accordance with the Almighty List, I am on a quest to discover 25 bands or musicians that I’ve never heard of in 2014. Here’s the last official installment, Gentle Reader – five groups and my thoughts on them. Thank you to everyone who’s suggested new music – there have been enough suggestions to last another dozen posts. In fact, these posts have been so popular that I’ve been considering making New Music a reglular thing; if that’s something you’d like to see, let me know in the comments! Parts One, Two, Three, and Four are all snug in their beds.

The Task: Discover 25 bands etc., like I said above.

The Execution:

21. La Dispute

My friend Bandit sent me a number of bands to check out for this project. There’s something about the fella’s voice that really expresses emotional suffering, and trying to pull back from the edge of despair. Also, I really enjoyed the strange, rare quality of his voice. Huh.

22. Eyes Set To Kill

What can I say? It’s catchy, and it’s fun – at least this song was. I was reminded of Halestorm, and of some of the songs from Repo: The Genetic Opera. This song also has a good beat – but I think I’d have to be in a certain mood to listen to it.

Honestly, also? The nurse’s outfits in this video are why I chose this song.

23. ZZ Ward

This is a suggestion from Facebook, and I’m really glad I clicked on the link – this woman’s voice is very powerful. Reminiscent of both Adele and Gin Wigmore, were they American. ZZ Ward is going places.

24. Morphine

The specific song Pony suggested was “Sharks”, so I was won over right away by the fact that I got to google “Morphine Sharks” – and there is surprisingly little confusion about morphine sharks on the internet, evidently. At any rate, there’s a song from the seventies that I’m reminded of that I can’t quite recall, and also I’m put in mind of the Billy Nayer Show. Anyway, Sharks kick ass, and so does Morphine.

25. Stateless

It took me a little while to appreciate this band that I got from Young Nate, but I’ve been trying pretty hard to give everything that came my way a fair chance. Once the singing finally started, I warmed up to this song quite a lot.

The Verdict:

Right! This went amazingly well – Once people learned I was looking for new music, and that the genre didn’t matter – well, people were all over it. People get passionate about their favorite music, and they want to share, a lot. I found a bunch of things that I never would have heard of, or bothered giving a shot, that I really enjoyed. AND THEN I WAS DROWNED BY ALL OF THE MUSICAL SUGGESTIONS AND THEY ARE STILL COMING IN. Seriously, I might keep the whole New Music thing going for a while, if you like – so if you still have suggestions, or your suggestions didn’t make it in yet, there still may be hope.

ALSO I HAVE RECTIFIED ONE OF THE GREATEST TRAVESTIES OF MY LIFE, which was not having heard of the Tiger Lillies. Seriously. I’ll leave you with a bonus video of them, because they are the loves of my life.

Tagged: Artists, Bands, Exploring Musical Tastes, New Music, The List

Post the Twenty-Sixth: In Which We Visit the Frontier

Deep in the forests of Point Defiance, along a long and winding trail, there lies a lost colonial fort. Oh, no – not the original colonial fort, Gentle Reader – a lost replica. And it’s not very lost at all, actually. Anymore. Perhaps I should back up.

Deep in the forests of Point Defiance (Park), along the scenic Five Mile Drive, there lies a living history museum that was neglected and understaffed for a long, long time. Ex-Husband and I know this for a fact, because we stumbled upon it by accident one day, despite having taken that road many times and never having seen it before.

Of course we were going to explore it, because when you see a tower and palisade where a tower and palisade should not be, of course you explore it.

And so we stepped back to the cash-strapped fur-trapping days of the Pacific Northwest. In those days, the museum was underfunded, so there weren’t any fancy candlelight tours or swanky new buildings available to rent for fancy parties, oh no – there were only a few volunteer actors here and there, including one at the front gate to take our fare. We explored the fort; we entered the company store, where a man in a shockingly battered top hat pretended to sell us general goods and sundries.

And was cross when I correctly identified the china pattern he pretended to sell.

We then entered the dread lair of the Chief Factor, Dr. William Fraser Tolmie – well, it wasn’t a decaying manse or anything, it was just a square whitewashed building that, while considerably dusty and more elegant than any frontier house has a right to be, was just a square whitewashed building.  The furniture was probably incredibly hard to transport there, given the time period, and we were told so by a woman in a bonnet.

It was a pleasant surprise, a long lazy Sunday afternoon, and something that wouldn’t really stand out in one’s memory.

And then, several years later, we went back. This time, they clearly had funding. I could tell, because of the extensive and dedicated staff.

There – there was a fresh coat of paint on the big house! Inside, things had been dusted; new reproduction wallpaper and carpets had been applied – things were looking decidedly improved.

Further, a brand new building had been added. Sure, it wasn’t period accurate, but it was devoted to presenting the history of the local Native Americans, and their interactions with this outpost of the Hudson Bay Company. Also, there were presentations!

It was vital and dynamic and absolutely improved.

We recreated our exploration, moving through the museum in something like the same path we’d taken years before, re-living that golden afternoon – but remastered, and in technicolor.

Tagged: Ex-Husband, Fort Nisqually, Historical Re-Enactment, Living History, Lost Forts, Museums

Poetic Interlude XLVII

This poem, and others like it, are available in  Patchwork Narrative, my slim volume of poetry, available here and here. Enjoy!

Worth
No ruby, no incense, no oil, no gold
Could purchase the shine, nor the sparkle of eye,
Nor the way that your tresses unbearably lie
In memory’s coffers, for when I am old.
 
To capture the shine and the sparkle of eye,
No sapphire or sable would ever suffice;
Nor amphora of wine, whatever the price,
As sure as your lips will undoubtedly lie.
 
No sapphire or sable, whatever the price,
Is as sound an investment as that I pursue
And when that investment I fiscally rue,
No amphora of wine could ever suffice.
 
O, Groundless Investment! O, Blessed Revenue!
(The gleam of your smile, the glint of your sigh)
No, no one but Midas was wealthy as I,
And he did as I will, and fiscally rue.
 
The gleam of your smile, the glint of your sigh
Are more than such wretches as I can afford,
Though pearls and silver mount up in my hoard,
And no one but Midas was wealthy as I.

.

©2014 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved

Tagged: LGBT Love Poems, Love Poems, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Romance, Tyler J. Yoder

New Music, Part Four

In accordance with the Almighty List, I am on a quest to discover 25 bands or musicians that I’ve never heard of in 2014. Here’s your third installment, Gentle Reader – five groups and my thoughts on them. Thank you to those who commented with new groups last month! If you have any musical suggestions for me, I’m wide open! Leave a link in the comments. Part One can be found here, Part Two can be found there, and Part Three is hiding in the back.

The Task: Discover 25 bands etc., like I said above.

The Execution:

16. OhMeien

This is really outside my comfort zone. By miles. I mean, if you were to leave my musical tastes, you would have to take an aeroplane to some remote country, and then hope a train until you were out of track, rent a car and drive until you ran out of petrol, and then take a dogsled or something to get to where this type of music is from my comfort zone. And yet - and yet!

I have to say that I really enjoyed this. The DJ is a friend of mine, which is the only reason I agreed to listen to his stuff in the first place – and I was all prepared to mutter polite nothings and nod until we could stop talking about it – but I actually really dug his stuff. This song, in particular:

Apparently it’s something called “Drumstep” and while I don’t know precisely what that means, I enjoyed it.  Here’s a link to the rest of his stuff: https://soundcloud.com/ko808

17. Black Eskimo

OH MY STARS – the song’s a little slow to start, but I adore it. This woman’s voice – !!!

18. The Tiger Lillies

HOW HAVE I LIVED MY WHOLE LIFE IN IGNORANCE OF THE TIGER LILLIES? I am lax, I am remiss, I am desolate. I also had trouble choosing just one song of theirs to put here, but I went with – because I also adore the beverage - Gin.

19. Conjure One

I didn’t really care for this one, at the start – but as soon as the vocals kicked in, again, I was hooked. There are bits that remind me a bit of Ace of Base, there are bits that remind me of Emily Autumn, there are bits that put me squarely back in the nineties.

20. Mr. Oizo

Uh, this is not something that I thought I would like, even while I was swept up by it and dancing to it. I actually got up and danced. What can I say? It’s catchy, it’s fun, and it has a nice rhythm. Don’t judge me.

The Verdict:

Well, obviously this item isn’t done yet – not by a long shot – but it’s going really well. I am loving the hell out of this. It wins SO many points. Expanding tastes and interests always does, though, doesn’t it?

Do you have music that I should be listening to? Bands that I should be aware of? A favorite song by one of these artists? Let me know!

Tagged: Artists, Bands, Exploring Musical Tastes, New Music, The List

We’re Here, We’re Queer, and No One Cares: Why LGBT Visibility Still Matters

After sending out 200 queries, and getting 100 replies, about the ongoing relevance of Queer Visibility in America today, this is the article I’m shopping around, Gentle Reader, as well as a longer piece about Queer Assimilation. Your thoughts and your notes are much appreciated.

IT SHOULD BE NOTED: This piece is still a draft, and it remains pretty angry. Please try to keep comments and criticism civil.

Over the last week, articles, interviews, and sound bites having been flying fast, loudly wondering why anyone should care when a celebrity comes out of the closet.  Coming out is over, right? I mean, marriage equality across the country is a matter of time, QUILTBAG people are everywhere, and everyone’s used to it. Sure, there are little pockets of resistance here and there, but in America, we’ve mostly  moved on – it’s the twenty-first century, after all! Get over it!

The first openly gay NFL hopeful risking his career isn’t news? If you think the players and coaches are shrugging over this, you haven’t been paying attention. You don’t see how it matters that an actress publicly admits to what amounts to an open secret? There’s hardly any risk in Liberal Hollywood – why does it matter? They’re the same as everyone else; it’s not news.

I will not get over it, and I will not go away. I am not the same as you, and I won’t pretend to be. This angry queer  will not be shoved into a closet of comfortable conformity again.  Do you know what all this “same” crap says to me? “I don’t mind if you’re gay, so long as you don’t act like it.” I spent enough time not  acting like it when I shoved myself back into the closet to work construction, and it’s bullshit. I’ll take equality, but I do not need to behave the way you do to deserve it. You do not have to be the same to be equal. That’s just basic math.

At the risk of alienating any allies reading this, I don’t want tolerance, I want acceptance, everywhere, not just the ghettos and gayborhoods. I don’t have to flaunt my queerness, but damn it, if I want to I should be able to. The more Mom and Pop Ohio have queer faces shoved in theirs, the more used to it they’ll get; the more used to it they get, the less likely they’ll be to spit on their son, their cousin, their neighbor, a stranger. These things haven’t stopped being true, just because there’s a celebrity coming-out story every week. It hasn’t stopped changing the country, just because it’s not the most exciting headline. It’s still essential work. As much as it might feel passé in this day and age, the fight isn’t over. Until the very act of being visibly queer isn’t an act of defiance in itself, until a simple scarf or hairstyle isn’t subversive, there will be a need for LGBT visibility – everywhere, all the time, not just during Pride.

Each of these coming out stories is a triumph, impossible just ten years ago, but I’d argue that there aren’t enough of them, that they don’t go far enough. Almost all out celebrities toe a heteronormative line – with broad strokes of equality and victory, the QUILTBAG community has been whitewashed, except during Pride. It gets better? For whom, precisely? For those of us neatly paired off, bow tie to bow tie and pearl to pearl? If we don’t fit that neat little pattern planned by the Mattachine society all those years ago, are we still accepted, still safe? Don’t be naïve.

Alright, I’ll admit, it is better than it used to be, but it’s important that celebrities keep coming out, especially in new spaces, new venues traditionally denied to us, to ensure that it keeps getting better. Even if you’re femme or confused or still trying to figure out your identity or not neatly defined – but you have to work to make it better; it doesn’t magically get that way on its own. We need to be seen having careers, living all sorts of varied lives, to exist at all outside of our safely queer enclaves.  Seeing yourself represented in the world around you is essential to accepting yourself, to coming to terms with the fact that you’re not just like everyone else, that you never will be, and that you will have to cope with that for the rest of your life. Seeing that you’re not alone, when you feel like a unique specimen – the only freak of nature in a hundred miles – it continues to be important, internet communities aside.  We still need to come out of the closets and into the streets, and it always will be, even if we’re straight-acting or can pass – not everyone can, and we have to stand up for each other, because despite the strides we’ve made, there’s an overwhelming ocean left out there that doesn’t draw those subtle distinctions.

There will be a need to be out, to be in public and enraged, as long as an assumption of heterosexuality, of being cisgender is the norm. As long as those are the default expectations, there will be a need for celebrities to come out; there will be a need for individuals to come out, to be seen, unashamed. Even in that far-off distant day, we should have the option to be highly visible, to be represented on the world stage. We’re not going away, and we’re not shutting up.

In a way, I’m glad of this dismissive attitude that seems so widespread. It’s meant to show that the LGBT community has arrived, that we’re fully integrated. It’s meant to show that we no longer have anything to fear, or worry about, or that any separate concerns we might have about our tenuous position in society are relevant. After all, we’re free to marry in a rapidly increasing number of states, and our straight allies generously assert that we’re the same as them. What more could we ask for? The right to continue to be seen and heard seems like a good place to start.

Tagged: LGBT, LGBT Visibility, LGBT Youth, Pride, Queer, Queer Visibility, QUILTBAG, Rants

Post the Twenty-Fifth: In Preparation for Europe

Things are really heating up, Gentle Reader, between my various practice trips, the List, and on and on and on – I thought I’d bring you up to speed. Bear with me.

After the new year, I had lots of things planned over the next few months: a train trip to Portland,then I’d watch my mother’s dog for a week while she was in New Orleans – then a flight to Anchorage; my mother’s hip surgery. Amongst this chaos, I was still to be crossing things off of the List left and right, as well as packing all my worldly possessions up to go into storage, in preparation for Europe.

Look at it, all smug and nonchalant.

Well. Those events didn’t seem real, until they started coming to pass. Especially as packing things up kept getting put off in favor of things like “Driving Maman to the hospital” and “Having a panic attack because I haven’t driven in two and a half years”.

Things started piling up. Maman’s recovery, while going mostly smoothly, still needs babysitting – after all, she wasn’t walking at all, a week ago. I’ve had to prioritize, putting off valuable contacts and possible patrons, as well as neglect my friends. So it goes.

I’ll be able to make a more solid plan tomorrow, after the surgeon removes the staples from her thigh and gives her the old once-over, to see how she’s recovering. After that, I should be able to make concrete plans. And I will need to make concrete plans.

Remember that list? There are a number of items that I can only reasonably accomplish while I’m in the States, and I finally have a departure date:

March Thirty-First.

This means that if you live in the Seattle-Tacoma area, and you want to see me, your time is very limited. There will be two separate going away parties, at least; the main one is (tentatively) scheduled for Sunday, March 23rd, at the Mix. Of course it’s at the Mix – where else would it be? The other one is being put together by my mother and I know nothing about it.

I can only imagine that it will look like this.

So! If you have travel tips, tricks, or techniques – please let me know. Ways of making income on the road? Resources for backpackers? Travel hacks? Things you’ve mentioned before and in all likelihood I’ve forgotten? Please share them with me.

If you haven’t yet bought a copy of my book, Patchwork Narrative? Now would be an excellent time to do so.

If you want to buy stuff that I own? Everything must go – even stuff not listed on the “For Sale” page.If you’ve always lusted after a hat, or a sword, or a shirt of mine – send me a message, or drop me a line.

Perhaps something dead, in a jar?

Cheers, my friends. Wednesday’s post should have plenty of substance, don’t worry.

Tagged: drama, Full Disclosure, Maman, non-whimsy, The Mix, Tyler J. Yoder, Updates