Enjoy your Sunday, Jerks!
PieFAIL!!
Enjoy your Sunday, Jerks!
Tag: brooklyn
People Send Me Stuff
From time to time people send me stuff.
I think my blog tickles a voyeuristic streak they have. I dunno, really. I’m grateful for the photos, drawings, etc.
You can send me stuff, if you want. Just email me at piefolk@gmail.com
These pictures below are from a guy named H:
I didn’t know if he wanted me using his name. So, I’ll just keep it to H.
I think these are some great shots. They seem self conscious and un-self conscious at the same time, which is really what you want for an internet photo of yourself semi-nude. Or if you made a pie:
See what I mean? Unselfconscious and shy at the same time. Adorable.
I like this one. It looks candid.
This next one, however, is slutty and staged:
I mean, the pies look expert, sure, but a trio of egg pies?? Nestled together for warmth?
You might as well send me an evite to a threesome.
Just to be clear. I was joking. Don’t invite me to any threesomes. My mom reads this blog, Jerks.
Even so. Thanks for sending me stuff, guys. You’re all beautiful, perfect creatures of the Universe.
Enjoy the boy/pie photos. Jerks.
I can EXPLAIN!!!
Damn that Japanese Little Brother Kazu!
He comes over every so often and gets me into the trickiest situations! I think he’s possessed by an Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster. He always smells fragrant, like apples and cinnamon. Maybe it’s his lip balm.
I promised him baked goods, but all I had in the house was stale blueberry quick bread.
I had to think fast.
You don’t want the Ancient Demon of an Apple Pie Monster to get angry.
Oh. Sidebar:
Look. Usually i don’t wear underwear like this, okay? I usually have something a little less ‘Grandpa-ish’ on when I’m entertaining house guests, especially if they’re young and gay and etc.
But hey. It was laundry day and they were running a sale at one of those dollar stores in Greenpoint, which created a perfect storm for me wearing these horrible undies.
Bread pudding is pretty simple. You just take any stale baked good (bread, muffins, cake, whatever) and you break it up into crumbs. Then you add a certain amount of milk, brown sugar and eggs.
I’m not going to tell you the exact proportions. It’s really simple – just search ‘bread pudding‘ online. Did you click the link? Aren’t I an asshole?
So I used the blueberry quick bread and some fresh blueberries I found at the market. I also put some dark chocolate chips inside the bread.
I had to. I was afraid of the Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster.
And if I ever want to be Hokage I will have to learn how to keep the Apple Pie Monster from taking over when I’m fighting for Leaf Village.
Little Brother brings out the best in me. Or the worst?
It’s really easy for him to get me to pose for ridiculous photos.
God. I can’t get over how saggy these underwear are.
Lordy.
What was I thinking?
Jeez.
Look at the window behind me. You can see a reflection of my butt. Look at how the underwear sag like an old lady’s triceps.
Oh well. I’ll have to live with it. Laundry doesn’t come back until tomorrow.
The bread pudding was totally great. I ate too much of it and now I have to start going back to the gym. Spring is here, after all, and there’s nothing like being a full grown man obsessed with his body.
I think I banished the Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster for the time being.
In other news: I made a new video to ask President Barack Obama to come to my house for pie. Please Watch it!
Enjoy the Little Brother, Jerks!
TuesDATE
Sometimes people ask me on dates. They see me on the internet. Maybe they think I’m the answer to their life problems, or loneliness. Invariably I prove them wrong.
Him: Sorry. You made me wait for longer than I thought I would have to, in that bank.
Me: Sorry I asked you to meet me there. I had to open up a business account.
Him: Why?
Me: My accountant told me to. I don’t know. You look so cute.
Him: Ugh. I feel gross. I haven’t showered and I drank last night.
Me: Did you drink a lot?
Him: Yes. My friend talked me into staying out later than I wanted to. I was out until 3. I feel queasy.
Me: Didn’t you have to be at work at 8:30? You’re hungover.
Him: No, I just didn’t sleep a lot.
Me: And you feel queasy.
Him: Yeah.
Me: And you drank a lot.
Him: Yeah.
Me: That’s a hangover.
Him: NO. I told you I’m NOT hungover. I just didn’t sleep and had to go to work only a few hours after drinking a lot.
Me: Yeah. That’s called a hangover.
Him: You’re so judgmental.
Me: Oh. No. Sorry… I don’t mean to seem like I’m judging. I’m not saying, “Oh, you’re hung over, you should be ashamed – how dare you show up for a date with me with a hangover.” It’s not judging. It’s perceiving. I’m just labeling the condition. More like, “Oh, that’s just a hangover.”
Him: Wow. You’re so much fun.
Me: Oh yes. Nothing but. I’m. So. Much. Fun.
(long pause)
Me: Hey. I’m cooking a whole lot of food. Do you still want me to make you lunch? Late lunch?
Him: I think I already told you I feel queasy, but sure. I’ll see what happens.
Me: I’m a good cook. You’ll feel hungry after a minute.
Him: Can we listen to Gaga?
Me: What?
Him: When we get to your house. Can we listen to Gaga?
(loooooooong pause)
Me: Sure.
…
I love Gaga.
(surprise ending: I don’t love Gaga.)
Chocolate Banana Cream ETC.
I think it’s getting there. I made another banana cream pie the other day. It was delicious. I’m getting better at this one.
I made it for my friend Chris – who is not really a good friend, considering that he never came over to get it. He offered to help me with the HTML code for PIEFOLK. I made the pie for him, as a thank you. He stood me up. And as of yet, he hasn’t explained why. Weird guy.
I’m tired of friends acting weird.
Maybe it’s February talking. Then very dead of winter. People start acting… strange. Affection starved, but in a sluggish, lethargic way.
It’s not so much that the late winter brings out ugly behavior, but that layer of New York-y inconsiderateness might be a little denser this time of year.
Keep in mind – I’m just complaining – and I don’t really even have too too much to complain about. There are people around me that really care for me, and I’m grateful. I also have the respect of some very talented, very brilliant colleagues in the comedy world. I’m lucky. But I’m tired of people acting weird, in that February sort of way.
Yes. I get the irony.
I’m a grown-ass man who hangs out with neighborhood gays, baking, scantily clad, at all hours of the night. So where do I get off calling anything weird? I get off right here. It’s my damn blog, after all.
Here’s a list of weird stuff that bugs me:
*Social awkwardness (of the non-charming variety)
*Not returning (or at least acknowledging) compliments
*Trying to impress me by being mean to a retail employee
*Trying to use backhanded compliments confuse me when you flirt ( that only works on people with low self esteem, dummy).
*Those gauge ear-rings that stretch your ears out, Africa style.
*Unkindness
*Information hoarding
*Deep eye-contact that feels nice until you break it and say ‘WHAT?’ in a tone of voice that sounds like an indictment.
*People that get a macho kick out of being a ‘top only.’
*Olde Timey handlebar mustaches.
*People that put up walls with their sense of humor (except for me and my hilarous friends)
*A&E’s Intervention
Anyway. Knock it off, Winter. Stop making everyone (myself included) act so weird. I mean, except for the weirdness we exhibit normally, on a summer’s day, after a nice picnic in the park, where me and my weird date wear gay looking speedos, and sing songs with our ukuleles. After eating blueberry pie, and catcalling a nearby soccer practice. I want that kind of weird back.
I want to feel warm, and languid and odd. Like a Rufus Wainwright song recorded in a sauna.
I guess that feeling’s not so far off.
I’ll power through.
Please do the same.
Oh.
And.
Enjoy the pie, Jerks.
TuesDATE
Sometimes people ask me on dates. They see me on the internet and they think that I’m the answer to their life problems, or loneliness. Or maybe they think I am cute. Invariably, I prove them wrong.
Him: Wanna get some food?
Me: Sure. There’s lots of restaurants around here. What are you in the mood for?
Him: I don’t care. You pick.
Me: Hm… there’s high end Mexican up the street at Mesa Coyoacan .
Him: You should know better than to ask someone for Mexican food on a gay date.
Me: Why? Oh. EW.
Him: But yeah, I don’t care…
Me: There’s a seafood restaurant called Sel De Mer….
Him: Ew. NO. I never trust them to have fresh ingredients. Gross.
Me: That’s kind of their thing. The menu is mostly specials that they bought at the fish market that day.
Him: I’m not sure if I trust that. Try again.
Me: There’s a French place called Fanny. It’s cash only.
Him: I never carry cash. (gives me a knowing glance, as if I’m supposed to know what that means)
Me: Well, I would buy dinner, but I am poor.
Him: All that pie.
Me: Huh?
Him: You’re spending too much money on pie. Not enough on your living expenses.
Me: Hold up… Financial advice?? That’s SECOND date material, Mister.
Him: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I don’t get it.
Me: There’s an Asian fusion place up the street called Sakura.
Him: Yeah. I’ve read your blog. We get it. You like ‘Asian food‘. (long pause where I don’t laugh)
Me: I’m not that hungry, actually.
Him: Wanna make out?
Me: No.
Enjoy the TuesDATE, Jerks!
photo by Erwin Caluya
Cupid Arrives
What’s wrong with you?
Put your tongue back in your mouth. That’s just Robbie Fowler.
Hm? What? He’s gorgeous?
I’ll let him know you said so. Now focus:
So, first of all – congrats are in order. Robbie’s boyfriend James proposed to him. They’re getting married!
But, they’re getting married in New York, since that’s where they solidified their love. Which means they’re waiting for it to be legal. But they’re engaged!
They will be married, some day. Soon as you kind straight folk start voting the right way.
Listen up:
Robbie is a popular New York actor. He does theater and television. Which is not to say you shouldn’t cast him in your movie. You totally should. He photographs well.
Robbie wanted to make a red berry pie, for Valentine’s day. He brought over raspberries, strawberries and blackberries. Good call, Fowler! It made a kick ass pie. We didn’t put very much sugar in it, because we wanted it to taste sharp and tart. We spiked the crust with a little powdered ginger.
I sat down with Fowler to chat while the pie was baking:
PF: What do you do for a living?
RF: I act… swiffer my apartment… take care of my puppy….
I’m an uncle… for a living…
PF: How’s being engaged?
RF: We both have rings and we walk around a little taller, I guess? We would like to get married in our home state, so we’ll wait… It affects me a lot.
PF: How did you learn how to bake pie?
RF: I learned from my grandmother. Ernestine Nowlan. My mother’s mother. She was hilarious. Taught me how to make a pie crust. She was an actress when she was younger and she played Polly Darton in a Kansas musical review. She was 75 or 76 when I was born. They would take me to get haircuts – my grandparents. And to theater camp.
PF: Can you talk about the pie you selected?
RF: 
Sweet, messy, juicy – just like Valentine’s Day.
PF: Tell me an odd story about auditioning?
RF: I went in for a show, right after moving here. The audition was run by a reputable company – I sang my face off – belted those high B (flats). The choreographer was yelling sass at us the whole time. I went home, felt good about it, logged onto the Facebook, and I get a message from the director.
He found me, but my info is not at all on my resume. He didn’t care to talk about my audition at all – he was just like ‘oh, what were those tattoos?’
Finally I had to ask – hey, did I make the cast of the show?
PF: DID you?
RF: Oh. Yeah, I did. It was a lot of fun.
PF: Do you have any advice for other young actors?
RF: Take it as it comes. If you need to take a break, do it. Take care of yourself before you take care of your career. You have to stay sane. If you need to take a pottery class take a fucking pottery class. Bake a pie.
I couldn’t have said it better myself. Thanks, Fowler.
Guys, I hope you’re happy this Valentines day. Whether you’re together or alone, I hope you’re having fun.
I love you. Jerks.
SaturDATE!!!
Sometimes I meet people online.
Sometimes they like me enough to ask me out on dates. They think I’m the answer to their problems and lonliness, a lot of the time. I have a tendency, inadvertently, to prove them wrong:
Him: You are dressed really sharply! I can tell you’re successful just from how your dressed.
Me: Ha. Actually, I’m very poor. I just take good care of my clothes and have a credit card.
Him: Oh, man. It must really suck to be poor, emotionally.
Me: You don’t have time to worry about that, when you’re poor.
Him: What do you mean?
Me: You’re too busy doing laundry and dishes all the time to pity yourself. Plus you lose weight from being hungry. It’s great for your self esteem, actually.
Him: It’s getting late…
Enjoy the SATUR-DATE, Jerks!
Johnny T
Johnny T came over. He’d seen my chalkboard walls and he wanted to draw on them. He’s a good artist!
Jonny T is an architecture student here in New York City. Enjoy the drawing, jerks!
PIEFOLK 
