Celebrity

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.

Emergency.

There was an emergency.  Blood was spilled and well…  mistakes were made.  I’m being dramatic, but still –

This is Enrico D. Wey.    He’s a friend of mine.  Stop looking at me like that.  I don’t beat him.

I DON’T!

I should, maybe.  But I don’t.  I couldn’t, really.  I’m not like that.

STOP.  Don’t look at me like that.  I DIDN’T DO THAT TO HIM.  I PLAYED NURSE AND THEN MADE HIM  DINNER.  I swear.

Oh jesus.  That’s not helping.  He’s looking at me like he’s totally suspicious of me. But you have to understand, that’s because he doesn’t quite like me .  Don’t get me wrong.  I think he thinks I’m cute and all, and maybe slightly amusing (MAYBE).  But I think he also finds me pretty annoying.

Or…  hm.  That’s too strong, maybe.

Let’s just say he doesn’t find me NEARLY as charming as I think I am.

And that DRIVES ME CRAZY.

Because he’s wrong.  I am charming.

What?

I didn’t rough him up, jerk.  Now you’re just saying it to annoy me.

Stop it.  Listen:

I asked him over when he mentioned  he was rehearsing in the neighborhood.  I was planning on cooking dinner anyhow.  I made a rather poor imitation of Korean food.  I had some kim chi lying around and I tried to make a Bi Bim Bop stone bowl affect with my cast iron skillet.  And then I roasted some sprouts, because it’s late February now, and they’ll be totally out of season soon.

Then I asked him if he’d make some blueberry quick bread.

He said okay.

That doesn’t mean he actually likes me as a person, I pointed out.  He was quick to agree.

I’m glad we settled that.

Enrico is an interesting case.  I’ve been following (online stalking) his career for a few  years now and I’m always impressed with the stuff I turn up about him.  Seems like every six months he succeeds in a different arena.  I’m not kidding.  He’s a technical director.  He also has a name for himself as a choreographer.  Sometimes I’ll ichat him and he’ll be in some far-off land, on an artist’s fellowship at some university or theater.

He’s modest, and he won’t tell you what a great career he’s having, but he’s having one.

Oh.  Yeah.  He’s also a puppeteer.

His most recent gig has been with this Broadway show at Lincoln Center – War Horse.

That’s right.  He’s doing puppetry and acting in a Broadway show.  Pretty cool, eh?

I think it’s pretty cool.  Yes.  You’re right – I buried the lead.

What?  Shut up.  I didn’t cause that scrape.

Anyway.  As I was saying.  I love to internet stalk this guy.  I’ve been at it off and on for a few years I guess?  I like to meet people online and chat with them for months or years before I actually meet them.  It weeds out the loonies and crystal meth addicts.

Isn’t he good looking?  So handsome, right?

This is the first time I’ve ever annoyed someone into hanging out with me.    I whined and whined until he finally consented.

Oh, is that surprising?  I should have mentioned before now that I have zero pride.

I have very little pride.  Also, I’m lying about having very little pride.  I’m way too proud.

Anyway.  He came over and I dressed his wound from rehearsal.  Then I made us dinner. He made some quick bread.  It had canned blueberry pie filling and dark chocolate chips.  He’s a nice guy, as it turns out.  He’s funny and sardonic, and he takes a while to warm up to you.

I think I may have won him over.  I may have moved myself, incrementally, in his head. from one category to another.  By the time he left he was treating me less like a “creepy weirdo” and more like a “benign weirdo.”  Score.

What can I say.  When you’re charming you’re charming.

Now I suppose it’s back to Googling him every so often and harassing him on ichat.

Enjoy the internet stalking, Jerks.