michael martin – Page 2

Irony Generation

January 20, 2014 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Here’s an article I wrote a while back for Thought Catalog. It was a response to a critical New York Times piece on The Irony Generation, whatever that is.

I guess I’m part of the irony generation.

That feels weird to say. I’ve never admitted that I was a hipster before. So many other hipsters are so much more ‘hipster’ than I am. They’re the ones described in news articles — with the mustaches, and the ill-fitting shorts, the home-brewing, trombone playing, annoying uber Williamsburg attitudes. I’m not like those hipsters (those hipsters are actually quite rare), but I am a hipster. And until recently I didn’t even realize that I was one, or wanted to be one.

But I am. And I think — sarcasm aside — I might be proud.

My hipsterism is what you might consider mild. Yes, I do teach improv comedy and comment on the internet for a living. No, I don’t buy Applewood Smoked Bacon over Oscar Mayer bacon. But only because I’m poor. I have a pretty good idea that locally raised Applewood Smoked Bacon might actually kick the ass of Oscar Mayer Bacon every single day of the week. But, like I said, I’m poor. So Oscar Mayer it is! Did I say Oscar Mayer? I meant off-brand supermarket bacon! Actually any cheap protein, I’ll take. Did I mention I was poor?

Shit. I’m off topic, and getting ironic. Fucking hipsters. Okay, so:

I keep a narcissistic blog where I harvest my own awkwardness. I do not write for the New York Times, a publication that jumped on the lets-kick-hipsters-in-the-nuts bandwagon about 10 days ago. I wish I wrote for them, but I don’t. The world isn’t clamoring for my opinion, so I turn inward for inspiration. I have found that if I speak to my own self-consciousness on my blog I gain readers. I also gain attention and gain opportunity. Those are important things for a fledgling writer. It’s a powerful moment for me to realize that I can build my own audience.

But I am also a hipster, I suppose. And that’s where the problem is, right?

People are annoyed with hipsters. Because we’re so inauthentic? Ironic? Disaffected? I disagree, but you’re entitled to your outsider’s opinion. I mean, hate sells papers, or gets internet traffic, after all.

But I will say this: Deal with it.

I’m not saying this to be glib, or to ironically detach from the social phenomenon. Quite the opposite, actually. I just mean that you have to deal with it. It’s a part of a society you helped create. You can write articles about how it’s annoying for a while, and they’ll sell (whatever that means in the digital age), but eventually you’re going to have to deal with it — in a real, sincere, unironic way. Hipsters aren’t going anywhere. So, you can write hipster-hating blog entries, newspaper articles, tumblr posts all you want. We’re a social phenomenon. A very weak, very flabby, very nerd-atrophied social phenomenon. And we’re not going anywhere.

But hey –

What if it’s better to examine the cause, than naively complain about the symptom?

What if… just follow me on this for a sec — I’m stoned — What if we actually dared to ask the pertinent question? What caused the Irony Generation in the first place? I think I know the precocious, adorable, twee answer to that question: The 90’s. The 80’s. The 70’s. And every social movement before that.

It’s been heavily debated whether irony is the disease, or the symptom. I think it’s neither, but if we’re going to classify an entire generation into such a simple this-or-that metaphor, I’d have to go with symptom. I think that’s an important distinction, too. Irony isn’t the infection. The digital age is the infection. Globalization is the infection. Outsourcing of American jobs is the infection. Hipster irony is the symptom of those things, manifested in the fabric of pop culture. If you’re going to hate on something for making the world ironic, hate on NAFTA, or Facebook, or the Bravo channel. Hipsters are just a sign of the times. The youth movement is just a reflection of generations before it.

And that’s the thing. Hipsterism is just a reaction to political and economic phenomenons that predated it. The internet, a terrible economy, a culture obsessed with pseudo-reality. Everyone’s expected to run PR on their own lives. It’s easy to point the finger at the manifestation of that — an irony clad 22-year-old on an old-fashioned bike, on his way to marching band practice — but by and large it’s my guess that it’s not that generation pulling the strings. What’s responsible for this?

A few things that I can think of.

A bad economy, for one. It seems we all agreed that globalizing was the best idea for the world in the 90’s. Bill Clinton signed NAFTA and we were all going to run dot coms instead of working at factories. That was fine for about seven to twelve years, until people realized that getting a lot of attention online doesn’t mean an income stream, and that even getting that attention was difficult. Meanwhile, the idea of a union job, or even a corporate one where you could work 20 years then retire has all but dried up.

The hipster generation was financially screwed by the generation that preceded it — our parents’ generation — the same generation that left us home alone after school, and taught us that if we want dinner, we better research good food and make it ourselves. God forbid, though, we respond to a terrible economy in a resourceful way! Don’t start an Etsy, or a locavore butcher shop, or teach improv comedy for a living. Society will call you a hipster! Well, what if I’m just making a living? Is it then okay for me to wear a Diff’rent Strokes T-shirt? Or does that mean I’ve glibly checked out of society?

Social media has made everyone feel both hyperconnected and desperate that they’re missing something. That’s stressful, especially for those who grew up with rotary phones. Could your hatred of hipsters just be a manifestation of you yourself feeling out of touch? Or, perhaps you’re just hating what people have always hated in any social movement? Perhaps you just hate posers. Even that is misguided, though.

Every social movement has posers. In fact, the bulk of any social movement is a bunch of posers. I’m thinking of the people who participated in the Summer of Love, who then became disco dancers seven years later. The people who did cocaine in the 80s and were the first wave of yuppies to hit the urban landscape. I’m thinking of my parents’ generation, and how they changed with the times. Thank goodness they were posers, too. Can you imagine what would have happened if they’d all joined communes? If they never got over doing Angel Dust? Awful. But they changed with the times, as we all are forced to do.

Every social movement also has an older generation, or even members of the same generation looking on and scratching their heads — saying to themselves, kids today. From the beatniks to the American Apparel kids, the hipster types have always been hated. But that’s okay — because part of the mantle of being a hipster is to be hated by some. What is putting on a beret, or a pair of bell-bottom jeans, or a trucker hat, if not a statement of one’s own individuality? To me, it’s an announcement to the world that you’re willing to try being a free-thinker. That you realize you’ve inherited a broken society, but that you’re looking for creative ways to help fix it, or at least fix yourself in the context of that society. Does that make you a parasite? I don’t think it does. Does it make you sarcastic? Again, I don’t think so.

Am I missing something important, here? To say that we should ‘learn to live without irony’ is glib. It’s sarcastic. And it’s unrealistic. It’s a phenomenon created by the older generation. We didn’t create the internet, or reality television, or the economic crisis caused by globalization. We’re just trying to navigate the mess you created. Sorry if my thick glasses frames are annoying you in the process. I thought they were cute when I bought them and I can’t afford new ones. Did I mention that I’m poor? Seriously. Feed me.

And amidst all the muck being slung against the irony generation one important thing is being forgotten. They’re not doing too shabby. I’m thinking of relevant artists, like Wes Anderson, Sufjan Stevens, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ryan Gosling. These guys are all sincere, and they’re all linked with the term ‘hipster’ quite easily on a Google search. Or let’s look at the more sarcastic side of things — Andy Samberg , Donald Glover, Kristen Schaal, Aubrey Plaza. Are these not brilliant voices that are helping to shape the ethos of a generation? Can you not see the authenticity underneath their adorable fashion choices?

Irony is neither good nor bad. Just as sincerity is neither good nor bad. It’s just a mode of communication. Neither is more effective. It is extremely rare for people to be fully ironic, just as it’s extremely rare for people to be fully sincere. Irony is merely a symptom of a generation that I happen to be a part of. And no. I won’t apologize for that. Why should I? This is human evolution, and every generation has it’s growing pains. And most importantly — every generation is shaped by the one that came before it. Deal with it.

Yes. Irony is the ethos of the current generation. But rather than teach people how to live without it, I say you’re smarter to teach people how to live with it. It’s not going anywhere. To categorically complain about irony is myopic. It misses the point. There are different types of irony. There’s sarcasm, and then there’s the simple beauty of something being surprising or funny for the opposite reason it’s supposed to be. Have we become so annoyed at society at large that we actually get angry when people without pants start getting on the subway car? Can we look at the authentic emotional intent behind what a flashmob is? Must we run to our ivory tower and type out an article criticizing a movement that simply tried to put a smile on our faces?

Yes, there’s an ugly side to irony. Think of the significance of a 37-year-old man wearing a Diff’rent Strokes t-shirt. Consider — Diff’rent Strokes was supposed to be groundbreaking, in that it was supposed to show us that whites and blacks can all live together as a family. Consider where we are now. Half the country can’t stand the idea of a black president. There’s an irony there, but it’s not an irony my generation created, by any means.

I say, lets enjoy our subway ride. If people start walking on with no pants, we can get through it. Maybe they’re not making fun of us. Perhaps they’re just orchestrating a poetic moment? This generation isn’t without its problems, but every so often it surprises me. Every so often I think, hey, these kids are on to something. Every so often I even get inspired to be part of it. And that’s not ironic. That’s sincere.

Did I mention I’m poor?

Letters

January 18, 2014January 18, 2014 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

We are commenting on this blog post: https://piefolk.net/2012/01/12/rice-queen/

This blog post gives an introduction to the “rice queen” term and identity, which is used predominantly to describe white gay men who are primarily attracted to Asian men. The blog post outlines a conversation that Michael Martin has with an older fellow, and illuminates the problematic that exists in the fetishization that is inherent with the “rice queen” moniker. The fellow that Michael converses with frequently reduces entire national and racialized identities into a few characteristics, and denies the complexities that these folks have as human beings. Additionally, Michael Martin comments on the imperial aspects of what many “rice queens” do: travel to Asia in search of cheap sex workers.

In this blog post, Michael does nothing to combat the overt racism that his conversation partner is spewing, but rather voices his discomfort with the rampant racism being perpetuated in the conversation. Though the blog post breaches the “rice queen” topic and label, Michael does not begin to implicate his admitted dominant attraction to Asian men in this system. He seeks not to deconstruct his own location in a racial hierarchy and the imbalance of power in his own relationships with Asian men, but merely frames the fellow whom he is having the conversation with as the evil person, and upholds himself as the one that recognizes and stands against racism.

This blog post speaks to the fetishization of coloured and racialized bodies, which, while deemed disgusting, undesirable and ugly by dominant white society, is also positioned as being for the purpose of white sexual consumption when it is so desired.

Anonymous

Hi. Thanks for writing. “We” who? Are you the Borg or something? Also, why would you refer to me in the third person? Creepy. Okay:

I don’t think it’s my job to combat racism in America, but I do write about things that happen to me. Conversations I have, etc.

I’m not responsible for racism in the gay community, or in the world at large. I have a blog that is well attended, and I do my best to remind gay people to play nice with each other. Ultimately, however, the blog is just my outlet to process my own feelings of alienation. I’m a member of an oppressed minority who has not yet garnered its civil rights. Let me say that again. Gay people have not yet garnered legal equality in the United States. That makes us (and trans, or gender queer people) the bottom rung of the civil rights ladder. If I feel like processing an awkward, but polite conversation I had with an older person from a more racist generation – that’s what I’ll do. And I’ll do it online to call attention to the issue.

I am not ‘required’ to start a shouting match with an old gay man who just wants to cuddle with someone on a Friday night. I have respect for people, even racist people. If anything, I’m interested in hearing his perspective, because it’s so foreign to me. It makes me feel good that society might be slightly different now than when he was my age.

I’m not interested in ‘getting my head in the right place,’ if that means people from one oppressed minority are attacking people from another oppressed minority. I don’t quite think I deserve a kick in the nuts for talking about racial politics on my blog. I think calling attention to the issue is valuable for its own sake, and I won’t change my format or apologize.

People seem to be uncomfortable that I’m eroticizing Asian men on my blog. Too bad. It’s about time we as a society started looking at Asian men as sex symbols. There are very few Asian male sex symbols in the media today, though things are slowly changing. I don’t think I’m helping make great strides in racial politics, but then again I’m just a comic. I say what’s on my mind and some people listen. I’m grateful, and on a good day, humble.

I do think it would be useful if you folks went after straight white people, instead of a working class gay guy, but that’s your prerogative. Enjoy complaining to your friends about my blog, and as always, thanks for reading!

Michael

Letters

January 16, 2014July 18, 2017 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Hey Michael,

I’m the guy from Duke University/UCB that you talked to on Friday at the Blue Boar. Since talking to you I’ve followed your advice by not fucking anybody in the comedy world and so far it’s going great. It was fun hearing gossip and an honest perspective about UCB, and I’d love to pick your brain again about how one goes about turning comedy and song writing into a career.

Rick

Hey Rick,

It was fun talking to you, too.

So, yeah, don’t fuck any comics. I’ve watched a few of my friends date themselves out of career options when relationships with other comics go bad. One friend in particular springs to mind. She’d had so many failed relationships with UCB comics that there were few teams at the NYC theater who would have her perform with them. Politics, politics… She’s still successful in her own right, but for my money I’d do it differently.

Aside from that, my only other advice is keep going. And, don’t just improvise. Write jokes. Write sketches. Write pilots and spec scripts. You never know when you’ll meet the person who can put your script in the right hands. Also, just keep writing and performing as much as possible. That sounds cliche but it’s true. Keep at it.

I hope this helps, and please invite me to your shows?

Michael

Dear Michael,

You may not remember, but about two and a half years ago, I wrote you about being in the closet at the Naval Academy. I just wanted to say thank you so much for the advice you gave me to stick it out. Soon after you posted your response, I started to come out and the response was mixed but mostly good. My last two years at school were much better since I wasn’t worried about people finding out about my sexuality and I actually found a great group of friends who were either out or in the process of coming out. This past May, my boyfriend and I graduated from Annapolis and started our careers as officers. I am so glad that I decided to stay and just wanted to again say thanks for helping me make that decision.

Sincerely,

Brad

Thanks, Brad.

It isn’t very frequent I get a follow up from one of my advice letters, and it’s nice to know I didn’t steer you in a disastrous direction. You and your boyfriend sound totally adorable and everyone in the world must be jealous when you two arrive at a military function in dress uniforms, holding hands. In fact, I’m picturing that right now, and I’m wondering if you two would like to come photograph for the blog in uniform?

Thanks for coming out of the closet. It’s important we stay visible, since the world needs positive gay role models. You boys are an inspiration.

Michael

Letters

December 23, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Dear Piefolk,

Lately I have really come to terms with who I am as a person. I’m often wondering about my personal life. I have been single for 8 years, which is a blessing because it has allowed me to enjoy the finer things in life. But at the same time, I often wonder why do a lot of gay males put such an heavy emphasis on having an relationship? Why do they insist on having a companion at such an young age when that phase is meant to experience a lot of things. I just don’t understand how it can be so complicated but yet so simple. I don’t want a relationship but I do want companionship.

I’m an African American male who happens to be attracted to Caucasians males but I often find most of them sexualize the African American community, how can I approach a guy without them sexualizing me or the parts that I have? I’m an old soul, and I do believe in the whole courting process hence dinner, flowers, movies and the whole nine yard but most of them don’t want to engage in that, they want to get down to the nitty and gritty part of the bedroom which is okay – but I do want to be able to enjoy their company.. How can I do that without giving the aura of wanting a relationship when I just want to be able to enjoy their company on a simplistic level.

Thanks,

Confused African American

Dear CAA,

Thanks for writing. This is a very complicated issue. Most gay men are emotionally stunted, buddy. They don’t get to express their sexuality, usually, until college age, and even then the rest of society asks gay men to submerge themselves into a hetero-normative paradigm. Boys aren’t allowed to walk down the street holding hands. People say you can in New York, but I’d like to see you try it in The Bronx, or Bushwick after dark.

Most straight people have been conditioned from a very early age to fear and mistrust homosexuals. Yes, things are changing, but as you well know from being African American – change is hard earned and you have to quietly insist on your dignity your entire life. Or fight for it, in certain circumstances.

The side effect, I think, is a certain feeling you get when you’re a gay man. The world hates you and wishes you would go away, so how do you even have a relationship? Then again, we are all raised to idolize the traditional heterosexual family structure and we want it all. House, kids, picket fence, houseboy(s). However, most of us have been pressured by our families to change who we are fundamentally, or at least be sensible enough to constantly hide our sexuality – when the rest of the world gets to broadcast their love all over the place. We have to walk around feeling like we don’t deserve the simple things straight people take for granted.

Maybe it’s just a man thing. I’ve heard women complain that all men are desperately lonely, and terrified of commitment. Well, gay men certainly are, and so we usually go for sex instead of a date. Call it modern, convenient, fun, decadent – it’s been my experience that most guys want to have sex, and not stick around to play video games.

Which is weird, because getting a beej while you play video games is probably the best thing going.

You might be casting mixed signals, being a good date but not being a relationship type. You might experiment with the idea of hanging out with a good friend, non-sexually, and hooking up with a handsome stranger from the internet later that evening. There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s also nothing wrong with going on a date when you’re pretty sure you don’t want a relationship. Dating is fun, and leads to STDs. Why wouldn’t you?

I will, however, balk at the idea that you just ‘happen’ to be attracted to Caucasians, while they all want you for your big black parts. You asked how to get people to stop sexualizing you? You can’t. Just enjoy it. People like what they like. It’s just as racist for you to only sleep with white boys, as it is for them to only want a black lovers – which is to say – not at all racist. People have preferences, and it’s not just racial. Sometimes it’s cultural, or class based, or sometimes you want mint tea and there’s none left and you drink chamomile. Delicious yellow chamomile.

However, if you do go on a date and the dude won’t stop mentioning your race in an unfunny, annoying way? Don’t reward him by having sex with him. Don’t do it. You’re not doing well for yourself or the world by rewarding the type of behavior you disdain. It sounds like you’re an old-fashioned guy who likes to take things slow. It sounds like you have a healthy sex drive. You’re part of two oppressed minority groups. I’d say, take the best of life and leave the rest. Focusing on the negative makes a negative life, and you’ve probably had a long haul to get where you are. Let yourself enjoy.

I guess I mean this: Bring flowers, go to dinner, hold hands – and go out there and get some pretty white tail. You earned it.

Broken Bird, Part Three

December 21, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him: It’s good to see you.

Me: You too. I haven’t seen much of you since Thin Skin Jonny went on hiatus.

Him: I’ve been around. I’m in school, too.

Me: How’s Bobby?

Him: Back with James Blackheart. He moved out.

Me: Again? That’s a shame. How was living with him?

Him: I loved living with Bobby Finn. I used to say we ran a bed and breakfast. Bobby provided the bed and I provided breakfast. I got to meet so many new people.

Me: I know the feeling. It was a circus here, for the two months he stayed…

Him: Yes, well… That’s Bobby for you.

(pause)

Me: Why did he turn his back on me, do you think?

Him: (sighs) I don’t know. I couldn’t or wouldn’t say, even if I did know.

Me: Well, I find it extremely unfair. He freeloaded off me for months and now won’t answer my txts, phone calls, or emails. He’s blocked me on Facebook.

Him: Did you say anything nasty to him?

Me: NO! He’s been out of town for about 4 months doing that theater gig in Kansas. I asked him to have lunch with me and go shopping. I wanted to say goodbye before I left for the West Coast.

Him: Maybe he doesn’t want to see you?

Me: That’s clear, but don’t you think it’s a little rude? I give the guy a place to stay, because he’s being “abused,” and then he gets to turn his back on me?

Him: Bobby just doesn’t understand your decisions lately.

Me: So what? Neither does my Mother, or most of my so-called friends, colleagues, acquaintances or whatnot. Doesn’t matter. When someone announces a wedding you pretend you’re excited, at least. You don’t head for the hills, because you are gay and reserve the right to hate all women, categorically, except your mother.

Him: Quite a few gay men operate like that.

Me: I know that, but don’t I get to expect more of Bobby? I took him in. I put him on the most well-respected comedy stage in NYC. I held him when he cried, and bought him lunch sometimes, if it was clear he was hungry. Why does he have any sort of moral high ground, here?

Him: You’d have to ask him.

Me: That’s the problem. Rather than take me for a walk in the park and ask how I’m doing, inquire about my assault and the PTSD that triggered – rather than congratulate me on my marriage, or say goodbye to an old friend who’s moving 3000 miles away – rather than any of that, he just ignores me. No explanation.

Him: Perhaps he feels that sort of goodbye is preferable to an argument?

Me: There’s nothing to argue about. I don’t have to ask his permission to get married, man or woman. I don’t have to ask anyone’s permission to have a nervous break-down. When women do it, it’s called a ‘rough’ period. When I do it, I need an analyst. I like my analyst, by the way.

Him: That’s good.

Me: Here’s what isn’t good.

(pause)

Me: I ran into Clive, a few months after Bobby left and moved in with you.

Him: I always thought he was cute.

Me: Me too. Not my usual type, but super cute. Anyway, Clive told me that Bobby wasn’t abused at all – at least not physically like he claimed. Clive told me Bobby smashed the wine glass on his own face. He knew the cops were coming and he wanted to look like a victim. He wanted to force James to let him stay in the fancy apartment.

Him: What’s the difference? Does that make him an awful person?

Me: Are you kidding me? He lied to me about being abused, paid nothing to live here, and started undermining me in the band as soon as he moved in with you. He took my kindness and showed me contempt.

Him: You’re just describing human nature.

Me: All of those things I could forgive. He’s younger than me (but getting older – red heads should stay out of the sun) and I could have forgiven those annoying things, but this… How dare he turn his back on me. How dare he join the ranks of former friends who won’t return my calls, simply because I married a woman.

Him: Quite a few people don’t understand that, Michael. You were so vocal about gay rights for so long…

Me: So what? One doesn’t have to be gay to believe in human rights. One also doesn’t have to be straight to marry a woman. It’s reason to ruin a friendship? He should have hung around and made up with me. Stupid, trusting Michael would have probably made him dinner and opened some wine.

Him: Maybe it’s just not the right timing for you two right now.

Me: Exactly. It’s not the right timing because I finally have nothing left to give that selfish little…

Him: Say it. You’ll feel better if you say it.

Me: Human being. Bobby Finn is a real prime example of a human being.

(Marco Bright laughs. I start crying. Marco puts on a pot of hot water.)

(pause)

(Soon enough we are laughing and writing songs again.)

Tuesdate: Flashback to 2011 – Broken Bird, Part One

December 10, 2013December 12, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him: Thanks for answering the phone.

Me: My god, of course, Bobby. Of course. What the hell happened? Do you want some tea, or… I have some braised pork in the fridge? I’m going to make some food.

Him: I know it’s way before five, but do you have anything stronger than tea?

(pause)

Me: Yes. Yes I do. I guess bourbon is okay?

Him: That’s fine. Have one with me?

Me: No. I have to teach later, but you can have my shot. I’ll pour a double.

(long pause, sets cutlery, boils water, makes food and drink)

Him: I guess you’re wondering what happened?

Me: James Blackheart happened?

Him: Yep.

Me: Who hit you? You look like you got into a fight with an elephant.

(pause)

Me: Do you need a hug?

(they embrace for a long tme, Bobby shakes, trembling)

Me: Okay, let’s sit back down. I don’t like this side of you. You’re too good looking to walk around with cuts and bruises on your face.

Him: He stopped taking his meds.

Me: And then what?

Him: He came home late at night and started throwing my things into the hallway. He was with another boy, and started screaming about how I didn’t live there anymore.

Me: Wait, what? He came home with another guy? Did you two break up?

Him: We were talking about it, but he’s constantly talking about that sort of thing. He’s not stable when he doesn’t take his meds.

Me: Or even when he does…

Him: He works very hard and makes a lot of money.

Me: So did Kim Jong Il.

Him: He’s a good provider, Michael. You don’t see that side of him, or when he’s sweet for days or weeks on end. He’s a good man.

Me: Good men don’t beat their boyfriends.

Him: It was complicated. We were shouting at each other, he was destroying things – throwing my things out of the apartment. He screamed about how he’d always paid the rent and he was evicting me. He asked the boy to stay and he did for a while, but then it got so ugly – the boy left. The neighbors came over, threatening to call the police. We argued with them. They called the cops.

Me: How did you get those cuts and bruises?

Him: James hit me. That had happened before.

Me: Wait, how often does he hit you?

(long pause)

Him: It had happened before. Not often, but often enough to make me afraid of setting him off. He’s got chemical imbalances.

Me: Bullshit. He’s a dick. He’s an evil man. That’s not a chemical imbalance – that’s a character flaw.

Him: People go through phases, Michael. People aren’t always kind.

Me: But kindness is always an option. There are folk who won’t treat you like that. There are nice, rich guys that would pamper you and spoil you, and not keep you on high terror lockdown.

(pause)

Him: But I love James.

Me: Did your father hit you?

(long pause)

Him: We were terrified of him, growing up. He wasn’t a nice man.

Me: Okay, so you’re now in a cycle of the same pattern with your boyfriend. Your ex-boyfriend.

Him: Can I stay here for a while?

Me: Obviously. You’re moving in today.

Him: Thank you. I knew you’d help me.

Me: We don’t know each other that well, but I can’t have you walking around like an abused housewife. You’re talented. Have you been singing?

Him: Not really.

Me: You’re joining the band, for a while. You need to get back to what brings you joy.

Him: I can sleep in your bed with you, and we can –

Me: I think that phase of our relationship is over. You can take the couch, or if you have a date that goes particularly well, I’ll take the couch. We’ll split the chores, and for the first few weeks I’ll buy all the food. If you need to stay more than a month, we can talk about rent, etc. – is that okay?

Him: That’s more than… Thank you!

Me: How did you get that gash?

Him: He smashed a wine glass on my head, right before the police showed up.

Me: This relationship is over.

Him: We both stayed the night in jail. Different holding cells.

Me: Good lord.

Him: He’d wanted me to get a job, and the funny thing is I’d gotten a retail job, but it wasn’t good enough, or the money wasn’t coming fast enough. I’d only been working there for 10 days. It’s not enough time to develop a clientele, or anything. Plus he was jealous I was ‘flirting with old men in Chelsea’ for a living.

Me: Flirting with old men is your favorite pass time!

Him: Preach. Anyway, I think it’s over. I hope he hasn’t destroyed my things.

Me: We’ll get you new things, or if need be, we can go over there with a bunch of people so he can’t hurt you. Here’s an extra set of keys.

Him: Thanks mister. Do you have an enema? I need to get ready to go out tonight.

Me: Oh Jesus, this is gonna be trouble.

Him: I can behave, too.

Me: No. Just no hard drugs in the apartment, please, and don’t bring over anyone who looks like a junkie or a thief? And no singing after 1am. I have a coke-head neighbor who’s pushy and demanding about his quiet time. Every time I go over there he’s watching porn on multiple screens and cracked out of his skull.

Him: Is he cute?

Me: He’s like… if you smashed Chris Farley together with Golem. Is that your thing?

Him: No, but I like porn.

Me: Look. Here’s the enema. Please don’t leave it out.

Him: Don’t worry, I will!

(pause)

Me: I know, baby.

(pause)

I know you will…

(pause)

You’re safe now.

Letters

December 7, 2013December 7, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Dear Piefolk,

My name is Michelle. I am a brunette 29 year old French-American woman living on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. My boyfriend, let’s call him Jeremy, is one year older than me. He just told me that he’s leaving me for a very wealthy 48 year old South American man.

Jeremy, a redhead with sad brown eyes and perfect skin has never claimed to be gay, acted gay, or even had a lot of close male friends. He broke it to me last Friday over a lovely Italian dinner that we couldn’t afford, saying literally “This charming man has the funds to take care of me. One day, maybe he will take care of us. In the meantime, I’m leaving you to live in Buenos Aires”. I chuckled and sipped my Chianti until I saw the look in his eye and then I welled up with tears. I KNEW something was coming. But FUCK. Why this?

He says he still loves me but now I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that doesn’t go away. I know deep down this is somehow my fault. I have headaches every day. I don’t eat. I don’t understand.

Jeremy grew up in London with a very, very rich father and was surrounded by all the super luxury anyone could imagine. He went to the most expensive prep schools, vacationed in Switzerland, and even had an enormous stock portfolio when we first met… He’s been estranged from his mother since he was 8 or 9. I guess she was diagnosed with a mental illness at some point and left London to go live with relatives in England somewhere. He doesn’t know or doesn’t say where. He says he doesn’t care.

I don’t know why it matters. I don’t know why I’m asking. I found this site online. I want to know about the gay thing. Tell me. Could this be possible? We’ve been together on and off for 5 years and have had amazing sex until a few months ago. He constantly complains about finances and the recent lack of opportunity for tried and true westerners in NY.

He thinks he needs this man and his money but maybe he just wants to try something new or leave town. To leave the crumbling US of A. I love NY and he knows I don’t want to leave. Could this one person really be offering him everything? I know I can’t. I went to a prestigeous college and then modeled for a famous designer but now I work at an organic nutrition clinic. I can pay my bills but that’s about all. I do love Jeremy but I will never get his stock portfolio back.

I guess maybe Juan Carlos will. Or maybe Jeremy will come back. Should I wait for him? My arms are numb and my hands are cold and I know the winter is just barely upon us.

Thanks for reading and don’t worry if you have no answers.

Michelle

Dear Michelle,

Wow. This is a tough letter to answer.

First of all, let me tell you – my name is not PIEFOLK, it’s Michael.

Secondly, I want to make sure you understand this: what’s happened is not your fault – not in any sense of the word. You don’t get to blame yourself for this one, Michelle. There’s no telling what people will do for money, and if your straight boyfriend wants to prostitute himself for money (no matter how much money) you have no agency over his character, ethics, morals or actions. Nobody is expecting you to make sense of this, either.

How can you make sense of this? You can’t. You can only lock the door to your soft, beautiful heart, and don’t answer if he comes knocking again, even with baubles from Paris, or a Tiffany engagement ring. He doesn’t really love you. He loves money. I hate to say it, but it doesn’t matter how well appointed he is, how nicely tailored his Armani suit might be, or if he owns a yacht someday. He’s never going to win you back. He’s abandoned you, and any real love he might have forged with you – all for the thrill of chasing the money dragon.

You will never see him again. Put yourself in the position of the ‘wealthy 48 year-old South American man.’ If this guy is pulling the purse strings, do you think he’s going to have any sort of interest in splitting the affections of a beautiful man with (gasp!) a woman? No.

Your long term boyfriend has left the bohemian freedom of NYC (and your arms) to live as a pretty red bird in a gilded cage. On the other hand, if you can put this behind you, you have the freedom to fly. I hope you fly, and sing, and migrate, and someday I hope you find someone with flaws, who’s sort of pretty, who can be the caretaker of your tender, mysterious heart. Until then, you are your own husband.

It’s not that difficult to be your own husband. Take yourself on dates. Buy yourself flowers. Kiss strangers when it feels safe.

Once, I loved a perfect Taiwanese man. He had inky black hair and perfect skin. His posture was flawless and he was well suited to work in the art world. He was gorgeous and he had such poise. However, he was only beautiful on the outside. He had no idea the meaning of kindness, of compromise, of mutual understanding. It was always his way or the highway. He didn’t care about my stress level, about my complicated labyrinthine heart, about my unique philosophy about openness and family.

Love is staying together. Love is growing together, and apart, and reconvening after a long day to share the triumphs and tragedies of daily life. Love is staying. Love is a choice. He’s choosing not to love you. In some sense, he never loved you in the first place. He tricked you. He lied.

Someday you might run into him at a party, or an event, or some such drudgery one must attend to stay visible in the world of fashion. If it were me, I’d take a short walk with him and forgive him. It’s a selfish act, forgiveness. We do it so we can be free of the pain caused by others. Then, I would walk away and never look back.

Some say ‘forgive and forget.’ I have an impeccable memory. I say, just forgive.

Remember yourself.

Love,

Michael

p.s. The US of A is not crumbling. We are experiencing the aftershock of globalization. It was the Clintons that wanted to globalize America in order to even out the wealth in the world. We still have resources and creative verve. You can head back to Europe if you like, but as for me, I’m staying right here.

Letters

October 26, 2013October 26, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Dear Michael,

Okay, so you married a woman. I want to hiss at you, you rotten so-and-so… You community betrayer. You no good fucking breeder…

Just kidding. I imagine the reactions were something similar to that though – with sprinklings of misogyny (“vaginas are yucky,” that sort of thing). Men! Am I right?

Funny story – a co-worker was into astrology and all that jazz. When she did a reading of the stars I was born under she said the spiritual side was so strong I would pretty much become gay Jesus. As an unabashed hedonist, I was rather disappointed.

Luckily she noted that the same house that determined religiosity also determined addictions – or something to that effect – so it could be that I’m just going to become the world’s greatest alcoholic. Let us pray… May my liver put the fattiest of fois-gras to shame. Martyrdom is for fucking chumps – no disagreement here.

People always regurgitate the same shit like “it gets better” – as if they are magical incantations that put broken things right again. When I was 16 and broke under the stress of being different in a small, religious, backwater agricultural town, I wound up deeply suicidal and stuck in a psychiatric ward for a few months.

No friends or relatives came to visit. Nobody asked me how I was doing. A month in I remember my dad yelling at the head psychiatrist “fucking fix him – how long until he’s fixed?” Once I was released back into the wild, good friends were wary and distant. Adults looked at me with reserved suspicion. Word had clearly gotten out about my failed attempt to hang myself from the gym rafters.

I’m young and stupid, but I also feel old and pessimistic. The old man inside knows that people don’t want to emphasize with unpleasantness, and they don’t give a flying fuck about the problem. They just want it fixed, and removed from sight.

So I would love to give you a pep talk about how everything is going to fix itself, but I’m not sure how to do that without feeling like a no-good shyster. For a while I was focused on becoming an activist. I couldn’t change what happened to me, but I could help stop it from being inflicted on others. Ha!

Even as I type this I’m laughing at myself.

I moved to the city, baby-faced and free of my bonds, and got to work – majoring in social work and volunteering with various LGBT advocacy groups. They gay community was wonderful. After drinking too much at a party, three gay men raped me and I remember drunkenly slurring out pleas for help but nobody answered them. People in our incredibly accepting and noble little “community” called me a liar and a slut, and shut me out much the same as the straight one back home.

Make of it what you will.

I don’t think the community turned its back on you, so much as the “gay community” never existed in the first place. It’s just a variety mix of superficial bonds and assholes, and uncaring people inconvenienced by the suffering of others. I think you should stop giving a damn about things that make you unhappy, get a bunch of baby parrots like we agreed, and sail into the sunset with your fiancé.

Congratulations on your marriage,