Tyler Yoder's Blog, page 30

First Night

Well, here we are, Gentle Reader – 2014. Just two days in, and I’ve already started working on my list of things outside my comfort zone – well, honestly, I started working on it on New Year’s Eve. Because I have to go to twelve street fairs and festivals over the next year, I thought I’d start the second that clock ticked over.

While First Night’s been a tradition in Tacoma for over twenty years, but I’d never gotten around to going before. I love the arts, and I love that people celebrate them, but I find that “family friendly” events tend to actually be “events for children where single adults look super creepy.”

As I don’t like to think of myself as super creepy, I’ve given it a miss in the past. My decision to go was very last-minute – I reached out to the Internet for a ride home and/or crash space, and had a number of offers. I hitched a ride into town and got supper with the Colonel and his lady, then took the tram downtown.

I wasn’t exactly sure where First Night was, but I knew the museums were somehow involved, so I traipsed around the district a bit. No dice, but my friend Rick was hosting Karaoke at a temporary ice rink. The kid renting out skates saw my uke and insisted that I play for him, so I tried to – but Chordelia was out of sorts, or something, because even tuned she sounded off.

In the distance, I heard a rock band warming up and a siren; I followed the noise.

I got a badge and a map, and decided which acts I wanted to catch, which groups I wanted to visit. There were multiple shows going on at any given time, but all the events at the earlier times – well, either I was in entirely the wrong area, or else they were running late. I went up to Rampart Antiques, where the owner – a friend of mine – was resplendent in vintage O.T.O.  vestments. We talked shop for a bit – he showed me some beautiful dental equipment from the ’30′s, which had been re-enameled in the sixties with some sort of glittery amazement.

This, but SPARKLY

After that, I wandered up and down the streets, continuing to miss the acts I wanted to catch. It wasn’t raining, but a fine mist hung in the air; you could see it in the orange of the street lamps. I wanted to pack it in at that point, but it was still early, and I hadn’t really given First Night a chance. Luckily, I ran into Mx. Mattingly, who was looking for Adam the Alien, who – as always – was filming the local goings-on; he then accompanied me to see the Thoughts, an “orchestral folk duo” who I thought sounded promising.

Splendid. Adam’s cousin, who was with us, had sketched the duo during their set, and traded the picture for their CD. Afterwards, we split back up – lots of mingling to do. I caught a few more shows, ran into a few other friends, and finally headed to the Mix, where I was due to ring in the new year. Tried to make a new friend or two, but that doesn’t always pan out.

Using the powers of social media, I got some friends who I haven’t seen in a while to meet me there – including Miss Thrush and Auntie R. We toasted with the complimentary champagne, as one does, and caught up. Afterward, I caught a lift with Miss Thompson, my roommate, and some of us went to Mx. Mattingly’s apartment, where this happened.

Conclusions: Well, I’m still local, so reaching out to the Internet probably worked because I have a network in place here. Still, it was gratifying how well it worked.

It’s helpful to have a place to go when I’m done with a festival is going on. I don’t like hanging around too long at this sort of thing.

Sometimes, when you try to make friends with strangers, they are really snotty and want to pick a fight within minutes. It’s hard not to dwell on what they say, even though they don’t know what they’re talking about.

Tagged: holidays, New Experiences, New Year's, Street Fairs, Tacoma, The Mix

Post the Twenty-First: In Which I’m Justifiably Angry

Sorry for another re-run, Gentle Reader. This is the last one, I swear – we’re safely out of the holiday blitz, and I’ll be able to get ahead on posts again. In the meantime, please enjoy last year’s post from New Year’s Day.

Oh, Gentle Reader. I do not want to write this post. In a life littered with hangovers, this doesn’t approach the worst; there was no nineteen-year-old beside me, whose name I still don’t know; no “ghost” had vomited in the bed; I know my name, the date, the season, and the city. However, frankly, I am exhausted, and swinging towards my function wherein I consider myself the worst writer in the world. It’s entirely possible that the next several days will bring posts about how vile of a human being I am, and how I ought to be either locked up or shot. You’ve been warned.

I’ll avoid discussing the events of last night, as is my policy, except to say when I took justifiable umbrage at the casual use of the word faggot, being bandied about, two minutes before midnight, mine host followed me outside, was very apologetic, and promised to not use that word in the future. Color me impressed – I had retreated outside, so as not to make a scene. I thanked him, waved him back in to his guests, and spent the crucial moment alone, fuming, and smoking my fag. I also had a veritable magnum of champagne to myself, as well as some moonshine. Moonshine!

The last time I was called a faggot, I was out at dinner with the ex-husband, and Miss K. We were trying a new restaurant, decorated with whiskey barrels, and were not much impressed. I was casually dressed for a winter evening – jeans, t-shirt, pea coat – except for my rabbit fur scarf. No make-up, none of my eccentric jewelry, none of the ridiculous, fabulous, enormous hats for which I am well-known. Leaning against a fence, smoking, alone in the dark, as three twenty-something men walk by. One spits, the gob landing near my scuffed boot. Another says, sotto voce, to his mates “Looks like they let fucking faggots in anywhere.” They wander into the yawning mystery of the parking lot. I was astonished, appalled. This casual hatred, from strangers, for the crime of being alive – I was more shocked than hurt, more bemused than anything. When I told Ex-Husband and K. about it, when I came back inside – K, who can be a terrifying force, leapt from the rough vinyl of the booth, intent on committing murder. Ex-husband’s hands were balled into fists, and his eyes were red. I kept both of them from leaving our booth.

In my mother’s world-view, this sort of thing is to be expected. You don’t have to like it, but you have to be careful, to be safe. It’s a world where the dominant can casually, cruelly, be angry and hateful, not at you, but at what you are. That’s just how it is, and nothing can be done about it.

It’s the world that activists have been fighting for more than a hundred years.

It’s a world of less than, a world where you’re not an individual, but a thing, belonging to a different class and classification.

It’s a world where you can attend a party, and the host, your friend’s boyfriend’s brother, can say the word faggot, and not mean anything by it, or, indeed, direct it at an actual gay person, and you still have to go outside to calm down, because your hands are shaking and a panic attack is tap-dancing its way up your spine. It’s a world where I’m pathetically grateful for his apology. It’s a world where I have to apologize myself for being pissed off about something that’s not meant, that’s “not a big deal, man.”

It’s a world where a teenage boy can’t come out to his family or friends, because he was born in the wrong part of the state, the country, the world.

It’s a world that I refuse to tolerate. It’s a world I’m damned determined to change. Words have power. Casual hatred, not of individuals, but of an entire category of people, can kill. If you see or hear people displaying attitudes or using words that are wrong, do something.

Tagged: drama, Fabulous Parties, Full Disclosure, Homophobia, LGBT community, New Year, QUILTBAG

Year’s End Wrap-Up

I know that tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, Gentle Reader, and I know that you’re terribly busy reading all the year-end lists that seek to sum up the Best Vegetable of 2013 or whatever, but I would like to offer you something a little different.

Fun Fact: It was Kale. *AGAIN*.

Oh, who the hell am I trying to fool. This is exactly the same sort of thing, just filtered through my strange little worldview. And also, it’s about me. It’s time for the…

January:

Best Thing Ever: Uh, I attempted to rap? It went like this:

I might be in an old cardigan

but I have more élan

than the Empress of Japan.

The best part of the best thing in January? When I stopped rapping.

Worst Thing Ever: My Uncle George’s funeral. Actually, I enjoyed myself rather a lot – it was in a beautiful location, my cousin George played and sang for his father – the bar was open before the service; the buffet was top-notch with acres of seafood and high-quality everything. As funerals go, it was wonderful -

I just miss my uncle, quite a lot.

February:

Best Thing Ever: I started writing for money I got a job, online, writing freelance at some of the copy-mills. I also discovered that I am terrible at being my own boss. Also also, this happened:

Worst Thing Ever: I actually have enemies, that actually want to stab my eyes and then  punch me to death loathe me. This was confirmed during a run-in at a party; I had not seen the people in question in more than a year, and their vitriol … was intense. Yup. Enemies; I have them.

March:

Best Thing Ever: All of facebook and most of twitter supported Marriage Equality? Hooray for Slacktivism Solidarity!

Before her racism scandal, but after the actual racism

Worst Thing Ever: Um, being chased out of the place we were renting? By this guy?

I know, the fella’s a complete buffoon (as well as a complete ass, and a complete idiot) but he had our landlord under some weird sort of mind-control zombie-spell. Or something.

April:

Best Thing Ever: I submitted some poems to a magazine, and some of them were accepted? And then I got to go to a poetry reading where they were read? It felt pretty awesome.

Worst Thing Ever: Due to the whole being-under-seige thing in March, we had to move. My leg had sort of stopped working for the most part, and I was the most able-bodied of the household at the time, and we had to move.

Still – we found a new place to live, and it wasn’t under an overpass. Win!

May:

Best Thing Ever: We held the last Paisley Parliament that I will ever preside over, and Miss Ward flew in from out of the country to attend. Well, she was also coming home, but I got to see her. Parliament was held in lieu of a housewarming, or of a birthday party.

Worst Thing Ever: While Miss Ward was visiting, I had a complete and utter mental and emotional breakdown. In front of her. She’d been out of the country for years, and I was reduced to a sobbing, booze-soaked mess. Definitely the nadir of the year.

However, it did prompt the mad voyage I’m embarking on, so there’s that.

June:

Best Thing Ever: There’s a lot to choose from – I worked/attended a wedding, learned a little bit about being on the road, had Victoria Elizabeth Barnes comment on my blog,attended some truly marvelous parties. I am going to go with this year’s Seattle Pride, despite almost dying, because it’s always a delight staying with my aunt and uncle Stone.

Worst Thing Ever: A very dear friend of mine moved to Arizona for reasons. Despite just having moved within walking distance of her house a month or two before she left, I only saw her once. At her going away party. So while it was fantastic, A’s going away party counts as the worst thing of June. Because I’m a bad friend.

July:

Best Thing Ever: Downing a bottle of wine courage  and deciding, at eleven o’clock one night, that I was going to release some poetry into the wild. The result was the first edition of Patchwork Narrative. (The e-book is still available, guys – much like myself. There’s also the print version.)

Worst Thing Ever: Uh, hello? THERE IS A TWO-HEADED SHARK FETUS, and I still don’t own it. This is an ongoing situation.

August:

Best Thing Ever: At the Renaissance Faire, we showed up with no booze and no budget – and our encampment is famous for the generosity of our fully portable open bar. Donations of cash and bottles of booze came flooding in, from people who’d partaken over the years. I actually cried over that.

Worst Thing Ever: I lost six years of my life through discovering Pinterest. Also, I really pissed off a good friend over a total non-issue.

September:

Best Thing Ever: Okay, really this happened at the end of August, but I loved him a lot. Dudebat is totally a thing that I made up, and he’s great.

Worst Thing Ever:  Trying to get “What Does The Fox Say?” out of your head.

October:

Best Thing Ever: Probably my kickin’ raven costume. There aren’t enough men’s sexy costumes, y’all, so I decided to make one – if I had a better chest, you’d be able to see it. As it is, I went with bare arms, and also with punches.

Worst Thing Ever: Probably the whole Sally Mae debacle. If you weren’t around for it, I’m not talking about the loan cartel that screws everyone over; I’m talking about a troll who claims to know me in real life – and my step-grandmother, Lillian. Sally Mae dug up some posts I’d made back in January or February, when my family was engaged in a sort of civil war – and threw it in my face. I wrote a response to Sally Mae’s comments, and the whole thing just got out of hand. Post the Thirtieth remains my most-viewed post, even surpassing the one with Amanda Palmer’s tits in. Also, I know that Sally – or someone like her – is still sending people to see it, because I can see what refers people to this blog, you guys. Also, someone keeps trying to look it up, using ask.com – which lets me see exactly what people are looking for, typos and all.

*ahem*. Anyway, worst thing ever, in October.

November:

Best Thing Ever: Seeing people with actual copies of my actual book was pretty ace.

Worst Thing Ever: I read this headline – “Artist Nails His Own Testicles To The Ground In Front Of Horrified Tourists.”  And then I read the article. Gross.

December:

Best Thing Ever: I really don’t quite know. I fell back in love with humanity this month. Not only that, but the holiday season is always an avalanche of parties, ballets, balls, and other festive claptrap, and I’m still sorting through the sensations – I probably won’t catch up until at least March. I’m going to go ahead and say Uncle Syn’s housewarming party, because I’m still mooning over the fella I met that night. Bam.

Worst Thing Ever: Uh, quitting smoking. Even though I’m cheating and using a vaporizer, it’s still super rough. Not punching-babies-in-the-place-where-there-teeth-will-grow rough, but it’s up there.

That’s it, kids – the Best and Worst Everything of 2013. Have a happy new year!

Tagged: drama, Entertaining, Family Stories That Are Completely True, Full Disclosure, LGBT, Musings, Poetry, Rambling Nonsense, Tyler J. Yoder, Year End Wrap Up

Poetic Interlude XXXIX

Root Canal
A nervous fit comes over me
As I lay in the chair -
The tray of shiny silver toys
Fill me with despair.
Explosion, pain: And that’s the truth -
They have to fix this fucking tooth.
 
A cough – the nurse, in scrubs and gloves,
A mask in hands displayed.
She snips and clips my features back,
As though my face is flayed,
She grabs a knob – a sudden hiss,
And I’m in rhapsodies of bliss.
 
I giggle softly as the nurse,
Slides the needle in,
I smile as the taste of mint
Absolves me of my sin,
The ghosts of all that I love best,
Cluster, and compress my chest.
 
A glimpse from out the corner eye
Enthralls attention then:
Some twisted Lovecraft Elder God
(it’s non-Euclidian) -
It slithers close, the drill goes “WHEEEEE!”
A mouth pinned open cannot scream.
 
Then all my crimes return to me,
And karma carves its price
Out of tender cheek-meat, and
It slurps up every slice.
A gunshot, as of suicide:
An eldritch voice says “Open wide”.
 
The stars explode; my eyes go dark:
Stilletos in my gums.
Those clumsy fingers rend my flesh
(I clearly am not numb)
I writhe and rail against the ghosts,
Quoth the Dentist: “Down the dose”.
 
©2013 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved
 
Like this poem? Root Canal, and many poems like it, are available in my slim book of poetry, Patchwork Narrative, available for sale here.
 

Tagged: Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Root Canal, Tyler J. Yoder, Writing

The People I’ve Been

Over the years, Gentle Reader, I’ve changed a lot. Every few years, without fail, I’ll wake up one morning and suddenly realize that I’m somebody entirely different than I’d been the day before. It’s never planned, and it’s not as though I deliberate sculpt my personality – it just sort of happens. There a lot of changes planned for me over the next year, where I’m going to explore who I am, and who I’m becoming – I wanted to take a moment, before this transformative year is upon me, and reflect on the many faces of Tyler J. Yoder.

The Madman

The last two years have been devoted entirely to my mind, and secret inner workings. Rather than continue to fight with and wrestle with the sundry mental beasts that have always plagued me, I embraced them wholeheartedly the night I learned I loved myself. Hell, I didn’t just embrace the madness, I threw myself into it face first. I charted the darkest corners of my own mind, and nearly drown in the predictable flood of self-harm and self-medication. I have slowly clawed my way out, and am looking over a new vista, a better understanding of who I am.

The Socialite

I loved this period. I was, for a few years, very well off. I was constantly hosting intimate dinners and glamorous soirées, in pristine blazers of every hue. Any night of the week - every night of the week – I could point you to a gallery opening, a poetry reading, a masquerade. With acerbic wit I battled my social rivals; I was fucking utterly charming. Though I was well known, hardly anyone I met during this time knew me well.

The Mourner

Before I could emerge as the elegant divorcée, I went through a few years when my friends and family were dying left and right. I quit my job to plan my father’s funeral. After that, I was constantly at my mother’s side; the funeral directors knew us on a first-name basis. Understandably, I don’t remember a lot of this period – it’s a blur, in black. I do know that I came to see death, in most cases, as a mercy, and a blessing, and that I really learned who my truest friends are.

The Redneck

I worked in concrete for quite some time. As a gay guy on a construction site, I had something to prove – I had to be the butchest guy out there. Flannel, ripped jeans, a bushy unkempt beard – even, heaven help me, cheap watery beer in cowboy bars. My long association with J. Was in full bloom, and we’d go hunting and fishing on the weekends when we weren’t working on his house. I don’t mind any of these parts of this part of me.

What I can’t forgive myself for is the casual racism, sexism, and even homophobia that I indulged in. For this reason, I’m well glad that I’ve grown, changed, and can put that episode behind me.

Pffffah. I’ve been heaps more people, but I’m depressing myself thinking about that, so I’ll leave you here. I’m absolutely looking forward to finding out who I’ll be next. Through it all, though, I’ve always been the same on the inside – this guy:

Tagged: Facets of personality, Introspection, life, life goals

And so, this is Christmas

Miss K and I are surprised to see you.

Gentle Reader, if you’re here on Christmas day, either you don’t celebrate the holiday, which is perfectly wonderful and fine unless you are expecting content from me, or you do celebrate it, and you’re locked in the bathroom desperate for escape from a family function or watching the family fireworks fly higher with each new glass of wine. No matter why you’re here, I’m afraid that I celebrate Christmas, and therefore, I don’t have anything for you today. I’m sorry. Go drink some  bourbon eggnog.

No matter if or what you celebrate, we can all sit back and enjoy watching a good seasonal family fight.  Thank you for reading! A real post will go up on Friday, kids. Here’s a picture of my Ex-Husband in a santa hat.

Tagged: Christmas, Ex-Husband, Not a Real Post, Rambling Nonsense

The Big List – Part 2

On Friday, Gentle Reader, I told you about my new project for the upcoming year – much like Not That Kind of Girl, I am going to try 150 things I’ve never done before, or that I’m not typically the type of person to do. We left the list at 75; here is the other half of the list.

As before, I am still accepting ideas. The list can be edited up until the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, and after that is sacrosanct: at that point, every item on my list MUST be completed in 2014.

76. Visit a convent.

77. Learn axe throwing or knife throwing.

78. Attend a burlesque class or lesson.

79. Feed the birds in front of St. Paul’s cathedral in London.

80. Attend a lodge meeting in every country I visit.

81. Donate Blood, even if it is technically illegal.

82. Commission a portrait of myself.

83. Visit Madame Tussaud’s.

84. Have a spa day.

85. Be Hypnotised.

86. Ride in a sailboat.

87. Drink a tropical drink out of a coconut.

88. Own and wear an old-timey swimsuit.

89. Visit the Hoveton Hall Spider Garden in Norfolk.

90. Try “urban foraging”.

91. Ride a carousel in top hat and tails.

92. Hold a book signing.

93. Walk the Camino de Santiago.

94. Visit the hotel where Oscar Wilde died; inspect wallpaper.

95. Drink Absinthe in Montmartre. Obviously.

96. Attend a beard/mustache competition.

97. Speak to every person who crosses my path for an entire day.

98. Get a hot shave from a barber.

99. Have a champagne and caviar picnic.

100. Attend a gay rodeo.

101. Eat Mussels in Bruges.

102. Have a cocktail in public, on the steps of a palace.

103. Visit Deyrolle’s taxidermy shop in Paris.

104. Go to Neushwanstein.

105. Visit a sauna or public bath.

106. Visit the Englischegarten in Munich; seek out the Japanese teahouse there.

107. Watch Practical Magic and take Midnight Margaritas with C.W.L. Darling.

108. Go to Edinburgh Pride and send a postcard to Young Nate.

109. Try Marmite.

110. Make myself an everyday traveling hat; give it away to a stranger on my travels.

111. Learn to pick a lock.

112. See the entire Ring cycle.

113. Hop a fence or break in somewhere.

114. Visit the Lascaux caves.

115. Learn fencing.

116. Carve my name into something in every city I visit.

117. Take up contortion.

118. Visit a bee-farm; try to extract honey from a hive.

119. Visit a concentration camp.

120. Visit CERN.

121. Ride the London Eye.

122. Ride a boat in the canals of Amsterdam.

123. Rowboat in a castle moat.

124. Visit Salisbury Plain on a bicycle.

125. See Gilbert and Sullivan in the Savoy Theatre.

126. Swim in the Seine.

127. Try Meditation.

128. Visit Freetown Christiana.

129. See a Rosicrucian temple.

130. Rekindle my interest in mysticism and magical theory.

131. Collect a curiosity from every place that I visit.

132. Visit the statue of Boudicca that was the first thing I ever saw in London.

133. Send real correspondence to people.

134. Have bouilliabase in a French seaport.

135. Give away something that I truly love.

136. Wear more jewelry.

137. Find my way into a clock-tower.

138. Wander around Highgate Cemetery.

139. Visit the Hunterian Museum and Sir John Soane’s Museum.

140. Find an abandoned amusement park.

141. Visit the Loft, in Taddiport, North Devon.

142. Collect grave rubbings.

143. Write down all the beautiful phrases overheard in one day.

144. Attend a class at a charm school.

145. Go on a photo scavenger hunt; take every social media suggestion.

146. Join a secret society that I don’t already belong to.

147. Crash a fancy party.

148. Visit L’Escargot D’Or and read poetry by Robert Service.

149. Learn to play the pennywhistle.

150. Only barter for goods/services for an entire day.

Tagged: life goals, Ridiculous Life, Two-part Episodes, Whimsy

Poetic Interlude XXXVIII

I know that I’ve posted these particular poems before, Gentle Reader, but in light of last night, they seemed appropriate. Excuse me while I nurse my hangover and slip into a soupbowl of coffee. Happy Post-Solstice!

A Letter
Dear Doctor and Mrs. Wiggenbottom:
Thank you so much for the party!
I hope all your guests had their fun-
I know that young Julie DuBois did
When she bedded your underaged son.
The décor was perfectly charming,
Or it was until Randy arrived
(With his bevy of busty young beauties
That he pays to appear by his side).
I’m sorry that I broke your glasses,
And that vase that your Aunt sent from France,
And I’m sure Jim and I were such asses
When we tried to make Eleanor dance.
I know that your neighbours are vicious,
And threatened to call in the cops -
(It was Sue who burned holes in the carpet -
What can you expect from a sot?)
Now, you musn’t mind all the mess, dears,
Or that stranger passed out on the trunk.
Thanks for letting me sleep it off here, dears.
Kisses and love! Signed,
                                           The Drunks
 
A Love Song
Covered in glory -
A Primeval story
Of Alcohol, dirt, and of shame.
Hungover, quiet -
“Last night was a riot!”
She doesn’t remember his name.
The sun’s shining bright,
And the daughter of night
Has covered her sins up in beer.
No name means no fuss,
So what’s to discuss?
She’d been needing that lay for a year!
So stumble away
In the hard light of day:
The dawn indiscretions will cure.
Don’t worry yourself -
You’re the picture of health!
At this evening’s soiree you’ll be pure!

©2013 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved

Tagged: Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Tyler J. Yoder, Writing

The Big List – Part 1

Gentle Reader, lots of people have ambitiously set out on projects to try new things, fulfill their dreams, and explore just who they are. I eat that kind of project up like candy – so, of course, I’m going to give it a shot myself. In 2014, I’m going to do 150 things that I’ve either never done before, or haven’t done in a very long time. I’ve been putting together a list, and it’s harder than it seems!

Today, you’re getting the first 75 items – the first half of the list. The second half’s going up on Monday – so if you have any suggestions, please let me know!

Stand up for a stranger in a fight
Play my Uke on the Eiffel Tower.
 Leave little notes in library books.
Apologize to/forgive my enemies.
Go dancing. On purpose.
Play a team sport.
Go to a shooting range. In drag.
Jump into a pool or lake fully clothed. Possibly in formal wear.
Volunteer for a charity or organization.
Actually submit work to magazines, publishers, etc.
Try Ethiopian food.
Attend a ballet.
Busk for money.
Ask a stranger on a date, and follow through.
Walk around blowing bubbles everywhere.
 Sunbathe.
Take a raw oyster shot.
Meet some of my friends from the internet in person.
Milk a cow.
Play cards at a casino.
Take up hula-hooping.
Go fishing.
Go to a male strip club.
Go without coffee for a week.
Try Creme d’Yvette. Or at least Creme due Violette.
Go skiing.
Learn some martial arts.
Hang out with a group of people I’ve just met.
Go to a church service or mass.
Ride a mechanical bull.
Go hiking.
Watch a sunrise and sunset on the same day.
Tour a winery.
Explore an under-city or catacomb unescorted.
Read at least 15 classic novels I’ve never read before.
Visit the Kit-Kat club in Berlin.
Host an impromptu dinner party.
Try golfing.
Give flowers to strangers.
Fast for a day.
Ride a zip line.
Ride a motorcycle.
 Convince a stranger to buy me a drink.
 Climb a tree to the top.
Eat a scorpion.
 Dye my hair.
Let a waiter select an entire meal.
Acquire a completely new wardrobe.
 Appear in a film.
Mail a love letter to a stranger.
Bicycle. Get one.
Make street art in at least 3 different cities.
Be part of a flash mob.
Sit in on a trial.
Skinny-dip.
Mail people carefully-created mix CD’s.
Discover 25 bands I’ve never heard of.
Explore 5 abandoned buildings.
 Meet an Albanian Sworn Virgin.
Ride in a rickshaw.
 Wear a tie or bow tie every day for a month.
Create a temporary street cafe.
Attempt to swap clothes with a stranger.
Build a sandcastle..
Graffiti.
Write in a Parisian cafe.
Make and eat a salad from wild plants.
Start a habit of cheek-kissing.
Learn to draw.
Leave a delightful, whimsical, surprise in a forest.
Send a message in a bottle.
Leave books in public, for people.
Skateboard.
Participate in GISHWHES.
Ride in a hot-air balloon.

So, Reader – thoughts? Criticisms? Suggestions?

Tagged: life goals, Ridiculous Life, Two-part Episodes, Whimsy

We Need to Stop Fighting About Duck Dynasty

Gentle Reader, we all need to sit down and talk.

This Duck Dynasty thing? It’s making us all look like jerks.

A socially conservative redneck said some awful, hateful, shit? Okay? And that was wrong of him, even if it wasn’t surprising, even if he backed it up with his religious beliefs. However, this is America, and even if it makes him into a jerk, it’s his right to say that. This is not news.

It’s also A&E’s  right to sack him send him away indefinitely, even if it doesn’t ultimately make a difference, whether or not any organizations leaned on them to do so. That doesn’t infringe on his freedom of speech, and it doesn’t really reflect on the company. A star makes “controversial” remarks? This is standard practice. This isn’t news.

I’m sure we’ve seen the rabid fighting far and wide, across social media, across all our favorite news sites and stations, across the vast panoply of the Internet. Alas; this, also, isn’t news.

By focusing on fights like this, my QUILTBAG friends and Allies, by focusing on minutiae – we’re giving those social conservatives, the least persecuted people in the country, ammunition. We’re lending weight to their claims of our intolerance – wait, hear me out.

You know how we want to be allowed to be ourselves, how we’ve had to fight for it? How we had to keep throwing ourselves in their faces until we won tolerance, then acceptance, then ( fingers crossed) compassion? I’m not saying we need to pander to these social conservatives, or allow them to target us with actual attacks, physical or verbal, but we need to allow them room to exist, even if they’re wrong-minded and hateful.

If we want something newsworthy? We need to focus our efforts and outrage on something that matters, like ENDA, or changing the immigration laws so that binational families aren’t ripped apart, not fly into a rage over an established buffoon on TV. To make this the focus of our ire, especially when the fella is being as “open-minded*” as he’s trying to be? Well, it makes us seem like jerks. Even - especially – since we’re right.

Conservatives! I hope you stuck around while I was sticking up for you, because you guys are being entitled jerks and yes I know you’ve heard it before but you are not being marginalized, persecuted, or discriminated against. Seriously. I understand thinking that “traditional values” or even, gasp, Christianity itself, are being attacked – especially when battles like this one, or the Chick-fil-a thing, take center spotlight on the nation’s stage. However, no one’s beating you up for holding hands with your husband or wife, or going around rounding you guys up, or anything of the sort. All anyone’s asking from you is for you to share the country with people who aren’t exactly like you, and maybe for you to stop saying hateful homophobic or racist or sexist shit mean things in public.

Wait, what?

Yeah.

This whole thing is basically about lessons you’re supposed to learn in kindergarten, guys. Just because someone doesn’t look/act/believe/love the way or ways that you do, doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve the same rights and freedoms you enjoy. That doesn’t diminish you – you don’t have to give up your values, your beliefs, or anything at all – you simply stop worrying about  the neighbors. Whoa.

The other lesson? Well, isn’t it an old, traditional, adage that “if you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all?”

Whoops.

*********

*Yeah, I called him open-minded, but I used quotation marks. His direct quote about leaving the judging to God? Well,  it shows he’s trying. He said some offensive stuff, but he’s making an effort. Probably because he’s being made to, but still?

Also, a bonus question, if you’re still here – why is hardly anyone bringing up his racial remarks? Seriously, why not?

Tagged: Duck Dynasty, ENDA, LGBT, Politics, QUILTBAG, Social Conservatives, Social Equality, Television, Troll-Baiting