Letters

(baking photos by Jack Slomovits)

Dear Michael,

 

After discovering your blog in Vice magazine, I just wanted to add my big, enthusiastic appreciation to the piles of accolades.  It’s become one of my favourite internet places for things that make me chuckle, pull the heartstrings, and are neat to look at.  I love how you’re funny and sincere while simultaneously being sarcastic, erudite and politically and socially conscious; for a person to be really funny really means that they’re an optimist to the core in life.  In particular, I wanted to thank you for your candour in talking about obfuscated racial hierarchies and diversity in the gay world. I didn’t think that Asian animus and stereotypes within the community would bother me as much as they do sometimes, and it really means a lot that someone like you calls it out in a frank, yet un-confrontational way.  It really gets me thinking about what solidarity and communion mean in the “po-mo” era, and what Larry Kramer said when he accepted the Tony this year: “Let them know we are a special people, an exceptional people, and that our day will come.”

 

Anyway, I’m coming down from the woods, lakes and ganja haze of Canada to New York (city of my boyhood dreams) on the weekend, and as always before I come I’ve made a wish list, with the following at the top:

 

(1)    See the McQueen Savage Beauty exhibit at the Met

(2)    Win rush-lottery tickets to see The Book of Mormon

(3)    Randomly make eye contact with you while meandering around Brooklyn (staying with a friend), strike up a conversation, laugh so hard we feel like we’re gonna barf, and learn how to make a pastry that contains chocolate.

 

But that’s one of the great things about New York; you inevitably can’t get to everything on your wish list; that’s why you keep coming back!

Keep up all the delicious work, we’re ravenous for more in Canada!

 

Love,

Garwa

 

PS – Have you heard of the Canadian band The Hidden Cameras?  If not, I think you’d dig them, they fuse lots of string instruments, religious iconography and homosexual sensibility to pleasing, pleasing effect.

 

 
Garwa,

Thanks for writing in.  Um,  you’re wearing a Japanese Joy Division shirt = instant boner.  Or maybe it’s your general adorableness giving me the instaboner.  In any case, I’ll have to take a break for a moment and listen to my (newly made) Hidden Cameras Pandora Station.

(pause)

Okay, I’m back. Thanks for all the praise.  I don’t deserve most of it, but I’ll take it.  You’re really eloquent and sharp.  I hope to meet you when you visit.

It pains me to hear that you’re a victim of Asian stereotyping, especially if that hurt is being inflicted by your fellow Gays.  But I’m glad you feel as if you have a right to that pain/anger/sadness and can communicate it.

We’re working on it.  Some of us are working on it.  Thanks for joining us.

Thanks for the Larry Kramer quote – that’s exactly how I feel.  I wish the Gays knew how exceptional they were.  I wish they could see past their own low level of bitterness to see what great potential is inside all of them.

Coming on the weekend?  My band is playing a show at The Upright Citizen’s Brigade Theater on Saturday at midnight.  I dare you to come, and grab a drink with us afterward.

Do it, Joy Division.  Didn’t I just dare you??

There won’t be time to show you how to make Mexican Hot Chocolate Pie, but as you say, that’s what returning is for.

You said some kind things which made me feel very good, and seriously – don’t hesitate to contact me.

Thanks, Brother.

Michael

Hi Michael

My name is Drew Blackman and I am a gay man living in Boston.  I stumbled upon you blog a few months ago and have been reading it every day.

I want to start off by saying that i think your blog is very well done.  From inane sillyness, to delicious looking pies, to disastrous dates, it all works together very well.  Being an aspiring home baker/cook, I’ve found mixing your social commentary and poignant humor amongst photos and stories of the simple act of baking with good friends refreshing and relatable. 

I have to admit that i was particularity inspired to write to you after reading your most recent MonDate post.  Though i started reading your blog because of the pies(and, lets face it, the cute boys you bake with), it didn’t take long to realize you have a very strong and though out sense of queer liberation.  Most of my adult life, i have focused on identifying and confronting both white privilege and male privilege in both me and the people around me. I feel like I have reached a point where i am comfortable recognizing and challenging myself and others around taking up “space” and the blissful ignorance that privalege brings(ala Peggy McIntoch’s “White Privilege:Unpacking the Invisable Knapsack”).


Having said that, I generally feel at a loss when I step out of the “person with privilege” role and am confronted with heterosexism and homophobia.  Now i realize that statement sounds a little backwards, but as you point out much of the oppression that queer people and particularly gay men face on a daily basis, comes from other gay men.  I appricieate the way you have highlighted the fact that by gays being catty, sarcastic, or dismissive which each other, they are perpetuating the idea that queer folks don’t deserve to be treated with respect.   How can we expect or receive respect if we can’t even get it from each other. 

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I appreciate what you have done with your blog.  I feel that i have gleamed a better framework for confronting heterosixism both from within the gay community and from the outside.  Thanks again, and keep up the good work.

Drew

Drew,

Thanks for writing in.  I’m genuinely touched.

Wow.  Again – much more praise than I probably deserve.  I’m grateful.  For you to say that I’ve given you a framework to deal with heterosexism is huge for me.  You’re so well spoken and ordered in your thoughts.  I’m a fan of you too.  So take that, mister.

I do think it’s important for Gays to realize they have a right to their anger/sadness/bitterness about heterosexism.  Most of the time when I ask another Gay about their oppression they express exhaustion.  They tend to have very little use for the conversation, because they’re fatigued by the battle.

I think it’s time for us to start displaying our anger, when heterosexism occurs. It may be time to frighten them, with our repressed rage.

I suspect that the catty bitterness we’ve both witnessed between Gays is nothing more than them projecting anger at one another that should be directed at an opressive, bigoted outside world.

If not that, then certainly we must calmly point out when we’re being targeted by blatant or subtle forms of homophobia.  It’s my impression that social change comes one person at a time.  Each of us must be that one person who is willing to change the world by firmly asserting our own right to dignity and respect.

 

It’s easy to ignore homophobia, but that takes a cumulative emotional toll after a while.  Speaking up for yourself is scary, but extremely powerful.  I’m glad you’ve decided to start.

My advice is to start by focusing on eliminating any and all shame you experience for being Gay.  It’s the most powerful tool they have against us.  It is inundated into us by our teachers, families, churches, friends, and even ourselves.  Don’t let straight people make you feel shame.  Ever.

I wish you all the best, Brother.

Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you visit New York.

Yours,

Michael

MonDate

(featured photo by Allison Michael Orenstein)

(additional photos of Michael Martin and Marcos Sanchez by Jack Slomovits)

Him:  Hey.  You’re T.’s friend, right?

Me:  That’s right.

Him:  Pie guy.

Me:  Ha.  Yeah.  Pie guy.  That’s me.

Him:  That’s cool. 

Me:  I guess so.  It’s gotten out of hand.

Him:  Has it?

Me:  I think so.  In a good way.  People have been really nice, and really supportive.

Him:  How so? 

Me:  I’ve had people – strangers – send me art and make me things.  I have had a few people make watercolors or digital images.  Two people designed aprons for me – well three, actually.  My mother commissioned the very first one that says Pie Man on it.

Him:  Your mother??

Me:  Yeah.  She reads the site.  Is that weird?

(pause)

What do you do?

Him:  I’m an Architect.  It really weighs me down.  Bureaucracy.

Me:  I think architecture is inspiring.

Him:  Whatever…

(pause)

So what’s your deal?  Is there some sort of message you’re pushing?

Me:  Hm.  I mean, yes.  No.  Probably?  I think people should live openly? I just post about what happens to me on awkward dates, or weird exchanges in New York, and I juxtapose those cringy moments with pics of me baking with cute boys and artists i like.

Him:  Why do that?

Me:  I guess that I want to mix domesticity with a very obviously Gay lifestyle.  I’m trying to get Gays and Straights to see Gay sexuality (and poly-sexuality) as an option that is compatible with domesticity.  Plus who doesn’t love to see cute boys baking and read about them suffering through  dating mishaps?

(pause)

Him: People love to watch attractive people suffer.  It’s crowded tonight.

Me:  Metropolitan on a weekend.  But look at all these talented boys.  It’s all right here in this room…

Him:  What is? 

Me:  Everything you might need to launch a career, start a movement,  or change the world.  All these boys need to do is realize they’re brothers, and start loving each other instead of ripping each other apart.  They have the talent and connections…

Him:  That’s the stuff I was talking about.  I don’t get that stuff, when I hear it.

Me:  Oh.  I tend to speak philosophically sometimes.  It’s annoying.  I think we (the Gays) could really do to start loving ourselves and each other much more than we allow ourselves to right now.  We have this tendency rip into each other, and act bitchy or jealous of one another.  We shouldn’t do that. Our purpose should be to build each other up, not tear one another down.

Him:  That’s human nature. 

Me:  Don’t do that.

Him:  Do what?

Me:  Don’t be dismissive and excuse the behavior.

Him:  Can you say that it’s not human nature?

Me:  No, but what I can say is this:  I’m not that interested in focusing on how the world and people are so negative that we can’t achieve gains in our community.  I’m not interested in reasons why we can’t achieve brotherhood.

Him:  Brotherhood?  Seriously?

Me:  Other oppressed minorities have achieved moments of brotherhood and solidarity and I know that if we don’t use simple excuses like ‘that’s human nature’ to indulge in an empty pleasure like ripping each other down, that we might be able to start loving and supporting each other.

Him:  Ugh.  That sounds like a lot of work.

Me:  People just need to re-wire themselves, I think.  Instead of immediately being ‘over it’ or sarcastic, they could try supporting their brothers.  For instance – you expect people here to be default setting stand-offish right?

Him:  Sure.

Me:  But, if you make eye contact with someone and touch them, for instance, when you’re speaking to them, they feel you trying to connect with them, and they’re bound to show you their best side.

Him:  Really?  Is it a special moment for them?  Do they unlock a spiritual connection with each other?

Me:  Stop.  We can have this conversation with each other but it’s going to make me upset if I feel like you’re being glib, flippant or dismissive.

Him:  I just don’t believe you.

(long, icy pause)

Me: What?

Him:  I don’t believe you really feel this way.  It sounds good for a second but then i don’t believe it.

Me:  That’s a mixture of self doubt and fear talking.

Him:  Haha!  What??

Me:  It’s intimidating hearing a strong, confident point of view. I’m guessing this subject is something you don’t think about often.  Most Gay people are tired of their own oppression and tune it out.  You don’t exactly know how you feel about this subject and now you’re being called upon to comment on it, and your knee jerk reaction is to be negative and try to find ways to chip away at my philosophy, rather than formulate your own.  ‘It’s human nature.’

Him:  Here’s my philosophy:  any extreme statement is wrong.  Extreme statements are always, always wrong.  Period.  That’s why I don’t trust your philosophy.

Me:  Is that all you’ve got?  ‘You’re wrong?’  Here’s an extreme statement from the Declaration of Independence:  “We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal.”  Here’s an extreme statement from Gandhi: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”  Are those statements wrong??

Him:  I just don’t trust your philosophy, or that you believe it.

Me:  Is this what you do when you meet friends of friends?  You call them phony and liars?

Him:  I didn’t do that?

Me: Didn’t you?  You just told me that you don’t trust my philosophy or that I myself believe it.  I don’t know how much more blatantly you can call someone out for being a liar.  Maybe you feel threatened or lazy?  Your philosophy takes the power away from negative extreme statements, sure, but it also takes the power away from anything positive too.  What you’re left with is powerlessness.  You’re left with sarcasm.  You’re left with nihilism.

I don’t find that at all inspiring.

Thanks for chatting.

Jerk.

Saturdate:

(photo by Jack Slomovitz)

Him:  I’m sorry I’m late.

Me:  Stop it, you look gorgeous.

Him:  Ha.  Thanks.  So what’s your deal?

Me:  What?

Him:  Yeah, so you make these pies or what?

Me:  Oh.   My site.  Yeah, I make a lot of pies.  I got good at them and it’s taken me a lot of places.

Him: So, what?  If I start dating you you’ll just be obsessed with pie the whole time?  You’ll just bake pie and feed it to me?  I get to eat all the pie?  Where is it?  Did you bring pie here?

Me:  We’re taking a walk in the park in the middle of the day.

Him:  I’m joking, stupid.  I thought you said you do comedy?

Me:  Um. I do.

Him:  So?

(pause)

Me:  You’re a buyer for Macy’s?

Him:  Yeah, I decide what does and does not go into Macy’s.  I have so much power.  Just kidding.

Me:  I bet you have a certain amount of power.

Him:  Not really.

Me: Oh.  Okay.  Admittedly I don’t understand it.  So…

(pause)

Him:  So what is it?  I’m confused.  You’re giving me all these different stories here.

Me:  What’s what?  Huh?

Him:  You bake pies?

Me:  Is this a real conversation?

Him:  No, yes.  But you said you write music and do comedy.  But which is it?  Who am I talking to right now?

Me: Me?  My name is Michael?

Him:  But what do you…  which Michael am I speaking with?  The comic or the baker or the guitar player?

Me:  I don’t…  All of them?  None?  How am I supposed to address that?

Him:  I want to hear your music.  Is that your guitar?

Me:  No, this is a baritone ukulele.  I just came from practice.

Him:  Ukuleles are smaller than that.  That’s almost a guitar. 

Me:  Okay then, it’s a small guitar.  But the guy who sold it to me said it was a ukulele.

Him:  I want to hear a song.  Do you have a recording?

Me:  Yeah, there’s recordings of us singing, but I could just sing something for you now.  Nobody’s around.

Him:  Oh God no.  No.  I’d like to hear a recording.  Alone.

Me:  Alone?

Him:  Well, if it’s terrible, what am I supposed to say?

(pause)

Me:  Lie.

Him:  Lie?

Me:  Yeah.  If I play you a song, and it’s awful, you lie and say it’s great.

Him:  Why would I do that?

Me:  Because, we live in something called a society.  It doesn’t work unless we lie to people about certain things.

Him:  I’d rather hear a recording.

(pause)

Me:  I’d rather you did too.

Him: Ew!  You just said you don’t want to play for me anymore.

Me:  That’s correct.  That’s what I just said.

Him:  Ew.  You’re supposed to convince me that you’re good.

Me:  I am?

Him:  Yeah.  You’re supposed to convince me that you’re worth listening to.

(long pause)

Me:  I don’t think I am going to do that.

Him:  What??

Me:  Look at it from my perspective:  I meet a guy online.  He thinks I’m cute.  He invites me to meet him for a walk in the park.  I say yes.   When I get on the date he seems annoyed at my choice of professions.  He even fringes on ridicule.  Then he cringes at the thought of listening to a song that he, himself, asked about.  Then he challenges me to convince him that I’m not terrible before I sing to him, because he’s so incredibly sensitive!  He couldn’t possibly be called upon to dredge up a compliment for my shitty, shitty song….

Him: Ew.  You make me sound bad.

Me:  It gets worse.  You then try to make me sell myself to you, and convince you I’m not terrible, before you will deign to hear me play.

Him:  That’s your job as a performer.

Me:  My job as a performer is to perform.  I have put the work in.  I have written and re-written and performed.  And performed.  And you know what?  After more than a decade here in New York, it’s finally my job.

Him:  I guess you’re sensitive about that?

Me:  I guess I am.  Are you sensitive about your job?

Him:  Not at all.

Me:  Really?  It was a shitty line you sported this spring.

Him:  NO IT WAS NOT.

Me:  No.  It wasn’t.  But you just proved my point.

Him:  Hey, buddy…  my taste is superb.  You don’t just get this job i have randomly…

Me: Right.  And you don’t just get the one I have either.  So next time…

Have some fucking respect.

Jerk.

MonDATE

rendered by Alexis Millena

Him:  Why did you txt me?

Me:  We’ve been hanging out lately.  I saw on Facebook that you went out for Pride instead of studying.

Him:  Did you notice how I didn’t call you, even though I went out?

Me:  Yes.  That’s why I txted you.

Him:  Did you ever wonder that there might be a reason I didn’t tell you I was going out?

Me:  Sure.  You wanted to get blackout drunk and have sex with strangers.

Him:  That’s right.  And I didn’t want to see YOU.

Me:  Stop that.  We’ve been getting along very nicely.

Him:  I don’t care.  I want to punch you.  I don’t have to see you all the time if I don’t want to.  I don’t have to let you back into my life just because you decide it’s time for us to reconcile.

Me:  Are you on drugs? You’re the one who came here.

Him:  No.

Me:  How wasted are you?

(pause)

Him:  So here I am, okay?  HERE I AM.  You summoned me.  You txted me and I came right over, just like I ALWAYS do.

Me:  Don’t.  Don’t be like that.  We’ve been getting along.  Remember?  We had a good time at the movies.  You came to my party.  You’ve spent the night.

Him:  I hope you don’t think we’re having sex.  We’re not having sex.

Me:  I don’t care.  I just wanted to see you.  There’s a closeness between us.  A specialness.

Him:  I want to hit you.

Me:  Well I’m putting this knife away then.

(pause)

Him:  What’s different now?  What’s different?

Me:  I’m different.

Him:  Well I’m NOT.  I am the same.

Me:  No, you’re not.  People grow and change.  You’re different now.

Him:  That’s so arrogant of you.  You’re so completely arrogant.

Me:  It’s true.  What I said is true.  Also, I’m arrogant.  You’re right.

Him:  This has – we’ve already done this!  Twice.  I hang around you for a few months and then I put my heart on the line and you rip it out.

Me:  That’s not fair.  You approached me as I was going through a couple of failing relationships.  I was broken at the time.  I couldn’t give anyone anything.

Him:  And that’s different now?

Me:  Maybe.  Maybe not.  I’ve been single now for almost a year.

Him:  What’s wrong with you?

Me:  I don’t know.  I’m broken right now.

Him:  Good.  SO AM I.

Me:  GOOD.  THEN WE ARE THE SAME.

(I hold him.  He struggles.)

Him:  Don’t.  Don’t you do this.  Why can’t you just leave it?  Why did you have to start bothering me again?

Me:  You don’t have another friend like me!  I am the only friend you have like this.  I’m the only one who is going to show up at your house in six months with a can of paint, a mop bucket and a broom.  I will FORCE you into adulthood.  I need you.  You have an incredible mind.  Incredible.  And you waste it away.  And that’s going to change.

Him:  People don’t have very much luck forcing me to do things.

Me:  I know the feeling.

(pause)

Him:  Go on a date with me.

Me:  Be my friend.

Him:  Go on a date with me.

Me:  No.

Him:  WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

Me:  Intimacy.  Closeness.  Specialness.  If you want to have sex, fine.  If not, that’s okay too.  I feel good when you’re around.  You brighten things up, and you’re very stimulating, intellectually.  Why can’t we enjoy what’s right in front of us, instead of focusing on the one thing we can’t have?

Him:  Do you want to go on a date with me?

Me:  Yes.

Him:  Will you go on a date with me?

Me:  No.

Him:  Why?

Me:  So many reasons.  Because one date will lead to seven dates which will lead to me ripping your heart out.  Because if I let myself fall in love with you I would force you to stop doing drugs and drinking all the damn time.  I’d make you get on a mortgage with me.  I’d make you adopt a kid.  All of those things terrify the shit out of you.  You’re not ready for that, and you know it.

(pause)

Him:  Can we just go to bed and hold each other?

Me:  Yes.  I would like that very much.

Him:  Michael.  I’m not like this.  I don’t let people affect me this way.  I’m the one who goes out and parties and does drugs and fucks three people in one night, and I’m not even ashamed of that.

Me:  I know.  And you’re also brilliant.  And I’m not willing to let that brilliance go.  You don’t believe this but you affect me too.

Him:  How do you know that it won’t self destruct and implode again?

Me:  I’m wiser now.  I don’t have to be right about everything.  I won’t let it happen again.

Him:  I will.  I’ll ruin it.  I’ll fly off the handle and ruin everything.

Me:  So be it.  I’ll let another year go by and approach you again.

Him:  I hate you, a little.  I’m angry at you.

Me:  No.  You’re angry at yourself. (pause)  And me, clearly.  But the drinking and drugs?  That’s you being angry at YOU.

Him:  Do you know what I did tonight?

Me:  Jerked off twice, got restless, went out, got wasted, fucked a twink?

Him:  That is accurate.  Yes.

Me: Why don’t you hold me for a second, till we get tired?

Him:  Fine.

Jerk.

FriDATE: Sup?

photo by Adam Gardiner

Him:  Sup?

Me:  Ha.  I ate earlier.  I don’t usually eat this late.

Him:  What?

Me:  Nothing.

Him:  You ate earlier?

Me:  Yeah.  You said ‘Sup.’

Him:  Yeah.  Like ‘Sup, bro?’

Me:  Right.  Like in a locker room.  Ha.  Sup bro?

Him:  Not much Bro, just chillin’.

Me:  Okay.  Me too.  Chillin’ up in Mc Carren park with a man I met on Grindr at midnight on a Thursday.

Him:  Heh.  Yeah, you like to Grindr it up?

Me:  I do.  I like social media.

Him:  Feel like grinding down on something?

(pause)

Me:  My name is Michael.

(pause)

Me:  And your name is…

Him:  Paul.

Me:  Hello Paul.  How was your night?

Him:  Pretty chill bro.  This weather’s got me antsy though.

Me:  Heh.  Yeah.  Hot and muggy doesn’t do it for me either.

Him:  Been horned up all day.

Me:  Okay.  I get that. I hear that.

(pause)

You’re a good looking guy…

Him:  Yeah?

Me:  Yeah.  What do you do for a living?

Him:  Subway.

Me:  You work for the MTA?

Him:  Subway sandwich shop.

Me:  Your Grindr profile says you’re 32.

Him:  That’s right.

Me:  Are you a manager…  Or?

Him:  Nope.

Me:  Any hobbies?

Him:  X box.  Is weed a hobby?

Me:  I think it qualifies, why not?

Him:  You bottom?

Me:  What?  Seriously?

Him:  Is that wrong to ask?

Me:  No.  I’m fine with the question.  It’s just.  This conversation.  It’s jumping around.  Do you like working at Subway?  I love the chipoltle mayo.

Him:  (Pause.  He rests his hands on his thighs.  He glances from my eyes to his crotch and back to my eyes.) 

Me:  (snort laughter)

Him: What??

Me:  Nothing.  You’re really pouring it on.

Him:  Come on bro, I asked you too meet me in the park, late at night.  You think I want to talk about sandwiches?

Me:  No.  I’m awkward.  It’s my fault.  Sorry.

Him:  You bottom?

Me:  Yeah.  Sure.  I’m versatile.  I top and bottom.  Do you?

Him:  Top only.

Me:  Ugh.  I hate that.

Him:  Why?  You like to bottom.

Me:  I know, but the way you said it.  ‘Top only.’

Him:  I only top. 

Me:  I know, but that’s annoying.  Do you suck dick, at least?

Him:  I don’t like it.

Me:  Ugh.  Yeah.  That bothers me.

Him:  Even for a midnight hook up in the park?

Me:  I dunno.  This could have been a date.   I’m not Victorian.  I can have a hook up.  NOT in the park, but presumably we both live near here.

Him:  I live with my cousin.

Me:  Sure you do.  Well I live alone, near here.

Him:  Let’s go. 

Me:  I dunno.  You’re really hot and all, but I don’t like this whole ‘top only’ idea.

Him:  Why?  What does it matter?

Me:  I don’t know.  Gets under my skin, how you said it.  There was an underlying sense of pride, superiority even.

Him: (shrug)

Me:  Plus, it’s pretty obvious you don’t want to make polite conversation for like 15 minutes before we make out and see if there’s chemistry or whatever.

Him:  I’m on Grindr because I like to fuck.  Don’t be a pussy.

Me:  Yeah.  We’re not on the same wavelength, I don’t think.  I get it.  I used to be like that too.  Just wanted to hook up or whatever, but as I get older it’s more about connection of some sort.  Even if I was on vacation in Europe or something.  I’d still want some sort of connection.  Thanks for meeting up with me.

Oh my god.  Put your dick away, Paul.

(pause)

Put.  It. Away. Moron.

I’m serious.

Him:  Do you like it?  It’s big.

Me:  It’s pretty sizable, I’ll give you that.

Him:  Do you want to touch it?

Me:  Yes, but I’m leaving.

Him:  Why?  Why not stay?

Me:  Because.  Somebody has got to stop rewarding your terrible behavior/attitude.  Besides, WE ARE OUTDOORS.  Put that thing away.

(He puts it away)

Jesus.  What an idiot. You could have gotten a ticket.  There are people over there.

Him:  Part of you thought it was hot.

Me:  It was shocking and a little hot, and terrifying.  But I’m not going to give you head and let you bone me and not get anything out of it.

Him:  What do you want?

Me:  Reciprocation.

Him:  Nah.  I don’t do that.  Not into it.

Me:  A sandwich?

Him:  I don’t have keys to the store.

Me:  Then I gotta bounce.  Thanks for the date.

Jerk.

Drawing by Dan Paul Roberts

Vice Salon Party

Photos by Adam Gardiner

VICE approached me about doing a PIEFOLK piece online.

I said, sure.

A reporter named Kristin Yoonsoo Kim came over.  She hung out with me and a few friends while we baked and talked about religion, atheism, oppression and internet stalkers.

We made meat pies.  Pulled pork braised with Kim chi, nectarines, and broccoli.

There was a salon party after.  People showed up and ate pie, drank whiskey, and sang songs.  There were comedy pieces. Poems were read.  It was a lively evening.

Adam Gardiner was nice enough to take these photos.  They are stunning.

Ben Lerman sang ukulele songs.

Marcos Sanchez played a few Thin Skin Jonny songs with me.

Will Choy read a comedy piece.

Robbie Fowler sang a Lady Gaga song, mashed up with Guns and Roses.

Kevin Michael Murphy sang from a musical comedy he wrote.

Jon Flor Sisante broke everyone’s hearts with this song:

Everyone had a blast, and there was singing and spontaneous ruckus raising afterward.

There was a good vibe in the air.  People seemed generous and warm all night.

I was happy I’d invited the people I did.

Paolo Raymundo designed me a couture apron.  I was so sheepish about it.  It was flattering.

I’m grateful to Adam for these gorgeous photos.  Thanks for making it an amazing party.

You guys were great.

Adam Gardiner


Vice Magazine came over to cover one of my salon parties.  Adam Gardiner was nice enough to take some publicity photos for me.  I’ll write a longer post about it later tonight (I have a rehearsal and a show today) but I wanted to thank him for his work.  You’re a kind, handsome fellow, Adam.  Thanks.

More later, Jerks.

Letters

Dear Michael,
I am a 62-year-old gay man who really enjoys your blog.   It must be extremely hard work keeping up with your busy life as a musician/comedian/baker/advice columnist/etc.  Being the age I am, I enjoy your comments and responses to letters as it reminds me of some of my own feelings and experiences in my youth.
However, also, being the age I am, I also find myself sometimes more interested in what you are baking, than who you are baking with.  Have you ever considered publishing the recipes in the blog for the things you are shown baking?
Recently, I think I saw a banana cream pie go flying by in one of your pictures.   My aunt used to bake them and I haven’t had a taste of a good homemade one since she passed away.  How about it?   Come on, share your recipes.
Sincerely,
Rick W.
Rick,
I share my recipes from time to time, here on the blog.  I made a video showing how to make a Crisco/butter crust.  It’s on YouTube.  You can look for it.
As for banana cream, just use a vanilla custard recipe and then chop come bananas into it.   Chill it for at least 4 hours, preferably overnight.  Plop it inside a baked pie shell.  Cover with whipped cream.  You’re done.
It’s super easy.
Thanks for writing in.
Hey,
Very unique site! It makes you even more interesting. The plea to Obama video really cracked me up. Interesting conversation with the gay Asian who tries to isolate himself from the straight world; I like the way you gently try to get him to see past his defenses.

But you know, screeds of politics in binary straight/gay language make me wary. In my experience, the excoriations of the straight world don’t go on for long before the venom is turned on me, and I’m hearing one of the old familiar variations of “you’ll have to make up your mind some day”/”you know your gay side will win out”/”you don’t know what oppression is, because you have hetero privilege”/”you’re lucky, you can have twice as many dates”/”well if you’re not gay, get out of this club/bar/community center/dating site.”

I know well your Asian friend’s experience of being doubly hated (hell, even in the bi community there’s anti-polygamy prejudice; how would you like to belong to a despised minority within a despised minority within a despised minority?) In my personal experience, if someone is personally giving me shit for my sexuality, odds are overwhelming that he’s a gay man. Heteros tend to keep their prejudice to themselves.

Anyway, I just hope you’re not like that.

Atiq
If you are Bi, then I see you as fully Gay.  You just also happen to be fully Straight.  You are my brother and I will not turn my back on you.  You are always welcome in my community.

I know what you mean about internalized homophobia, but consider that some of the more obvious homosexuals in our flock get terms like ‘faggot’ flung at them from passing cars.  That’s not Gays doing that.  Perhaps you blend in better.

I am sorry that you feel despised.  I can assure you, we don’t all feel that way.

You’re a beautiful man.

I know you must suffer your own brand of oppression and isolation and I won’t pretend to know what that is, but I think we can both agree that you’re Queer.  LGBT means Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered.  You belong to my community.  I love you.

TuesDATE

Him:  So this is Brooklyn.

Me:  That’s right.  Oldest borough. You look cute.

Him:  Thanks.  Oldest borough?  You mean Manhattan, right? 

Me: I’m pretty sure Brooklyn is older than Manhattan.

Him:  That doesn’t make any sense.

Me: Um…   (short pause)  You have really nice hair.

Him:  I ought to.  I spent like 120 dollars at Kiehl’s the other day.  I hate when I do that.  That store is so easy to go crazy in there.  I went in there for eye cream and 120 dollars later, right?

Me:  Right.  I feel that way about my deli.  I go in there for Kim chi, and I wind up buying Kim chi and watermelon like a Rockefeller.

Him:  What do you use for eye cream?  Who’s a Rockefeller?

Me:  They’re like Donald Trump.  Pretend I said Donald Trump.

Him:  What about the eye cream?

Me:  Lotion.

Him:  What??

Me:  I use hand lotion.  Cetaphil, to be exact. They make a face lotion but I just use the hand and body lotion on my face too.  Why not?

Him:  Ew.  Doesn’t that clog your pores and dry out your skin?

Me: Nope.

Him:  I don’t believe you.

Me:  You shouldn’t.  I lie to people just for the sheer pleasure of it.  I like to see the moment of shocked betrayal when they find out I’ve been playing them for a fool.

Him:  Oh my god, do you?

Me:  No. That was a joke.

Him:  I don’t get it. 

Me:  It wasn’t a good joke, is why.

Him:  Why did you tell it? 

Me:  I had to try it out, to see.

Him:  Is that what your life is like?  Failure?

Me:  Um.  What?

Him:  I don’t mean it like that.  Wow.  That sounded bad – don’t blog about that.

Me:  I will, don’t worry.  That color looks good on you.  Really brings out your eyes.

Him: This is a one-of-a-kind garment.  The designer only made three of these.

Me:  So, it’s more like a one-of-three-kinds garment.

Him:  Um.  What?

Me:  You said the designer made three of them, so by logic, it can’t be one-of-a-kind.

(pause)

Him:  Um. It’s unique.

Me:  I’m sure you’re right.  The other two were probably lost in  a house fire, or the Holocaust, or got sucked into a temporal worm hole.

Him:  This shirt was 400 dollars, on sale.

Me:  Jesus.  That’s how much my guitar cost!

Him:  Really?

Me:  No, my guitar was a hundred bucks.  BUT.  That’s how much four of my guitars cost.  But you’d never be able to buy more than one of my guitar because it’s one-of-a-kind.

Him:  Is it?

Me:  Yes.  The manufacturer only made thousands.

Him:  Oh.  I get it.  You’re being a dick.

Me:  I’m being a dick.  You move really gracefully.

Him:  Really?  Thanks.

Me:  You’re welcome.

Him:  All these hipster types around here.  Ugh.  Makes me nervous.

Me:  Does it?  Why, I wonder?  It’s just a sub-culture, like hip hop, or redneck, or ivy league.  It’s just a small subset of a larger culture.

Him:  First of all – why do they want to stick out?  I just want to blend in and be accepted.  Second of all, if you look at them, they all have the same style which doesn’t make them unique at all.  There’s a conformity to the non-conformity.  It all looks the same to me.  I don’t get it.

(These cuddle bugs were all over each other on the C train.)

Me:  Well…  I don’t get hip hop culture.  But it’s a counterculture to the mainstream, right?  To me, it’s not appealing – the narrative that seems to arise from hip hop culture.  I think it relies heavily on misogyny. But on the other hand, it doesn’t bother me that other people participate in it.  I just don’t get it.

Him:  Shhh.  Don’t say that. 

Me:  What??

Him: You shouldn’t say that you don’t ‘get’ hip hop culture in public.

Me:  Why?

Him:  That’s racist!

Me:  Are you being ironic?

Him:  What’s irony?

(pause)

Me:  Me saying that I don’t keep up with hip hop, or respond to the narrative isn’t racist, darling.  It’s the same as someone saying that they don’t like bluegrass music or the culture surrounding it.  I will admit to being ignorant about hip hop, though.  I don’t follow a lot of it.

Him:  See.  You shouldn’t be ignorant.

Me:  That’s a reductive statement.  Everyone is ignorant about a whole shit ton of stuff.  Most people are ignorant of the nuances of expert level Scrabble play, for instance.  But, you don’t see Scrabble players getting offended by that ignorance.

Him:  What?  Scrabble?  Do you like my shoes?

Me:  Yes.

Him:  They’re vintage Kenneth Cole.  They cost a lot of money.

Me:  Mine too.

Him:  Who are your shoes?

Me:  Who?  Oh.  You mean who designed them?

Him:  Yes. 

Me:  They are from K-Mart.  I got them for free.  They were a costume in a play.

Him: Ew.  You’re an actor?

Me:  Yes.  I mention on the blog that I act and do comedy.

Him:  I only watch the videos.  I don’t like reading.  I like the pictures.  This might not work.  I don’t know about dating an actor.

Me:  Tell me about it.  I dated one. What do you do?

Him:  I work in the accounting section of a popular women’s fashion magazine.

Me:  Which one?

Him:  I prefer not to say. 

Me:  Is it a fashion magazine for lady CIA agents?

Him:  No.  I just prefer not to say.

Me:  Okay.

Him:  I know it’s okay.  It’s my prerogative whether I tell you exactly where I work or not.

Me:  Know what?  It’s getting late.  I have to be up early.  Let me walk you to the train.

(long pause)

Him:  No.  I’ll take a car.

Me:  What?  It’s six blocks.

Him:  I’ll take a car. 

Me:  I’ll call you one.  Jerk.

Him:  What did you say? 

Me:  I said you’re one-of-a-kind.

(Jerk.)