Month: April 2011

Him: Thanks for walking me back to my hotel.

Me:  No problem.

Him:  Sorry my friends were so obnoxious.

Me:  They were a handful.  None of them are larger than 5’6 and yet they drink like lumberjacks.

Him:  What’s a lumber jack?

Me:  A guy who cuts down trees and eats a lot of maple syrup.

Him:  I drank a lot too.

Me:  Yeah.  Everyone got wasted.

Him:  You too?

Me:  No, I just had that one shot that everyone was forcing on me.  I don’t drink much anymore.

Him:  Why not?

Me:  I got tired of acting the way your friends acted tonight.

Him: Hey.  Those are my friends.  They didn’t act so bad.

Me:  Yeah.  I guess they didn’t.

Him:  What did they do?

Me:  They were just gruesome, a little.  They seemed to be competing with each other for attention the whole time, which I hate. (Unless I’m doing it, then it’s hilarious).  I went to theater school.  I’m no stranger to that stuff, but…  Also.  Actually.  This was weird.  Whenever I would compliment them they would all stop and zero in on it, and then ask me to repeat the compliment.  Then they would smile really big and and act condescendingly flattered.  Then they would laugh and ridicule the compliment.  It was a group effort.  It was really off-putting.  I felt like I was being ridiculed for being nice.

Him:  You have to understand.  That’s just Singapore.  We don’t go around giving compliments to each other.  It strikes us as a very fake thing to do.

Me:   I wasn’t being fake.  Here’s it’s considered good conversation to give compliments here and there.  Especially since I was flirting with you, and I wanted your friends to like me.  It’s just smart, here.

Him:  It makes us very nervous.

Me:  Almost suspicious, it seems….

Him:  Maybe.  Maybe that’s true.

Me:  I was being sincere.  Everything I said, I meant.  Especially the stuff about how attractive you are.

Him:  Hey.  Come on now.  You said that before, okay?  I don’t need to hear that.  I don’t want to keep hearing that all night.

Me: What?  Don’t you want me to think you’re attractive?

Him:  Yeah, I already know you do, though.

I’m sorry.  In my country I’m very famous, so I hear these things all the time.  I get tired of everyone telling me I’m attractive.

Me: Believe me.  So do I.  I run a pie blog.  The compliments never end.

Him:  In Singapore I’m a national sports star.  I’m a household name.  I’d say about 80% of people know who I am.  I’m on the national bowling team.

Me:  Bowling? Why didn’t you tell me I was with the Derek Jeter of Singapore?  Will you autograph my chest?

Him:  What’s a pie blog?

Me:  It’s this huge thing in America.  Everyone has their favorite pie blog, and people argue which one is best.  I run a popular one, but not the most popular one…  I’d say only about 40% of Americans know who I am.

Him: Really?

Me:  No.

Him:  You’re joking but I’m not.  It gets really boring.  Everyone knows who I am and they’re constantly glad handling me an giving me false compliments.

Me:  Sounds like a snooze.  By the way.  Here we are.

Him: The W Hotel?  Ah yes.  You must come up.

Me:  Haha.  No.  I said I’d make sure you got here safe.  You’re here safe.  You’re almost as wasted as your friends.  Let’s meet up for dinner on Sunday.  Come over to my place and I’ll cook you dinner.

Him: Just come up now.

Me:  No.  It’s late and I’ve got writing to do and just…  no.  Sunday we’ll be on the same wavelength.

Him:  Just come up now.  Stay with me.

Me:  No.  I really don’t want to.  It’s not you.  I’m exhausted and I’m not good at sleeping in new environments.  Sunday, huh?

Him:  Don’t be dense.  Just come upstairs.  I’ll give you a massage and who knows…

Me:  Thanks for the offer, but hey, we’re asymmetrically drunk from each other.  You’re really cute and I like you.  Let’s meet for dinner?

Him:  Come up.

Me:  I really have to go.

Him:  NO.  Come up!

Me:  I can’t, sorry.  Goodbye.  I’ll see you on Sunday, yes?

Him:  Why is your voice so high?

(pause)

Me:  What?

Him:  Your voice is so high.  It sounds strange.  What’s wrong with it?  It’s kind of grating.

(longer pause)

Him:  Hey.  I’m sorry.

Me: You’re feeling rejected.  And so you’re now trying to make me feel bad.  I tell you you’re pretty all night, and you and your obnoxious, over privileged friends scoff at me for it.  Now, I’m proposing you wait a day or two and then go on a date with me, and instead of gracefully accepting, you try to harangue me into a late night drunken tryst in your hotel room.  But because you feel rejected, or because you don’t feel validated, you’re lashing out at me.  It’s very small of you.  I told you I’m an actor, right?

Him:  Yes.  Listen…

Me:  No.  I don’t think I will.  I’ve been listening to you all night and now you’re going to listen to me.  Ready?

As you can imagine I’ve had my rather unique voice criticized a bunch of times in my life as a performer.  Casting directors, directors, agents, other actors, musical directors.  I’ve had plenty of people try to tell me to change my voice and there was a time when I would have, if I knew at all how to go about it.  How does one go about changing their voice?

But here’s the thing:  I won’t stop.  I don’t ever stop.  I got good at comedy – where my grating voice is an asset.  I keep doing musicals.  I front a band.  I improvise musicals.  So fuck off, will you?  I don’t need you asking me what’s wrong with my voice.  The answer to that question is: nothing.  I have a beautiful, unique, hilarious, powerful voice and you were right – I’m sensitive about it.  But you were wrong – I’m not insecure about it.

Him:  Come on, now.  I’m sorry.  You’re right.

Me:  It’s just so small.  You don’t get what you want immediately, and so you lash out in the cruelest way possible.  It’s… man…  wow…   I’m getting angry.   I have to leave.

Him:  Please don’t leave.  I feel bad.

Me:  Good.  You should.  I was nice to you and tried to make you feel good all night.

Him:  Let me take you to dinner.

Me:  I don’t think i will.

Him:  You’ve misunderstood me.  I’m just being Singaporean.

Me:  I know people from Singapore that don’t behave like you.  Enjoy the rest of your time in New York.

Jerk.  Or, no.  Wait…

Ass wipe.

Here’s some things people have sent me.  Pics.  Advice questions.  Random stuff…

Thanks for your letter, Jamare.

So, listen, I’m really glad you met someone who you had fun with, and enjoyed.  It’s pretty clear from what you’re saying that he’s in ‘rebound’ mode.  Best thing to do is what you’ve done already.  If you like him, just be there for him.  Enjoy your role in all this – you can be the guy he draws close to as he mourns the loss of his relationship.

I think it can be nice to be someone’s rebound relationship.  Especially if you know the score.  If you don’t expect the relationship to last, you can really enjoy it for what it is – just two people connecting for as long as they can.

You asked me if love is something you can stop doing.  Yes.  And also, no.

Love is a choice.  Falling in love may seem haphazard and chemical, and maybe it is, but staying in love is a choice.

Even so, my advice to you is just have fun with this guy.  You just met him.  You have no idea how this will play out.

Have fun, and try to respect each other.

xoxoxoxoxo,

Piefolk

Dear Piefolk

After browsing your website I have become obsessed with pies which for me is not normal. I keep a typical Episcopalian diet of gin, unsalted saltines and live. In the last week or so, I have had at least two pies and may have done the unthinkable and used bay leaves in a recipe even though they cause death. I was wondering if you could shed some light into my predicament. I can’t decide if I have suffered some sort of tramatic brain injury or if maybe I am so enthralled with the way you look naked in an apron that I have thrown off my beige food oppression. Any inform would be helpful.

Sincerely

Scooter

Scooter,

Now THIS is the type of letter I like to receive.  Bat-shit crazy and full of compliments.  Are you an ex of mine, or what?  So, it seems like you might be asking me if I think you’ve caused permanant brain damage with bay leaves.  Clearly you have. Did you notice how your letter to me didn’t make sense?  That’s the first tip-off.

Be wary.  I’m pretty sure bay leaves are a fine spice for plenty of foods. I don’t think they ’cause death.’  You might have taken some actual toxin.  Or maybe you is crazy.  Is you crazy?

xoxoxoxoxo,

Piefolk

Someone sent me this image:

Hey someone – THIS IS IT!!!  That’s how you make my day.  Send an image like this. I mean, woof, Jesus Christ.  Can I get a date, or what?

Damn kid.  This is great.  Thanks for tuning in…

Thanks everyone for writing in.  Thank you.

This makes me so happy.  Please enjoy my happiness, Jerks.

Where were we?

Ah yes.  Rommie and I were talking about being angry young homosexuals.

And we were making banana bread.

Him:  I don’t see why everyone is so fixated on MARRIAGE.

Me:  Seriously?  You don’t?

Him:  I don’t.  No.  We should focus on banning marriage altogether.  We should focus on economic equality for everyone, and universal health care.

Me:  You don’t want marriage equality?

Him:  I don’t want to get married.

Me:  Neither do I.  Marriage equality isn’t about getting married.

Him:  I just think there’s more that’s wrong with the world.

Me:  But it’s a CIVIL RIGHT being denied us.  Hold on.  You look really good.  Let me get a shot of that.

Him:  You said that you hated Straight people before.

Me:  I don’t.  But they hate us.

Him:  Do they?  I have a lot of wonderful relationships with a lot of wonderful people.  Some of them are even Straight.

Me: I know.  Some of my best friends are Straight.

Him:  So what about them makes you so angry?

Me:  Why is everyone asking me why I’m angry about this?  Why is everyone not FURIOUS?  Why is there no rioting in the streets?  The fact that we condescend to ask for what is rightfully ours…  The fact that Straight people patronize us with debate on the subject, as if it’s not obvious that they’ve created a second class of citizen. The fact that my brothers don’t burn down the courthouses that make the laws against them…  That there’s no riot.  There’s no Dr. King for us.  No Rosa Parks.  No Malcolm.

The fact that we let them shame us into lives of repression –  Why do you think homosexuals are frequently clean cut? Impeccably dressed?  Why are they such over achievers?   Why do so many homosexuals keep their houses obsessively spotless?  Because they know that straight people are disgusted by them.  And on some level, leading that clean, spotless life is them asking straight people to please pardon the horrible offense of being queer.  And that’s when racism, bigotry, misogyny, homophobia – that’s when it’s MOST EFFECTIVE.  If you can get the gays to hate themselves, then 75% of  your work is DONE.  They’ll do the subjugation for you!

Do you know why it was illegal for blacks to drink out of white people’s water fountains in the South?  Because white people found them way too disgusting to actually drink from the same tap.  They didn’t want them corrupting their fresh water source with their dirty other-ness.  The same thing is true for marriage equality.  It is the ‘Whites Only’ water fountain of our day.  They don’t want us drinking from their fountain.  It’s not the same thing exactly, but it’s philosophically the same principal.

How can they claim we are working against the structure of family, and not grant us access to the institution of marriage, that family is based on?

Why?  Why don’t we riot?  Why do we continue to move to the back of the bus?  Because they told us to be ashamed of ourselves.  And we listened.  That’s why I’m angry.  That’s why I’m disgusted.  The very nerve of them – making us ask OVER AND OVER AGAIN for what is obviously already ours.  How dare they?

Him:  You don’t have to get married to have a family.

Me: I know that. I don’t want to get married.  But you make me equal to everyone else…

Him:  AND THEN WHAT?  WHAT ABOUT TRANNIES?  WHAT ABOUT DENYING JOBS TO PEOPLE OR FIRING THEM BECAUSE THEY TURNED THEIR DICK INTO A PUSSY????  WILL YOU FADE INTO THE BACKGROUND ONCE YOU GET YOUR RIGHTS?  WHAT ABOUT FAIRNESS FOR EVERYONE???

Me:  Hey.  Hey.  I like Trans-gendered people too.  I think they’re also a subjugated minority.  They are our brothers and sisters.  But that’s not what I’m angry about .  I’m a homosexual.   I’m first and foremost angry about my own subjugation.  Maybe that’s part of the problem.  Maybe you’re right.

Me:  They all do it.

Him:  Do what?

Me:  Sex.  In the butt.  They all do it.  Straight people.

Him:  They do?

Me:  There are two types of people in the world.  Those who have anal sex…

Him:  And those who lie about not having anal sex.

Me: Bingo.

Him:  Do you feel better?

Me:  About my anger?

Him:  Yeah.

Me:  Maybe.  I vented some of it.

Him:  Why do you go on so many bad dates?

Me:  I think people are bad at dating.  Homosexuals especially.  They’re ashamed of themselves, and they forget to do things like, be generous, kind, compassionate….  Oh, wait.  Sorry this was a bad date.  I went on a tirade there for a second.

Him:  But you also made me feel welcome and attractive.

Me:  I did?

Him:  You did.

Me:  How would you rank this, as far as dates go?

Him: 9 of 10?

Me: Really.

Him:  Yeah.

Me:  Why’s it so hard?  Why can’t people just be good at dating?

(pause)

I don’t want Trannies to get fired for being Trannies.

Him: Good.

(pause)

Me: Enjoy the banana bread…

Both:  Jerk.  Jinx!  Buy me a Diet Coke.

Him:  You can kiss me again.

Me: sadf;lkasdf;lsdkfjas;dlkfjsda;flkjsd;lkjafsd;lkjsdf Why thank you.

This is Rommie.  He’s a friend of mine.  He’s been following the site and he wanted to come over and bake with me.  I said yes.  I haven’t seen him since August of last year.  That’s how New York is.  You can be friends with someone, and talk to them online all the time, but NEVER SEE THEM.  I suppose, arguably, that’s how the World is now.  Isn’t that sad?  Or not?  At least, now, we get to chat with people more often.

He only had three hours, so we baked fast.  Banana Bread.  A pie can take 4 or 5 hours.  Banana Bread you can get done in an hour and a half.  He was hosting a party that night, at 11pm.  He came over around 8:30.

He was a charming guest.  Really convivial, and kind.  Coy at the right moments, and forthright at other times.  Really charming.  Did I say he was charming?  He was.  Charming, that is.

HOWEVER.

He didn’t invite me to his party.  He kept mentioning it, but never invited me.  What a dummy, right?

I mean.  I would have sung a song in an apron.  Had he invited me.  Then again.  Maybe it wasn’t an apron only, pie-weirdo type of party.  Who knows?  Maybe it was some cool ass, east village-y, liberal queer type of party.  I don’t fit in at those types of parties, even though you’d expect me to.  I can’t deal with all the jargon.  I’m supposed to know what hetero-normative means, and whether that’s good or bad, depending on context.  No, thanks.

In any case.  Amidst all the baking, and talking about how there was going to be a party, and not inviting me to a party, we started talking about Politics.  Oh.  No.  NO.  Politics?

Aren’t you supposed to be baking sexy pies?

I KNOW! RIGHT?

We did that, too.  We baked sexy pies.  But more than that, we talked about how angry we are:

Him:  This is fun.

Me:  Isn’t it?  You’re really beautiful and charming.

Him:  Thank you.  You’re a good date too.

Me:  Thank you.

Him:  Look at us.

Me:  I know usually gays can’t quite manage to be charming good dates to one another.

Him:  Hahaha.  That’s true.  Why do you think that is?

Me:  Because they talked us into hating ourselves, and therefore, each other.

Him:  WHAT?

Me:  Straight people.  They talked us into hating ourselves.  They didn’t do it on purpose.  It’s not intentional.  But they talked us into feeling ashamed of ourselves and our lives.  That’s why we’re so quick to judge each other.  That’s why it’s hard to have a date with each other.  You look pretty.

Him:  Thank you, so do you.  Really attractive.

Me: No.  It’s just chemistry.  We like each other and it’s chemistry.

Him: No.  You’re cute.  I’m pretty sure.

Me:  I need to learn to take a compliment.  So sure.  Okay.  I’m cute.  But you’re beautiful and I already said that and I’ll shut up now.

Him:  You were talking about Straight people.

Me: Ugh.  I hate them.

Him:  Really?  Do you hate your brothers?

Me: No.

Him:  Do you hate the rest of your straight family?

Me:  No.  I love them.

Him:  Do you hate the rest of your straight comedy friends?

Me: I hate ALL my comedy friends.  Problem is, they’re just like me and and I love them. They’re desperate, and beautiful and flawed and extremely powerful.

Him:  Oh jesus.

Me: Did I mention comics take themselves too seriously?

Him:  Earlier, you did.  So you hate straight people.

Me:  No.  I don’t.  But I hate the society (composed mostly of straight people) that brought me up to be ashamed of myself.  I hate that.  I hate that my gay brothers and sisters pander to a paradigm they KNOW they don’t believe in, just to try to fit in.  I’m tired of wondering if people see me as a good, productive homosexual.

Him:  Rather than one of the other ones?

Me:  Yes, darling.  Exactly.   One of the bad ones.  I’m one of the bad ones.

Him:  Are you?

Me:  Sure.  I’m the fag your mother warned you about.

Him:  But don’t you think people want to accept homosexuality?  Why be a bad boy?

Me:  Do I think people want to accept homosexuality?  ARE YOU CRAZY?  No.  I don’t.  At best they tolerate us.   At worst they’re like Senator McCain – suspicious that we’ll taint their workforce.  NO.  That’s not even true.  Worse case scenario, they crucify us on a barbed wire fence in Wyoming.

Him:  Matthew…

Me:  You’re DAMNED RIGHT MATTHEW.  But one Martyr does not make a cause my friend.  That’s an incident, that’s not a movement.  That’s mostly just a chance for straight people to get on the news and feign surprise and ignorance that there’s that much hatred in the world.

Him:  You’re being really rough on straight people.

Me:  I am.   I’m doing it just for effect.  How’s it wear on me?

Him:  You still look cute.

Me:  You’re still a handsome charmer.  We’re going to kiss again, later I hope?

Him:  We’ll see.

Me:  aldkfja;sdlkfjsadlkfjas;dkfjsd;kfl;dfkljasdflkjfsd;lkjf;laksdf;ldfks;sdalfjfsd;kljfds;l Yes we shall…

TO BE CONTINUED, JERKS.

My Japanese Little Brother Kazu came over a few weeks ago.  He was curious about making an Orange Custard Pie.  He’s becoming a good pie maker, right?  Remember when he showed me how to make a Green Tea and Red Bean Pie?  Yum.

I had a recipe in my Cook’s Illustrated book, so we decided we’d just follow it straight out.

You make an Orange Custard Pie just like how you make a Vanilla Custard pie.  But cut the vanilla in half.

Add the juice and zest of one orange to the egg/cornstarch/sugar mixture that you creamed.

Meanwhile, you and your sexy Japanese Little Brother have been heating up milk and cream on the stove.  Don’t have a sexy Japanese Little Brother?  Well, I don’t know what to tell you.  You can’t have mine.  Start being nice to Japanese people, I guess?

Anyway, slowly whisk the heated dairy into the egg/sugar/starch/orange mixture.

Heat it up for another couple minutes and then chill it.

Pour the custard into a baked blind pie shell, and chill the whole affair for at least 6 hours.  Overnight is better.

Look at the mess you made with your Little Brother.  Have some self respect and clean it up.

Second to last step:  Be thankful that you have a sexy, bright, young Little Brother to come help you make pie.

Last step:  Enjoy the Orange Custard Pie.

Jerks.