Tyler Yoder's Blog, page 29

Ethiopian Food

You’ll hear more about the Portland trip the rest of this week, G. R., but for now, a short item from The List: I tried Ethiopian food not half an hour ago. Apologies if this post is a little rough; editing on the mobile’s a bit of a bear. Alors!

Miss Spectacular, knowing that I’d wanted to try Ethiopian food, looked up a food cart for me before we left her apartment this morning – there’s a phalanx of nations, bartering their wares. I wandered into the fray around lunchtime, and Emame’s Ethiopian Cuisine was easy to find, right on the corner. I wandered up, and there was a sweet older lady, who reminded me of my grandmother, from her pearl earrings all the way to her kindness.

When I told her I’d never tried Ethiopian, she was delighted – in her lilting accent, she told me how important it was to try the flavors of other cultures:

“Why, I’m nearly seventy-four, and I tried Argentinian food for the first time last week. Can you imagine that, at seventy-four?”

As an introduction to her native country’s cuisine, she grinned, giving me samples of all sorts of good things to eat. The only thing I recall the name of was Injera, a sort of bread that’s apparently made with bonemeal? It’s moist and soft, and has the texture of a pancake. Miss Emame explained the history, the cultural significance, the flavor – then she gave me a taste.

I have no idea what the dish I got is called Sam from the Internet tells me it was called Doro Wat; it was exquisite – if a red curry and a marinara sauce were gently introduced, and served with a boiled duck egg and a chicken drumstick, over hearty, dark Injera – well, you get the idea.

She demurred when I asked to take a photo, but was excited when I told her I’d be telling the world about her cooking. She gave me an extra helping of sheep’s cheese, for that.

I’m really excited about trying different Ethiopian dishes in the future, and heartily recommend this type of cuisine if you haven’t tried it. And if you’re in Portland – well, you have to stop by Miss Emame’s.

Tagged: Elegegant Elderly Ladies, Ethiopian Food, New Experiences, Portland, Street Food, The List, Vagabondage

Poetic Interlude XLII

A special guest post by my deceased father, with whom I’m collaborating.

The sight of an eagle soaring high

Or a wolf howling, wild and free
The sound of a robin chirping,
Welcoming the morning light,
The taste of a strawberry dipped in cream.
Or the scent of jasmine on a summer breeze
 
None of these compare to the warmth
Of your body next to mine,
and the feeling
Of your breath against my cheek,
Whispering I Love You, in the morning
..
©2014 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved
Tagged: Family Stories That Are Completely True, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Writing

Library Books

The Task: To leave little notes in the margins of library books, then return them to their natural habitat.

The Execution: Fear not, Librarian Friends. As much as I love marginalia – especially in used textbooks, when I was at school – I didn’t think you folks would appreciate if I defaced books that belong to the public. Friendly, hot-pink post-it notes provided a needed prophylactic between my pen and your page. Um.

Prophylactic?

As I said, I adore little notes in the margins of books. Especially when they’re unexpected. They’re a brief moment of connection between readers past, and readers future, or present – sometimes it’s a college student, analyzing an author’s work, and sometimes it’s a teenage girl who’s being made to read Animal Farm can’t stop thinking about her Jimmy, and sometimes it’s someone who’s reading for pleasure, who was struck by a phrase – it doesn’t matter. They’re little glimpses of humanity – it’s like people-watching for shut-ins. I wanted to contribute to that.

The Books: So, honestly, these were all on my reading list anyway – some, like The Aeneid, are part of the whole “Read Fifteen Classics You’ve Never Read Before” thing, on The List. Others are just for pleasure, or because I haven’t read them in a while, or because Hunter S. Thompson. Uh, actually, I think that covers all four of the ones I’m including here. So!

The Aeneid:

Essentially, Ancient Rome’s answer to Homer.

A short synopsis of the Aeneid:

This dude Aeneas and his bros are from Troy, which is totally fucked destroyed. They’re sailing, get lost, and run into this nice lady who lets them whine about their road trip voyage and the reasons they’re taking it, for basically forever. One of the reasons is that Aeneas is supposed to found a new city, but he’s really bad at it. He and the nice lady fall into bed for a while, but the gods are all “Dude, you have a job to do. C’mon.” Dude leaves and the nice lady kills herself. The Bro-jans get lost again, some people fuck off because they’re tired of getting lost wandering, and Aeneas’ ghost-dad shows up.

ANY EXCUSE I CAN FIND

Our he-bros show up in Italy, and King Latinus is super nice to them, but his wife isn’t quite so keen. There’s a fight over a deer, and then there’s a war over the same deer for some reason. Aeneas gets back from visiting his old mum, sees his bros embroiled in battle, and calls a truce so that everybody can bury their dead. HOORAY!

King Latinus’ men decide that war is super lame (especially over a single freaking deer), and decidedly decide that the war will be decided by single combat between Aeneas and the guy who’s supposed to marry Latinus’ daughter. Um, war breaks out again, you guys, and Aeneas ALMOST spares the other guy’s life, but then he doesn’t. BAM. And then there’s a Rome! Yes, this is the short version.

So, since Virgil is not nearly as funny as I am, I decided my note should go in after the first Book of the Aeneid, because that’s far enough in to commit and early enough in to despair.

I know Virgil is a little verbose, but he’s SO worth it if you just persevere! I believe in you!

2. The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath: A suicidal young woman pours out her pain, again and again and again, but is less funny than Dorothy Parker about it. She’s even less funny than Edna St. Vincent Millay, which is saying a lot, because Aunt Edna was pretty damned dark.

A short synopsis of the Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath:

Sylvia is very sad and is going to kill herself shortly. Also, the asshole editors include things that she never published, and likely never intended to publish, because after you’re dead you lose creative control of your work. Also also, the same asshole editors claim that she never scrapped a single piece of poetry, merely set it aside to finish later, simply choosing not to publish certain pieces because they “weren’t finished” – which they then went ahead and published, as-is. The asshole editors clearly have never met a poet, and apparently they expect us to neatly burn anything we don’t want published posthumously. Assholes.

I chose to put this note under Sylvia’s poem, Sheep in Fog, which was written two weeks to the day before she killed herself. Although I don’t personally agree, according to the Internet it’s the most clearly suicidal of her pieces – so I chose to post numbers to local and national suicide prevention hotlines, as well as a message of love:

You’re not alone in this world. Somebody out there loves you! (and then some local phone numbers for Suicide Prevention Hotlines.)

3. Brave New World: Aldous Huxley’s  (sadly antiquated) vision of the terrifying future. I hadn’t read this since high school, and we’ve made such technological progress even only since then that what seemed horribly plausible in those days suddenly doesn’t hold up. Did I mention I only graduated ten years ago?

Okay – quickly – the dystopia does hold up, and everything that matters holds up. HOWEVER – it’s really jarring to hear about tubes and suchlike that we no longer use for unnatural future tech. I really wish it was timeless – I do! – I didn’t think that kind of thing would stand out, but there was HUGE cognitive dissonance going on, you guys. Alors.

A short synopsis of Brave New World:

This one dude exposes (exposits?) the entire dystopia: people have lots of wild sex, but they don’t get pregnant, or have babies, because it’s vulgar. Parenthood, home, and family – that’s all smutty, and children are encouraged to have sex at about five years old. Because it’s play! Also, if you experience any negative emotion whatsoever, take drugs! Also also, don’t think, go to the movies feelies. Further, all of humanity is sorted into five immutable castes and a lot of truly awful shit happens to make sure that people in each caste stay there – like alcohol injected into amniotic fluid. (Huxley gains points for not basing these castes on race while being a white dude from the thirties- an epsilon is an epsilon, no matter their skin color. Presumably it’s the same for alphas – there is mention of scientists in what once was India.) Alors.

Then this other dude who doesn’t fit in talks to the first dude (first dude is his boss) and asks for time off to take this girl to New Mexico to the “savage reservation” (I guess you couldn’t publish a book without being racist in those days, after all). First dude is all “I used to be like you, not fitting in and wanting to see other ways of living, BUT I GOT OVER IT, BITCH PANTYWAIST!” but he gives Other Dude, Bernard, the time off. Bernard and the lady (her name’s Lenina) go to New Mexico.

At the Reservation: Of course they immediately run into First Dude’s date-who-got-lost-and-was-presumed-dead, because of course. Also they meet her son, who is First Dude’s son too, who is rejected by the “savages” because he is too different and can read. Um. 

PREPARE FOR LOTS OF SHAKESPEARE QUOTATIONS, you guys, BECAUSE HIS COMPLETE WORKS ARE BASICALLY ALL SONNY-JIM HAS EVER READ. Well, former-girlfriend-who-got-lost, without the magic of future society, is now toothless and alcoholic and suffering the effects of age now that she’s been without the benefits of Soma Society. Bernard and Lenina, who are basically without personality during this part of the book, take both with them when they go home to London.

Two thirds of the way through the book, and it’s all been setup, because when First Dude tries to fire Bernard and send him to Iceland, BERNARD PULLS SONNY-JIM AND FORMER-GIRLFRIEND OUT OF THE HALLWAY, and humiliates him, because Girlfriends and Parenthood. So First Dude loses his job instead, Former-Girlfriend swaps peyote-based booze for Soma, drug of the day, and Bernard becomes the toast of the town because Sonny-Jim is one of them, but NOT ONE OF THEM, at the same time. Whoa.

Sonny-Jim falls in love with Lenina, and falls in hate with the ‘Brave New World’ he’s been thrust into. It’s immoral, there’s no religion, and there are some wacky misunderstandings when he tries to woo Lenina and she tries to give him the business. HE IS TOO CHASTE TO FUCK, GIRL, SERIOUSLY. So one night, when Bernard tries to keep showing Sonny-Jim off at parties, Sonny-Jim is grumpy because GURLS and then Bernard stops mattering, in society and in the story. Sonny-Jim goes off to be a hermit, because FUCK THIS SHIT, YO but society won’t stop bothering him. THE END.

Uh, Brave New World got two notes – one, early on, because all the dates are A.F. – that is, in the year of our Ford – and when I reread, I immediately googled that shit and did the math. The book is set in what we would call 2540, and I wanted to save the reader the effort to look it up. The second note was a lot better – it was right before John (Sonny-Jim) discovered the moldy book of Shakespeare’s plays – one of the last in the world! – and it was a warning:

I hope you’re decently familiar with Shakespeare, friend, because from here on, the references & quotes are fairly constant.

4. The Rum Diary: Hunter S. Thompson kicks Johnny Depp’s ass in an alley while all fucked up. Wait – that’s just what I wish happened.

A short synopsis of The Rum Diaries:

Okay – I’ll be honest; I haven’t read it yet – I’m reading a book by Margaret Atwood right now! – but I have it on hand, and will read it before it goes back to the library. At any rate, I Googled some shit, yo.

And it didn’t help me at all. Anyway, I flipped the book randomly until I found a good line, and I quipped. Don’t judge me. This is what I came up with:

(riffing off of the book’s text) You dirty little lush, indeed! If you’re not drinking while reading this, you’re either sober (congrats!) or doing it wrong. Cheers!

The Verdict: This was awesome! Okay, so I’ve had no feedback from my victims future friends (I totally put my blog address on the back of each note. I’m a hack) – but I really enjoyed this entire thing. Including writing the stupid synopses. Spending the afternoon trying to think what readers of each book might need to see, or want to see, or what might help – well, I felt amazing, and thoughtful, and kind, and awfully cheesy. This project, though? Total win. I might do this in every book I check out in future – after I read them. (Forgive me, Uncle Hunter). I would recommend this to anyone out there – put your honest thoughts and your contact info, and see what happens! ( I will let you know if I hear from anyone who found these notes.)

Tagged: Angry Ghosts!, Books, Classic Books, Literacy, Literature, Notes to Strangers, Rambling Nonsense, The List, Whimsy, Writing

Impromptu Dinner Party

Another item from The List, Gentle Reader.

The Task: Throw a dinner party within 72 hours of the desire to throw a dinner party striking. I’ve managed to do one within 24 hours, years ago, but I had a captive guest list in those days.

The Execution: I happen to be dog-sitting for my mother this week, while she’s in New Orleans. I love entertaining at Maman’s – it’s a gorgeous, well-decorated place. I thought a dinner party would be just the thing to liven up a week mostly devoted to dog-walking. The trouble is – she lives miles from civilization.

I mentioned the idea to Miss K, and we started coming up with a guest list – with a few caveats:

We wanted an entirely queer guest list
We wanted to invite people that we either hardly ever see, or who are outside our normal circles
We both had to agree on each guest
We had to be reasonably certain that all our guests would enjoy each other’s company.

Naturally, this made things nearly impossible, so we (reluctantly) threw out number 1, and began combing our acquaintances and friends-lists, in search of people who might make for scintillating conversation – and who lived close enough to be able to make it. That we both agreed on, and didn’t know that well.

I know we’ve just met, but I’m throwing a dinner party in the middle of nowhere…

We sent round one of invitations – our strictly queer list – and got turned down across the board – apparently, it was a busy weekend. Round two went slightly better – we got one yes and one maybe. We refused to compromise on either of our two remaining rules, and – a little resigned – sent out a third round, without much hope. As they say, third time’s the charm, and we were able to fill out our table.

Preparations were awfully easy, after that – we had decided on sweet and sour chicken because we had most of the ingredients to hand.

Both K and I were running late, so dinner wasn’t quite  on time when our guests arrived. She hustled me out of the kitchen to fix drinks, greet people, and be utterly charming.

K took care of finishing the meal – it’s a good thing, too, as I am rubbish behind the stove. She finished the dish, we served it up, and engaged in fascinating chat and gossip. It was a wonderful evening.

The Verdict: Well, apart from the difficulty in getting anyone to show, this was exactly like any other dinner party. It went really smoothly, all things considered, and was a fantastic night – but it wasn’t anything really out of the ordinary. So great for being a dinner party, but only bleh as far as list items go.

Tagged: Entertaining, Fabulous Parties, Miss K, The List, Whimsy

An Evening with Darling and Capere

Two old friends and a queer film? Try to keep me away, Gentle Reader! Thus it was that I took Ms. Capere’s invitation, and made arrangements to go with her and Mr. C.W.L. Darling to the Seattle Gay Film Festival this fall. Capere had seen G.B.F.* at the Tacoma Film Festival, where she had a film playing, and was reminded of our high school years – particularly between Megan Mullally and Paul Iacono, who evoke images of Maman and I.

Okay, swap the hair colors. Better?

After the film was a Q&A session with the director, which Capere the film-maker wanted to catch; being a dedicated smoker, I ran outside before the credits were cold. Naturally, as I puffed my youth away in the alley, I tried to plan out my evening – I had the option of staying with either Darling or Capere. Speaking of – they emerge from the theatre, and off we go to find a café to discuss the film to death.

At this point, I had a choice – I could stay with Darling in Seattle, and spend the night at the club with him and a friend, or I could go back to Tacoma with Capere, grab a bottle of wine, and sit and write with her. Well, I do have a novel to finish – and I’m intimidated by the fact that Darling’s a go-go boy, so the club was not my best option.

Seriously. Intimidating.

Ms. Capere and I talked over old injustices, present worries, future plans – the car ride was long, but deep. We swung by a store to pick up the aforementioned wine – it was the first thing I bought with royalties from Patchwork Narrative.

As Seen On Twitter

Supplies acquired – to business!

Though a spare laptop was kindly offered for the evening’s work, I prefer the touch of pen and paper for a first draft. I knocked out a smooth 2000 words over the course of the evening. The wine meant I’d only be able to read about 500 of them in the morning, but that’s all part of the process.

While Ms. Capere worked on her sociology paper, we chatted and laughed, and probed a few sensitive subjects – our conversation that night spanned it all. Despite my distractions, she managed to get her paper in on time. As we polished off the bottle and went to bed, I was glad to have spent a lovely evening with good, old, friends.

*********

*G.B.F. stands for Gay Best Friend, and while it’s pretty much just another teen “comedy” with a gay twist – it did evoke shades of our high school years. There are other, better, gay teen films out there – But I’m a Cheerleader! and Saved, for instance – but that’s the fault of the script. The acting was excellent – and there were a few scenes where you could tell that the actors were making the most of what they were given to work with. All in all, a worthwhile film.

Tagged: Capere, Darling, LGBT films, Seattle, Writing

Poetic Interlude XLI

Frank
 
I haven’t slept; the dawn is here,
And I’m swept back to yesteryear.
A long-dead Uncle views the coast,
Embraces me; he is my host -
And in that faded Kodak room
We smoke, and sit, and toast our doom:
We share a certain malady -
The symptom of our family.
 
And though our blood stays smooth and sweet,
It rises to a certain heat -
and then I break another chair
       to take to wine in my despair
              and he’s run out into the rain
                      to scream aloud what’s in his brain
                              and on the scarred and wooden ground
                                       I’m seeking a forgotten noun
                                                he’s clawing at the skin beneath
                                                         the opera inside his teeth
I haven’t slept; the dawn is here,
And I’m swept back to yesteryear.
 
©2014 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved
Tagged: Family Stories That Are Completely True, Madness, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Tyler J. Yoder, Writing

Beauty Secrets of the Reverend Doctor: Horrible Goblin Edition

Gentle Reader, we all have days when we feel we’re not looking our best. Or sometimes, no matter what we do, no matter how much we try, nothing will convince us that we don’t look like some kind of horrible little goblin.

You probably thought that, short of a permanent veil, that nothing will help on days like that – but with just a few of my patented* tricks, you’ll be able to face being in public in no time!

Step One: Hide your eyes. Seriously, this’ll allow you to avoid making eye contact, which will make you feel less self-conscious about your hideousness. Plus, sunglasses hide almost an entire third of your face.

Step Two: Hide your hair. A large, ridiculous hat does three things:

It hides your awful hair
It makes your freakishly large head look smaller
It draws people’s attention away from your strangely terrifying skin

Step Three: Turtlenecks. And gloves. Basically, cover up everything that you can decently get away with.

You can stop here, if you wish. However, purists use steps 4 and 5 to great effect.

Step Four: Actually, cover what you can’t get away with. Cover everything.

Step Five: Fuck it. Stay home and hide your horrible goblin face.

*********

* Not actually patented. Yet.

Tagged: Beauty, Beauty Tips, Goblin-Face, Horrible Goblin, Rambling Nonsense, Vanity, Veils

Little Black Dress

C.W.L. Darling’s birthday is fast approaching, Gentle Reader, and he always throws an exquisite party. One of my favorites was the year we turned 26; that was the year of the little black dress. To be fair, it’s always the year of the little black dress – they’re timeless – but that was the year that Darling chose that as his theme.

Comme Ca

I was working in Bremerton, and a group of friends offered to give me a lift after I got off – we’d catch the ferry, cross the waves, and head up to the hill. I was a little nervous about being in drag in a run-down navy town – and that changing in the damp bathroom at work would result in sub-par Face. As it turns out, it was a non-issue. Not a single sailor whistled at me, and through some miracle, I managed my makeup without having to resort to my signature hormonal raccoon look.

One ferry ride is much the same as any other, so I’ll spare you the details, but some of the girls and I were able to take a quick snap on the crossing.

A stranger even took a group shot, before we debarked the boat.

The party itself, of course, was a delight – Darling’s fêtes always are. Everyone was in a little black dress – even if it wasn’t strictly… flattering. No matter – it was a riot. His young man at the time was the only other smoker, and he was most gracious about helping me navigate the corridors and elevators to the charming courtyard garden. Darling, Ms. Capere, and I are seen here trying to seduce various gentlemen; some of us are better at it than others.

Darling and I have known each other for nearly all our lives, and have been in and out of frocks for most of that time. We might not spend as much time together these days, but he’ll always be one of my best friends. Love you, Darling.

Tagged: Darling, Drag, Fabulous Parties, not, Rambling Nonsense, Seattle

Facing Foes

Gentle Reader, I present to you the first item completed from this year’s list-based project: Confronting My Enemies.

The Task: We’re not talking that dude who’s a total dick at work, or that irritating girl who always shows up at parties.  We’re talking people who actively wish me bodily or mental harm. My mission? To either apologize to or forgive them.

The Execution: I really wanted to do this in person. I honestly felt it would give more satisfaction. However… some of the people in question – well, I wasn’t joking about the bodily harm. Grievous bodily harm. There would certainly be shouting, no matter what. Still, I don’t want to have to duck behind shelves at the store just to avoid a dust-up.

This, but with maybe a fancy jacket.

Therefore: letters. Handwritten. It lends that personal touch, while keeping me far enough away that my foes wouldn’t fly into a rage on seeing my face. Which, I can’t stress enough, is a legitimate fear.

This… was hard. I had six foes to deal with. I went with B first, because we’ve been on the outs the longest. I mean, we move in the same circles, so I try to smile thinly and tolerate her, but after she ignored her brand-new husband on her wedding night to harangue me until six in the morning-

Poor Guy

-I decided that she needed to take a fucking decade-long-hint maybe I didn’t want her in my life at all.

My roommates are all friends with her, and there’s a decade of creepy obsession and harassment backstory, and she still comes to our place all the time. I hole up in my room and refuse to leave when she’s here. As a matter of fact, she’s here while I’m writing this.

It’s after 4 a.m.

At any rate, I was probably a little harsh in my letter to her, but despite using some of her own verbal spears on her, I did forgive her, and actually apologized for not walking away from her before now. If I hadn’t been around her, maybe she would have been able to function. I don’t know. At any rate, I’d really already dealt with this villain, despite the fact that she’s the one who is currently most recurring.

Still pretty annoyed, but the passion of our enmity’s been gone since I stopped giving a shit. First letter? A flop.

I dealt with my sister next. I don’t know that I’d really call her an enemy, exactly, but I haven’t seen her since our brother’s funeral. After he died, she refused to acknowledge any of her Yoder relatives, including our dad. I apologized for not seeing Doug in time; rather than attack her for not seeing our father in the last several years before he died – I expressed regret that she couldn’t make it to his funeral. Easy. Took up a tiny paragraph at the end of quite a long letter, asking about her family, her work, her life. The hard part was understanding, finally, that what I’m mad about isn’t who she is – it’s just something that she did. I told her what I was up to, told her about my book, told her about moving abroad – and I asked if I could see her and my nephews before I go. I don’t know if I’ll hear back, but I made the effort.

Tempus *does* fugit, after all

I definitely felt very peaceful after writing this letter. I’ve been holding on to that anger for a long, long, time – going so far as to warn people not to bring my sister up in front of me – and it feels very good to reach out to her in a peaceful way.

I dealt with Jemilly and the Boys next. They all got separate letters, but I’m dealing with them en masse here. It’s all so long ago, now, but I know they’d start something if they saw me in person. Unfortunately, having moved back to the area, this could happen at any time. And, to top it all off, it’s a complete bloody mystery why the lot of them have it in for me – no one could give me a straight answer.

I’m pretty sure that everyone Jemilly excommunicated got answers, at least. I’ve already dealt with a lot of this*, but I know they haven’t. These letters were quite short. I apologized for what I knew I’d done, but whatever giant mysterious wound I’d caused them… was still a mystery. I feel like I’m being ostensibly the bigger person here, but I’m pretty sure that these letters will come off pathetic and grovelling, when all I did was say that I’m sorry for whyever you want to hit me on sight.

The Verdict: If you haven’t worked through your feelings, this is great, bringing a zen-like state of peace and balance. I feel really optimistic about my sister! If you have sorted them out, and the other person hasn’t, this feels irritating and petty, and you might worsen the situation. I’m annoyed that it felt weighty and as though it would be cathartic before I did it, when instead I had to force myself to dwell on stuff that happened ages ago. I guess it all depends on how much you care.

*********

*I dealt with Jem here, and Emilly here. Of the Boys? J should have no grievance, B and I are reconciled, and A, with whom I was a little in love – well, that letter was painful, and actually cathartic.

Tagged: Apologies, drama, Enemies, Facing Your Fears, Family Stories That Are Completely True, Full Disclosure, Goals, Sordid Past

Poetic Interlude XL

Triptych
 


How could you possibly love me,
You slight young slip of a boy?
You don’t even know me from Adam;
I’m aging, and comfortably coy -
And yet, I enjoy the attention
(I never was Helen of Troy).
 

If you’re toying with me for the money,
Good luck, boy – it’s already spent -
Or maybe you think I’ve got talent
(And I may, to a certain extent) -

Whatever the insane attraction,
I doubt that I’ll dare to relent.
 
I suppose I’ll submit to seduction;
I admit I’ll allow your allure.
Don’t think you can rest on your laurels -
I’ll always remain insecure.
How could you possibly love me?
You might, but it’s still premature.
 
 
Tagged: Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Romance, Scorn, Tyler J. Yoder, Writing