I’m applying to the BMI workshop this summer. They give free training to promising musical theater composers. I write songs for my smart ass, funny boy band, and I thought maybe they might translate into decent musical theater.
Here’s a song I’m workshopping. John-Flor Sisante and Jon Norman Schneider are helping me in this (pretty old) clip. I think the final version will be pared down. Maybe one singer with a guitar. Who knows? Let me know what you think…
Oh yeah. Enjoy your Sunday, Jerks.
Time: August ’10, 11pm
Place: Central Park
Him: This is good. We can stop here.
Me: I want you to be comfortable.
Him: Here is fine. Near the water. I like here. I’ve always liked this place. Here is good.
Me: Is it? Have you?
Him: What do you mean?
Me: You never took me here before. Or mentioned it. Is this place special? Or are you just –
Him: I like this place.
Me: Sorry. Of course. I’m sorry.
Him: That’s not a good way to start this conversation.
Me: Which one? You look pretty.
Him: Thank you. You’re amazing and beautiful. The conversation you brought me here to have.
Me: What?
Him: This is Central Park. You never take me here either.
Me: Yeah, well… I guess we’ve got some talking to do. Hey. I think you’re great, by the way. You’re fucking… inspiring. You’re really a quality guy. I’m so proud for you. So much good stuff coming your way lately.
Him: Oh, jeez… thanks. You’re nice. You’ve always been nice. Thanks for supporting me when things looked dark.
Me: Oh come on. That’s like, your middle name. All you do is support… Everyone loves you.
Him: People love you too.
Me: They think I’m funny. And sometimes they want to fuck me. It’s not the same thing. They really love you.
Him: Well. No. But. Thanks.
Me: Remember those times we had. We were pretty good people, back then. We were something…
Him: You started resenting me, somewhere along the line.
Me: I didn’t… Maybe. Maybe I did. Somewhere. It’s not your fault. It was an awful time for all of us. We shouldn’t have done that.
Him: We did what we did. We can’t undo it and we’re better people for it.
Me: NO. Yes. But, no. We had no right to do that to ourselves. The three of us. We did it. And we all regret it and none of us regret it… but still… You and I both know it: we did wrong. We should not have taken the liberties we took with one another. None of us should have. Not any one of the three…
Him: It was fucked up. And then we tried to recover.
Me: And then we tired to recover.
Him: But that wont’ work, will it?
Me: Maybe not.
Him: I love you, Michael.
Me: I love you too. God. I love you.
Him: Maybe we are made to be apart instead?
Me: Or you could just get a job?
Him: What?
Me: Job. You could… I’m sorry. I know you don’t like this.
Him: I have a job. I’m an actor.
Me: I know. And yet, there’s no room. There’s no room for me in that equation. You don’t make enough money to even REALLY support yourself. So there’s never going to be you moving into my place, us getting a mortgage, us adopting kids. None of that stuff is on the horizon, right? And I’m older than you, by a few choice years. I want that stuff…
Him: Do you? You don’t act like you do.
Me: I want the option.
Him: Is that so important? The option?
Me: Yes.
(pause)
Me: Don’t ask why. I’m usually really good at a logical ‘why.’ But this time I can’t. I can’t say why.
Him: I think you’re complicated in such a beautiful way.
Me: See? That’s why I love you. You say it like a compliment. Most people would say ‘neurotic.’
Me: Hey. Did I ever tell you how pretty you are? You’re really pretty. I think you’re just about the prettiest thing I ever laid eyes on.
Him: You’re nice. Stop it.
Me: You’re really amazing. Goddammit. So hot. Hey. If we’re going to insist on doing this, why don’t we become the best fucking version of ourselves possible? Why don’t we prove to the fucking WORLD how beautiful we are?
What I’m saying is: make me feel stupid for breaking up with you. You’re fucking awesome. Have that awesome life, okay?
Him: You are. That’s what’s going to happen to you. You’re awesome.
Me: Thanks. But I just want to survive. Or thrive. Wouldn’t that be nice? Thriving?
Him: We could have. Something changed.
Me: Well… I still love you.
Him: I still love you too…
Me: Do you want to do it?
Him: It’s so out of character for me…
Me: Oh stop. Just try it…
Him: Okay…
(pause)
Him: Enjoy the SaturDATE, Jerks.
Me: Didn’t that feel good?
People have been writing me lately, asking for advice. I’m not exactly sure why. It’s not like I’m some shining beacon of wisdom. I don’t exactly have human relationships nailed down, either. But people are asking, and I thought I’d answer some of the questions people ask me from time to time.
Disclaimer: Don’t take my advice. I’m not a doctor, or anything.
Henry, from New York City writes:
Ok so heres my deal. Theres this guy I knew from a friend in college. They went to high school together in New Hampshire. We met like ONCE, and barley spoke, became facebook friends and of course never spoke again after that. I wasn’t interested or anything at the time. But then about a month ago, he “liked” one of my comments. I was surprised because I basically forgot all about this person who I hadn’t heard of or spoken to in 5 years. I messaged him asking how were we facebook friends? He said I was super sexy for liking a certain british SciFi show, this obviously started a stream of convos. I got to the point where I felt “why not meet the fucker?” He’s good looking, nice, funny, and tall as hell. But heres the thing. Hes alil aloof most of the time and weve only talked online so far. He told me about how hes dying of an illness of a name I cant recall and may not live to 40. Now, Im one to give the benefit of the doubt and I guess I did in this situation but something tells me it could be a lie. We didn’t talk for awhile after that and then we did today, most of the day when I was at work doing nothing. He enticed me like no other, saying he wants to fuck me with elaborate detail. I was more then intrigued to say the least. But again he flaked after he said he wants to meet tomorrow. Excited as I was I realized I don’t have his number nor he has mine. When I brought that up and how id like his number, no answer. So now I have no clue what to think and I expressed these very fears to him on meeting up and he said I had nothing to worry about. Well, I can be an anxious person, so I am worried now. I feel this is not a good idea to pursue, almost to good to be true. Am I right? Does this sound totally bonkers? I don’t know what to do really. Im sure nothing but I cant stop thinking about him and it.
Thanks for your letter, Henry.
It seems like you’re dealing with a nut bag. Let’s break down the components of his story, shall we?
1) He says that he’s going to die by the time he’s 40. Okay, let’s assume this is true, even though it sounds like something a weirdo online would make up. If he’s going to use this illness as an excuse to be flaky, not give you his phone number, not follow through on plans – then you don’t need to be starting a relationship with him. Even if it’s just a sexual relationship you two are starting, it needs to be based on mutual respect for each others time an feelings. Sounds like he has neither for you.
2) HE SAYS THAT HE’S GOING TO DIE BY THE TIME HE’S 40. C’mon. Ostensibly he contacted you online for the purpose of flirting? That’s not a flirty way of going about things. Something about it smells fishy to me. You don’t start off a conversation with a stranger like this:
‘Hey sexy, how’s it going?’
‘Good. Feeling horny – I guess it’s springtime. Or, it could be a side effect OF MY LUPUS.’
Again. Not how it’s done.
I think you’re probably dealing with a closet case, or an attention seeking weirdo. The great thing is – he’s let you off the hook. If he doesn’t trust you enough to give you his phone number, then you have zero obligation to him to see him through this ‘illness’ that’s going to claim his life prematurely. That’s my rule of thumb. You don’t trust me with your cell number, I don’t have to care about your rare, imaginary illness.
Block his IMs. It’s New York. There’s plenty of prospective partners out there, no matter what kind of relationship you’re looking for.
Thanks for the question Henry. I hope you enjoyed my advice. And like I said – don’t take it. I’m not a doctor.
And hey. Enjoy living past 40, Jerk.
I think we’re getting Blueberries from Southern California.
There are all these fruit carts in the city – just out on the sidewalks. You can almost always find seasonal vegetables and fruits there. My favorite time of the year is in the summer, where you can get loads of fresh berries – strawberries, blueberries and blackberries for super cheap. They’re so ripe and fresh and they’re so abundant that they practically give them away.
But something strange happened recently. The price of fresh berries went down. At the end of winter. I was skeptical, but I bought a pint. They were fresh and delicious.
Most of the time I’m pretty conscientious about eating local grown whole foods. But it’s the end of winter, and I’m fatigued and under sunned. FRESH BLUEBERRIES, y’all!!!
I coudn’t help myself. I made a Double Crust Blueberry Pie, plus a Feta, Red Pepper, Mushroom, and French Tarragon Quiche.
I put an egg wash on the pie. Just whipped up some egg whites and rubbed it on the top crust. Sprinkle it with cinnamon sugar, and It will make a very glossy, professional looking crust. Wash your hands first, dummy.
The quiche came out great too.
Here’s a recipe for the Blueberry Pie Filling:
Take 3 pints of blueberries and put them in a large mixing bowl.
Add 3 tablespoons of granulated sugar.
Add 3 tablespoons of cornstarch
Zest one lemon over the bowl
Mix.
Put the berries inside the pie shell and cover with the top crust. (egg wash optoional – WASH YOUR HANDS, DUMMY)
Bake at 425 for 15 min. Turn the heat down to 350 and bake for another 35-45 min. Use your head. You’ll be able to see and smell when it’s done.
Let it cool for two hours and then refrigerate over night. The cornstarch will firm up the runny berry juice.
What’s that? How do you make the crust? Funny you should ask. I’ll be offering classes in that very thing, shortly.
You’ll be able to come bake with me at different locations around New York City. Sorry to be mysterious, but if you’re really dying for a lesson, I offer private baking sessions too. Email me at piefolk@gmail.com
Enjoy the Pies, Jerks.
Hunter Kazorowski made this needlepoint and sent me a photo online.
People send me weird stuff online now. Some of it makes sense, given that this is a pithy gay pie blog. Some of it doesn’t.
But I love my readers, and you guys can continue to send me stuff. Just not creepy stuff, okay, guys? Seriously. No photos of poop. Unless, you know, it’s a miracle dump and the Virgin has appeared in it. Then, okay.
No, wait. Not even then. No poop. I want zero pictures of poop.
Oh poop. What was I talking about?
See? This is fine. Perfectly handsome young guy sent me a nice shot of his lean body. It was coupled with these pies he made:
What a nice guy. He wants to come bake with me. Maybe I’ll let him… He’s being pretty nice so far. We’ll see…
I love the freedom of the internet. I love how people are getting less afraid to live their lives openly.
I love that there’s something about my site that stirs people to send things to me. I feel lucky. I feel grateful.
Here’s a letter from a guy in Montreal:
This is an apple pie,as denoted by the apple decoration.
I picked the apples myself, they are cortlands.
I have a tendency to put a blend of ginger, cardamom, cloves, and cinnamon into an apple pie, a balance that does not overwhelm the apple taste is essential.
The crust also has some old cheddar in it.
It was very good, though the application of egg wash was not very uniform.
I would bake a pie with you sometime if you would like, sometime when I am in New York.
I live in Montreal, ever been?
This be me last time I was in New York.
I like your site, very entertaining.
Tell Kazu we have a very good izakaya bearing his name in the city, people are lined up out the door all the time.
Blake
Did you hear that, Little Brother? Blake (pictured above) says there’s a good izakaya in Montreal.
Aren’t my fellow gays sweet?
This guy is pretty beautiful, right? He lives a few states away but he wants to come bake with me this summer at some point. Okay, I said. Then I said, are you over 18? Then he said, 22. Then I said, bring ID. We can’t have the neighbors talking, after all…
Oh yeah: remember that artist, Lex Millena? He finished the watercolor he was making for me. It’s beautiful. Lex is beautiful.
Thanks Lex. Thanks, everyone. You guys are pretty awesome. Jerks.
My name is Michael. Sometimes people ask me on dates. Maybe they see me online and think I’m the answer to their life problems, or lonliness. Invariably I prove them wrong:
My friends are, by and large, a bunch of would be celebrities. That’s kind of how I like it. I hang out with would be celebrity Jerks.
When you’ve got delusions of grandeur, you sort of have to have people around to help you sustain them.
Someone who will go, no, you’re not wrong – you could TOTALLY play 23. Other comics.
We’re a funny bunch. Of Jerks.
Some very funny people came over for dinner and pie:
“Hi, I’m Jason Blaine. I am an adorable elf-person. I am an actor and a t-shirt designer.” I did a show with Michael once that led to our eventual friendship. I could never be a boxer because my fists are so tiny.
“Hi, I’m Pam Murphy. I had a horrible, debilitating cancer. But that doesn’t stop me from chain smoking all the time and making homophobic wise cracks. I wrote a show about what a jerk cancer is. Just kidding. It’s more about what jerks PEOPLE are when they find out you have Cancer!“
“I’m Enrico Wey. I’m in this tiny little Broadway play called War Horse. Heard of it? Well I also travel around the world. I love playing with puppets. Please don’t complement me. I will short-circuit.”
“Hi. I’m Matt Pavlovich. I’m on a UCB sketch team with Michael. I love to rollerblade and hang out with my comedy and yoga friends. Did you come to my murder mystery party? There was a naked albino man peeing on people. I don’t like it when it rains.”
“I’m an egg yolk.”
“I’m Tim Dunn! I’m an actor and a comic at the UCB theater. I’m on a Maude Team and it’s really fun. I also do a show on Broadway. I’m super fancy.”
This is why you let a blueberry chocolate pie cool before slicing it. And also, maybe don’t make it. It was not entirely successful. Reminds me of that time I got the squirts on spring break in Mexico.
“Hi I’m Garrett Palm. I’m a homeless hipster that showed up begging for food. I got the idea to beg for food in India. Did I tell you I went to India? I totally did. I went to India. India. India. India. India. India. India. India. India. India.”
“Hi. I’m Marcy Jarreau. What can I say? I’m pretty damn funny. I wrote a musical about a lesbian camp that everyone loved. I’m also on the UCB team Badman. That adds up to awesome. By the way, that character on Maude that I’ve been doing? Totally Cajun. I swear. SHUT. UP. GARRETT.”
We ate dinner and then played Celebrity. Then we ate that Blueberry Chocolate pie before it was properly cooled. The crust is perfect.
These Jerks won. They were an amazing team. Except for Garrett who was a poor sport and shat his pants on accident.
Then on purpose. Then on accident AGAIN.
Don’t ask silly questions. Of course we enjoyed the pie, Jerks.
That’s the last of it, probably, right?
Winter’s loosening it’s grip.
It’s not over, but you can feel it in the air. It’s almost over.
There’s still a chill, here, in my kitchen. Winter’s hooks are still right outside the window. I haven’t yet taken my shoes off from outside, for fear my feet would suffer. They take much longer to warm up, now that I’m older.
I’ve been thinking about the internet a lot lately. I’ve had some real, vitriolic haters emerge, lately. Don’t get me wrong — there’s been much much more support and kindness, but a few nasty jerks have reared their heads, too. I’ve gained a lot a friends and lost a few.
That’s to be expected, I guess. But I’ve been thinking about the internet. Guys. What if we’re on the verge of something great here? What if we’re on the precipice of a huge leap forward for humankind? Hear me out on this:
What if humanity is about to move to a more golden age? Look! Dictatorships are toppling across the Middle East. Listen – the democratic murmurs arise from a new, powerful middle class in China. Feel – the stirrings of a new type of human experience – wait, that was just too much kimchee at dinner. But you understand what I’m driving at.
The internet is in its infancy, still. It’s helping to trigger revolutions, not just political ones, but economic and social ones. Look. I’m a grown man simultaneously broadcasting my thoughts on humanity, and pictures of pie, my Japanese little brother, and my butt crack. What I’m clearly trying to say is: Humanity We’ve Arrived.
We’re at that golden age we always dreamed of. All we need is a few more dictators to fall, a few more people to open their hearts, and a few more women elected in the senate. Seriously. They’re under represented. Gays too. Get on board gays, ladies, and gay ladies.
Yes, I’m telling Ellen to run for office.
Pretty soon it won’t be fashionable to hate things online. Pretty soon the world will move beyond that. Toward kindness.
I wonder where that will leave us? What happens when we, as humans, leap forward? I wonder what the haters will do, when it’s not fun and funny to snark it up and look for ways to tear down people they’re jealous of online?
No, fag, I’m not talking about the singularity. Unless, maybe I am? I’m not.
No, wait. I am:
I always thought of the internet as a human scream – the loudest ever heard.
What if that scream is just a symptom of its infancy?
What if it mellows out into a deep hum? What if we take that hum and build off it, until it rises.
Mighty and mature.
A heavenly chorus of voices. All singing at once. What if we become heaven? What if we all become the Horizon?
What if someday we’re so advanced, there’s no need for someone to come and tell us: Enjoy the pie, Jerks?
PIEFOLK 
