MonDATE: Bisexuals and the Right to Privacy, Part Two

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Him: You’re being extremely unfair!

Me: I’m sorry about that. Did you see August Osage County? What did you think?

Him: Seriously, are you Bisexual?

Me: I keep thinking if I hadn’t seen the Broadway play, I might have really liked the movie. I liked it quite a bit, actually, but I might have been blown away if I hadn’t watched the Broadway show twice.

Him: Don’t change the subject! Stop it.

Me: Julia Roberts really blew the doors off the hinges. It’s worth seeing just for that.

Him: I didn’t see it yet, okay?

Me: Okay. No spoilers, then.

Him: I’m asking you a question, and you’re avoiding it.

Me: I don’t see why I owe you the information. It’s just information, after all.

Him: I read your site for years. I’m extremely curious. What happened? It seems like you’ve made a 180, and I don’t know what to make of all of it. It seems…

Me: Don’t trail off. How does it seem?

Him: Hypocritical. It seems hypocritical. Sorry.

(There is a long pause. I sit on a bench at the bus stop.)

Him: You waiting for a bus now?

Me: Only if it’s an express bus to Canada.

Him: What does that mean?

Me: I dunno. It’s about half a joke. I’ll let you know when/if there’s a punch line.

Him: Hey. I’m sorry I called you a hypocrite – just how I see it.

Me: Ha. Then you’re not really sorry! You’re frustrated about quite a few things, and I’d suspect the root of it has very, very little to do with me.

Him: You can’t just… You can’t write about the gay community for years, and talk openly about being a poly-amorous homosexual – you can’t run some sort of online ‘brotherhood of man’ pie cult for the gays, and then just get married to a woman. Just, poof, you’re married and normal again. Just like that.

Me: Can’t I? Why can’t I? Why can’t I marry whomever I want? Isn’t that the underlined point behind the Marriage Equality movement?

Him: Don’t you feel you owe people like me an explanation?

Me: Why?

Him: Because I am one of your readers. Because I’m your audience.

(There is a long pause.)

Me: Well… thank you. I’m flattered you’re reading, that you’re still reading, and that you took the time to contact me. All of these things are incredibly flattering, and part of me agrees with you. A huge part of me thinks I owe it to you to tell you exactly how my sex life is structured, what it means to be LGBTQ in a traditional marriage structure, and send you home with a slice of pie and a warm feeling of hope for tomorrow.

Him: That’s what I’d like, yes.

Me: Then again, I’ve read quite a few books on writing, and while authors agree it is important to have an audience, they seem to also agree that catering things to your audience leads to atrophy in a major way. Bill Cosby said something like, I don’t know what the formula for success is, but I know the formula for failure is trying to please everyone.

Him: Teach me, oh wise one.

Me: I’m not getting paid to teach you, or, for that matter, to tell you how to live your life, or to tell you how I live mine.

Him: Okay, I’ll admit – it’s none of my business.

Me: Thank you.

Him: But I’m CURIOUS.

Me: Yes. You’re curious. That’s exactly right. You expect me to tell you intimate details of my personal life to you, the way I would to my therapist, because you read my site for a while and you feel somehow entitled to missing information. But you’re just an audience member. You’re just tuning in. You don’t know me and you have no real right to my inner physical, emotional, or intellectual life, beyond what I publish on my site, which by the way you read for free – so I owe you even less.

Him: People are going to want to know! You wrote about your sex life for years!

Me: No. Incorrect. I did not.

Him: Yes you DID. You’re being a hypocrite!

Me: Actually, I wrote about awkward dates, urban alienation, and my disappointment in a community full of brilliant, motivated, socially broken people. I almost never mentioned who I was having sex with.

Him: Come off it. You were sleeping with all those boys who made pie with you.

Me: Incorrect. Those were models, or friends, or people who contacted me online who wanted to help. It was very rare I slept with the people on my site.

Him: What?

Me: The “Awkward Dates” happen with people I don’t sleep with. That is the whole point: Here’s how NOT to sleep with me. The irony is, it’s pretty easy to sleep with me, if you’re cute and sweet, but most gay people have no interest in being kind, gentle, or generous of spirit – at least the ones who live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn don’t. They think they don’t have to, and in some sense, they’re correct. Someone will stomach their painfully underdeveloped, spoiled, sour personalities. But that someone isn’t me…

Him: Still seems hypocritical to me.

Me: You’ve now called me a hypocrite three times.

Him: So?

Me: So take a deep breath.

Him: Why?

Me: I’m about to tell you what I think about you.

(Pause. He looks concerned. I take a deep breath and count to ten.)

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

I’m With Magneto

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Tri Vo Studio

Me: What is this theater? A speak easy?

Him: It’s the closest one to my house.

Me: There’s no sign. I had to circle the block three times to figure out where it was.

Him: They’re doing construction. I bought a bunch of snacks.  You’re stressed out. Let’s have fun.

(We watch the movie. We do have fun. Then…)

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Me: Aw, Jeez… You’re being nice and I’m being horrible.  Thanks for the movie and the snacks, sweet boy.

Him: It’s okay. You have an emotional investment in the franchise; me too. I’ve been reading X-Men since i was a kid.

Me: Me too, since I was 8 years old.

Him: What did you think?

Me: I can’t but love it. I have to. It’s about us. It’s about LGBTQ.

Him: Singer really pushed the homosexual imagery hard – all  that man on man fondling! Long, deep eye contact…

Me: He did. I got really emotional. Certain lines they delivered seemed to be speaking directly to Us. Almost like Singer wanted Us to hear his advice.

Him: ‘No, no. We don’t hurt our own kind.’

Me: YES! ‘Mutant and Proud.’

Him: That was clearly the underlying moral of the movie.

Me: I know. ‘You didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell.’

Him: Also, the hero, Charles Xavier, has big flaws. He invades people’s minds even after he has promised not to. He pressures Mystique to ‘cover’ her true form in public.

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Me: Covering is a real problem right now in the Gay community.  The pressure for us to mute ourselves can be felt any time we hang out with straight people. It’s not fair, and they don’t even realize they’re coyly asking us to do that, when we’re with them.

Him: They always do that. They all always do that.

Me: They frequently do that. But not all of them, and not always.

Him: How many of your comedy teams have pressured you to smooth out the gay around the edges?

Me: All of them, at one point or another. But, that’s comedy.

Him: I’m with Magneto. I’m a separatist.

Me: No, you’re not. You’re not willing to kill or maim or terrorize people in order to gain your equality.

(long silence)

Me: Stop. Don’t look at me like that. You’re not willing to do that.

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Him: I agree with the philosophy. By any means necessary. It boils down to Xavier/Magneto being Dr. King/Malcolm X.

Me: I know. But what makes one argument compelling is that the other exists. One side of the argument is not compelling without the opposite point of view. It’s useless to say that you agree with Dr. King or Malcolm X., becaue you know in your heart that they are both right.

Him: I don’t care anymore. I’ve found a way to be completely homo-social. I only associate with Gay people except for my mother.

Me: That’s very narrow.

Him: I’m Chinese-American and Gay. What can I do? There’s a whole world out there that hates me for one reason or another.  I’m not going to devote my  life to fighting for the respect of people that aren’t as smart as I am.

Me: That’s your right, but you live in the world. You have straight people around you, and you must interact with them. And by the way, you’re right: you are absolutely smarter than 99% of people.

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Him: My mother is my only female friend. I don’t understand women and they get offended almost every single time I have to interact with them. Their feelings are so sensitive and I don’t have time for that.

Me:  Stop that. It’s not just women. You hurt my feelings all the time, too. I have women in my life I love and respect.  But, I think I get what you’re driving at.  They seem to be wired differently than us. However, if we’re to demand respect from Straights who are wired differently, then we must manifest the generosity of spirit to return that respect. Or screw up the courage to offer the respect first. Certainly, we have to rise above misogyny if we want our own equality.

Him: I am an oppressed minority two times over. I’m not going to start respecting first. I’m not going to start living by their rules. I just want to be left alone. Give us our own country, and one for the Lesbians. Indiana. Nobody wants to live there. Let us have it.

Me: Lesbromolia.

(Pause. No laughter.)

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Hey, if you don’t start first then nobody will start respecting anyone. That’s how respect works. It’s a two way street. We don’t have to live how they tell us, but we must start respecting first, because they have the power. Here’s a better question. How do we take the power?

Him: We start riots in the street. Burn down their houses.  Make it so they’re so afraid they have to turn on fire hoses and shoot us with rubber bullets. And we make sure there are plenty of cameras around when they turn on the fire hoses.

Me: Maybe… That might need to happen. This is America. It seems like major social change has only ever come at the cost of much anguish and bloodshed. Are we ready for that? I’ve always hoped that some sort of amazing Gay Gandhi would come along and show us how to peacefully get what’s ours. We’re not organized enough for that, yet. But there’s change brewing.  You can feel it?

Him:  Yes. But I don’t care. I’m with Magneto. I’m an evil mutant.

Me: That’s okay. I love you anyhow.

(Long pause)

Just remember: We don’t harm our own kind. And use a condom.  And clean out, if you’re going to bottom. Jerk.

(pause)

And be nice to girls.

Him: No.

Me: Yes.

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People Send Me Stuff

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.


SaturDATE: Heteronormative

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:

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.

ThursDATE

My name is Michael Martin.  I’m a baker and a comic in New York City.  I’m gay.  From time to time people ask me on dates.  They see me on the internet.  Maybe they think I’m the answer to their life problems, or lonliness.  Invariably I prove them wrong:

People Send Me Stuff


From time to time people send me stuff on the internet.   Usually it’s pies, or photographs of themselves naked, or not naked.  Or all of the above.  I think I scratch some sort of voyeuristic itch, maybe, for people – and they want to share in that feeling.  To be seen.  To bear witness to one another.  Then again.  Maybe people are just pervy.

That I can also live with.

Sometimes, people send me other stuff.  Usually I don’t post it if it isn’t pie related or naked.  Those are really my two demographics, right, guys?  I’m going to answer for you, since you’re not writing this:  YES.

This is Lex Millena

He lives in California and goes to art school.

Lex desscribes himself like this:  A Jack of all trades but master of mediocrity, he strives for the idealistic image of perfection. He is a purveyor of dreams and an information hoarder. His insatiable lust for memories results in photographs, notebooks and songs all combating a fear of a transient mind strung around by shiny things. A subtle voice with obnoxious hair with the intent of being heard without saying a word.

Like I said.  He goes to art school.

Here, I’ll prove it to you:

See?

Hm?  What’s the fucking point, PIEFOLK?  Good question.  Well.  I’ve been thinking of my ex boyfriend lately.  His name is Carter and he’s a good man.  Distracted, and wonderful, and wistful.  He’s one of those people –  you  meet him and you know he’s kind before he even opens his mouth.  He and I met 3 days after 9/11, in a Manhattan bar called Barracuda.

I’m not going to post a pic of him, because he strikes me as more private than all that, but trust me.  He looks like a honey bear.  Sitting on the shelf of a well lit sub-urban market.  Glistening with perfect honey inside.

Carter’s going through a rough time right now.

Hm?  What’s this got to do with the art school kid?  Oh.  This:

Lex, the naked guy from earlier?  He made this video.  It’s really powerful storytelling, I think.  Especially the long walk up the dark stairs, and the smelling of the shirt.

I saw this and I couldn’t help but think of Carter.  I found it incredibly moving.

Lex.  Thanks for making me cry with your art school video.  Jerk.

p.s.  Lex asked me 1)if i know Zach Woods and 2)if he’s gay

Yes.  No.