RIP Waffle

Last Sunday my friend Nishu decided to have a brunch. It was because Hedda had departed back to Spain and back to work. Therefore, he was alone. In the olden days, Nishu would have spent his time much differently. This would have meant a cast of Lost Boys and Lost Girls that made the characters of Peter Pan look like a bunch of amateurs. Usually, I would have eagerly been present for the tomfoolery that occurred, which included prank calling people we knew on Google Voice.

Nishu’s apartment served as a sort of lair every Sunday for our crew. These included but were not limited to the following people: Keeley, a makeup artist and conspiracy theorist who’s kerfuffles always ended with a friendly phone call to the local precinct; Sarit, a 34 year old who lied about her age that baited much younger men on Plentyoffish.com with anger management problems; Jeanette, a cougar who had several breast augmentation surgeries that spit men out like watermelon seeds; and of course Jessi who works in television production, a friend I miss very much.

Since Hedda came into the picture, many of these characters have become little more than my descriptions on the page. Keeley, who’s misadventures deserve a blog of their own, has merely become “The K Word,” a sort of Raku Nini, a spirit that shall not be spoken of. Sarit has also faded into the woodwork thankfully, and the last we heard was dating a Haitian man of questionable means who may or may not sell drugs for a living. Jeanette has been travelling since catching feelings for her last conquest, a bus boy who went to community college part time. Jessi works quite often, and she moved to Queens so she unfortunately fell off the map completely. Aside from Jessi, Hedda’s presence had a lot to do with the disappearance of these folks.

Since Hedda has entered the picture, Nishu has become more and more adult. As a result, with Hedda temporarily absent, he has elected to do an adult thing. Instead of inviting one of the many Kramers in the crew over, he elected to have a semi-sophisticated brunch.  

So Nishu messaged me Sunday morning, and then told me Jeanie was coming over as well. Jeanie works with me at the singing telegram company. A night owl, Jeanie sings swing at the local clubs and tumbles in as the sun is coming up. Often she does not rise until noon and don’t bother her until after 2. So we elected to have the brunch at 2 or 2:30, that way Jeanie would be up long enough to have fun, but it wouldn’t be too early for her.

I said Nishu was becoming an adult. Relax, that didn’t mean the rest of us were, silly.

Anyway, Nishu told me via text he wanted to make waffles. This was definitely a change of pace. Nishu probably elected to do this for two reasons: 1, he was lonely and Nishu, like all men, does not do alone time well; 2, Hedda was a pastry chef at one point and Nishu is learning how to cook. While Nishu does not touch the stove, he has become accustomed to Hedda’s cuisine and therefore has become intrigued by the kitchen process. Plus Hedda got him a waffle maker for Christmas.

I came over, and Nishu was most definitely like a man in the kitchen. He had the waffle maker, but no clue how to make waffles. I told Nishu that in order to achieve his goal, he would need waffle mix. My friend looked at me baffled. “There’s a thing called waffle mix!?” Nishu inquired, as if this were the 1800s and I told him about this new invention called the lightbulb.

“Yes, they sell it at the store.” I gently reassured my friend.

So Nishu recommended me go off to the store. That way, he could get champagne for mimosas and waffle mix. Although I am not a cook now, I was growing up. I am substandard at best, but know my way around a kitchen in an emergency. Meanwhile, Jeanie was waiting for the bacon and eggs to be delivered to her house. Note, Jeanie doesn’t cook either but she felt she had to bring something. I suddenly realized something very scary. Out of the three of us, I was going to be wearing captain’s jacket on this mission. OH SHIT BIRD!

Oh shit bird was right. As we walked in the market, it occurred to me Nishu had no clue in hell as to make waffles. “Do we really need eggs and milk?” He asked, wide eyed and serious.

“Yeah. The waffles don’t make themselves.” I told my friend. Then I informed him as a woman I had superior knowledge and he had better bow down. Well Nishu had more money in the bank and paid for everything. So perhaps he won the important fight.

 “How will we know what to do?” Nishu asked me, worried about this undertaking.

“There is the recipe on the back.” I informed my friend. Nishu was such a man. He had no idea how to handle himself around a kitchen. Oh Hedda had her work cut out for her. However, Nishu did have the for thought to put fruit on the waffles and had previously invested in syrup. At least he had almost planned ahead.

When we got back to the ranch, Jeanie arrived with the much needed bacon and eggs. She had woken up late, about 1, and felt a little tired but was excited for brunch. We loaded up on protein aka brain food. Then we began our adventure. As we started, it was clear we were quite unprepared for battle. No, Nishu did not have a measuring cup.  “Would a regular cup do the trick or do I have to go to the hard wear store?” Nishu wondered.

“That is a good question. I don’t cook so I don’t know.” Jeanie said as she lit a cigarette. The explorers were at a standstill. Jeanie then decided to contribute to the cause. She took Nishu’s remote control, and found banned commercials on youtube. After that, she began making the mimosas, the liquid food group. Somewhere, Julia Child was hitting her head against a waffle iron in the afterlife. In all irony, Julia was a Smith woman and Jeanie from Mount Holyoke. Maybe subconsciously, Jeanie had planned this against her rival sister school without even knowing.

 “It’s pretty close. If it doesn’t add up, we can adjust the recipe.” I informed them, using my middle of the road NYU on the spotness. Yes, the would be Ivy I graduated from, where we have inflated egos, huge vocabularies, and pretend we know everything.

I began the mixing. It still frightened me I was the best cook out of the three of us. All was going well until we discovered we needed oil. Like someone who seldom cooks, Nishu did not have oil. So I told him butter could be used. Jeanie poured a mimosa as Nishu nuked the t-spoon of butter in the microwave for 30 seconds. We began mixing. “What do we need to stir with?” Nishu asked and discovered a knife. Was this man for real?!

“A fork would probably work.” Jeanie told him. She was right on this.

“Yeah, you want to wisk it. I made these as a kid.” I told him. As I began wisking the waffles, we all began to dive into the banned, inappropriate commercials more and more. Jeanie made sure we didn’t mention “The K Word.” You see, Jeanie hates that everytime we mention Keeley, we end up gossiping about her the entire time. It’s not our fault, Keeley is just a disaster that never stops and is entertaining from afar. Not to mention that when we do speak of her, she calls and we are stuck inviting her over. When she is in a whacky place, this could be a big mistake. Brunch was peaceful. This was a good call on Jeanie’s part.

When the time to put the waffles on the grittle came, there was another crisis. “Do you have any Pam?” I asked Nishu. Shitbird McDouble, this was the one thing I forgot!

“What’s that?” Nishu inquired.

“It keeps the waffles from sticking. You’re in a world of hurt without it.” Jeanie told him.

“No.” Nishu was surprised. “Waffles stick?” Jeanie and I both nodded. This was getting more and more scary by the moment.

“We can just use butter. Any anti-stick.” I said. This felt bizarre, surreal, and outright odd that out of the three of us, I was the one with the good ideas in this department. If there was a massive fire in the neighborhood, the three of us would somehow be responsible.

“It will just be high calorie and bad for you.” Jeanie said, mimosa in one hand, cigarette in another, and half eaten bacon on her plate. It was clear this whole group was on the longevity plan as it was, so why not go the extra mile and just buy the damn heart attack!?

 “But butter always tastes better.” Jeanie said as she finished off her cigarette and went for the bacon. Note: Julia Child would have used lard.

Nishu greased the waffle maker and in the mix went. “How will we know when it’s done?” Nishu asked, now panicked that he might not know what to do next.

“Good question…..Does the waffle maker come with directions?” Jeanie asked intelligently. While she had no idea what to do, she is always a problem solver. Got to give my friend that.

“Yeah.” Nishu said turning the box over. “It says something about a blue light. When the light turns blue, the waffles are done.”

“There you go.” Jeanie told him.

A few minutes passed. “Are the waffles done?” Nishu wondered, panicked that he would miss his goodies.

“Is the light blue?” I asked. Of course as a man in the kitchen Nishu had forgotten all about the directions and just wanted results.

“No.” Nishu said.

“Then the waffles are not done. Give it a minute or two.” I gently informed him. Sure I was wearing the captain’s jacket on this mission, but I had a feeling the plane was about to crash.

Then the blue light went off. Time to taste our waffles. We split it into sections so each of us could try. So far so good. Yum. Perhaps there was hope. With newfound confidence, we decided to make another waffle.

Nishu wanted to improve upon my original and wanted to make it browner. So he put more waffle mix in and off he went. A few minutes later, another waffle was produced. It was crispier and extremely delicious. Perhaps there was a future for the three of us in the kitchen. Maybe we could do this. So Nishu began to plot for the best waffle yet.

With his newfound zeal, Nishu prodded me to post on facebook that we were making waffles. That way Hedda could see what was happening several time zones away. Secretly, I hoped she could teleport and take over, but no such luck. Therefore, we had to do without.  

Nishu, Jeanie, and I were now becoming increasingly cocky in our waffle making. Self-assured, Nishu poured the final batter into the waffle maker. As we waited, in our minds we saw ourselves rivaling Waffle House, the destination of all drunken comedians coming from a road trip who needed to sober up for the ride home. We saw our waitresses looking like Playboy models instead of the welfare mothers our mental rival employed. The blue pilot light went off and stoked we were. However, our joy was short lived.

“Oh my God! It won’t open!!!!” Nishu exclaimed. The waffle maker was holding our creation hostage. “What happened!!!!”

We were panicked. Nishu tried to pry it open. This was a fail. Then he got a fork and a knife. Finally the waffle maker opened. There was our tragedy before us. Nishu tried to pry this pathetic creation out of the jaws of death it had succumbed to. However, the waffle would not come out. Alas, it met it’s doughy demise.

“What happened!” Nishu was now sad. Our adventure in waffle making ended in ruin.

“Did you add butter?” I asked Nishu, suspect that he had not.

“I had to add butter again?!” Nishu asked as his face drooped with utter despair.

“Yeah, you always need to add butter.” Jeanie told him empathetically. I nodded in unison. Nishu’s face continued to fall into a look of utter defeat, just like our culinary disaster in front of us.

“Hedda would have never let this happen if she were here!” Nishu shrieked. Jeanie and I laughed. Oh this waffle was a gonner.

Feet away, Nishu had immortalized in his refrigerator the pancakes he and Hedda had made. These were delicious apparently, and had Hedda’s awesome touch. Those pancakes were not murdered by three incompetent cooks. And now here in front of us was the waffle we killed. Oh what tangled webs we weave.

Of course I had remembered two years earlier, another life time ago, the cast of characters coming in and out. Keeley would have been yelling about some conspiracy theory. Sarit would have been lying to some random free dating site dude about a fake pregnancy so she could keep him. Jeanette’s hair would be messed from her latest one night stand with a man half her age. Jessi would have a crazy friend with her, one who escaped a harrowing adventure. Jeanie would be getting trashed out of her mind to tune out the chaotic drama live on center stage, no fourth wall. Alas, I would have the curse of being the record keeper. In these misadventures, there would be no cooking. There would be a lot of drinking and cigarette smoking perhaps, but no food unless we ordered out. Or maybe leftover junk Nishu had, but even that was suspect.

Either way, although it was a disaster, this adventure was one of growth. There was no drama live and in color unfolding in front of us. Two of our waffles had been successful, but the third died. He would forever be remembered for his bravery in the face of the inferno. So yes, this adventure had been more of a success than we realized. That is when the three of us decided to perhaps start a tradition, a brunch every other Sunday. We also plotted a celebration upon Hedda’s return. Note: I will elect her to cook, she will be much more successful than we were.

I suppose slowly but surely, the three of us are (somewhat) headed towards being real grownups. Yes, this story did end happily ever after. As for the poor waffle, his carcass is currently being cleaned and he will receive a proper agnostic burial. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

I'll Be There For You (The Rembrandts)

Monday night I went to Astoria to hang out with my friend Wade. He was insistent that I come over. To give you an idea, back in the day Wade was a Ford model. You may have seen his washboard abs sporting underwear on various billboards worldwide. Heck, I saw him on one before I knew him and developed a crush. Then I found out he was gay, but we are amazing friends. These days, he is doing less modelling and wants to help the environment.

At first when he insisted I come over, I thought he had his heart broken. Wade and I always go for the wrong men. As I came in, Wade informed me he had planned a semi-impromptu get together for my belated birthday. According to Wade, he had heard me whine about turning 30 and wanted to do something special. It’s not that I am unhappy with my life. Time just goes by. One day I was twenty and then poof. Pulling it out of the refrigerator, I realized Wade had spent the last two hours baking me a gluten free birthday cake. One by one, our friends arrived and our little surprise get together got underway. The event and gesture was so wonderful it made me cry.

As a group of gay men, all with perfect voices, Broadway style, sang “Happy Birthday” to me, it made me realize that no matter what happened, I had my friends. Whether 30 brought me more things checked off my bucket list or not, I had the most important thing of all. As I said it, my friends.

This year for my birthday, it seemed many of my friends came out into full effect. I don’t usually celebrate my birthday extravagantly. It’s because over the years I have sang “Happy Birthday” to so many people in so many places. These have included the CFO of the NHL, the husband of the Sultana of Saudi Arabia and the best friend of Forbes Regular Blake Mallen, the song has kind of lost it’s luster for me. Plus I like my birthday to be a calm affair. However, this year my boss Bruce, entrepreneur of the singing telegram company I worked for, called me and gave me a “Happy Birthday” phone gram. Not many can call their boss a friend, but I am one of the few who can. He is an inspiration at every turn.

Heck, my boss and all of my coworkers are. This past summer, I did my book event in which they all took part in. While my gift was writing the book and emceeing the evening, my coworkers lent their tremendous voices, tremendous sense of craft, and tremendous hearts to the event. Their generosity and giving to make my event the success that it was moved my heart beyond words.

My boss’s assistant Laila, who has been a singing telegram person and a cabaret favorite in the city for nearly two decades, helped me organize the event. On several occasions, it looked as if I was going to lose my mind. After a small meltdown, she gave me a pep talk where she quoted David Mamet’s book, True or False, and told me to step away from the event for a little bit. I am like a buzzard, I keep going until I run into the wall. While my work ethic has always been good, it in the end is always my undoing. So I stepped away and felt better. When I returned later, I was able to focus. It was amazing. That’s what friends are for, right?

Add in Nishu and Hedda, my friends from the neighborhood. Nishu is the literal ringmaster of various characters. Hedda is his lady love who keeps him in check. Despite the adventures, and sometimes misadventures we all find ourselves on, Nishu has been there for me this past year. Same with Hedda. Yes, they were present for the book signing. My singing telegram cohort Jeanie and I did a special number for Hedda’s bestie’s surprise party. Was it fun? You bet. Am I sad to see Hedda go to Spain? Ya. Will she be back? Duh. Until then, Nishu and I have some mischief to cause.

I can’t forget Spooky Juice, my super who gives me inappropriate kisses and hugs. At the same time, he reads every blog I write and has bought several of my DVDs to resell to his various friends all over the world. He has also bought several of my books to give away. A magician when it comes to fixing things, he prevented me from getting some dripping disease by fixing my sink.

Then there are the boys at Vibe West who get all my packages. They are always on the stoop smoking cigarettes in between clients. Yes, we all gossip about boys because these are gay men. It’s always nice to see a friend when I come and go into my apartment running about. Sometimes that is what you need during a stressful second, and it might be what they need to as they are smoking their nicotine, the legal choice drug in combination with caffeine of many a New Yorker.

The corner store is another place where I have friends. Of course I have a playful yet flirty relationship with the men behind the counter and the regulars. We gossip about the news and sports, and the dudes always know the NFL scoop as the cabs are hitting shift change. The jokes are raucous and dirty, but it’s a great start to the day as we drink our coffee.

Then wherever I go up the block, past the funeral home, I see a friend. Then to the gym whether it’s the pool I see an acting teacher friend of mine, Trish. A lifetime member of the Actors Studio, Trish has either known, taught, or dated practically every acting teacher I ever had. One day, steaming naked in the sauna, the subject of a player would be leading man I dated briefly came up. When his name was posed, Trish remarked, “Mike could be a good actor, but he’s too into himself.” SNAP!

Add in the girls I brunch with. Plus the girls in Astoria. And my red carpet friends. Damn, I have some serious friends.

Then there are those who have become friends through the comedy world. The people who have given me rides to places and who were so kind they wouldn’t accept my gas money knowing I was broke. Or those who bought me food when I had none. Add in the older headliners who helped me with a punchline or gave me career advice solely because they liked me. And then there are the crazies like myself. How could we not bond?

The wonderful thing about friends is when I haven’t seen them in a while, and they pop up. One friend of mine, Rich, had worked in my college dorm freshmen year. He saw me perform live my first year of doing comedy in the city. Afterwards, he graduated and went to law school. After law school, he joined the Navy and is now a JAG. Last summer, he came up to the city. Rich had purchased my book and was giving it to a friend of his who wanted to be an actor. It was a wonderful reunion.

Another wonderful surprise was at my DVD taping this past spring. After the show my friends and fans were greeting me, and one familiar face stood out in the crowd. It was Derek Judy. A school mate of mine, he had been a stand out as a boxer. We went to the same elementary, middle and high school as well as rode the same bus for our school careers. As a matter of fact, I believe his dad was my mailman. Anyway, he had gone off to West Point and I had not seen Derek, that is, until that moment. He apologized for being an unexpected surprise. While unexpected, he was a pleasant surprise.

At the same show, I had a reunion with Emma Olsen and her sister Betty. While Betty was younger than us, Emma and I were in the same English class senior year and survived a psychotic student teacher with the ultimate eye twitch. The experience not only bonded us, but now we both live in New York. This woman as unforgettable, but it brought us closer together.

As I think of the various people I cross paths with, I think of those I haven’t seen in forever. I see the faces of old cast mates of mine from various projects who I was close with for a time. Then I see the faces of friends of mine from college who pop up every once in a great while. Or friends of mine from writing groups who cheered me on as I penned my book. Then there are puppeteer and filmmaker friends that have shared their genius and knowledge with me such as Guenevere Dean.

I have friends that have gone to jail. I have friends who worship Satan. I have friends who have hustled, sold drugs, robbed armored trucks, you name it. Relax, they aren’t doing it now. It makes for lively conversation. It makes for some laughs. It also makes for people who don’t judge me when things are going wrong. People who fly right don’t always have that skill set.

Then I think of some of my friends who aren’t here. I see the faces of Chacho Vasquez, and hear him talking about his latest sexual conquest in one breath, but then he is educating me on how to screw someone over without getting caught just because he doesn’t want to see me stepped on. I see Joe Cannava, the friend who told me I would be on television someday, and to be patient.  However, I will always remember Joe because he was the one who pushed me to write my book. He didn’t stop until I did mind you, and although he is no longer here in some ways he lives on through the words he inspired me to write. Add in Michelle Dombrowsky, who was a friend to me when I had no one in the comedy world. As I remember her huge laugh and even bigger heart, I just want to tell cancer it sucks. Lest I not forget Ray Payton, who used to give me spots at doing opening comedy for the shows at the TSI Playtime Series. Diabetes can suck it, too. Egardo Rodriguez, how could I forget his quick comebacks and snappy style? Sometimes, I even feel his spirit in front of the salon he once worked at. Otto Petersen, Dear Lord, ventriloquism is nothing without you, Sir. You taught me so much. And lastly but certainly not least, my breakfast buddy Spenser Kimbrough. Yes, we had breakfast every Saturday as the soy milk curdled in my coffee. You were one of the first people to tell me I was funny and should pursue comedy. Then an unknown cause took you in your sleep.

In my 30 years of life, I have met some people who have sucked, yes. At the same time, I have also met some awesome people. Not only it is wonderful they are in my life, it is a blessing. So what is the best birthday present I got this year? Answer: The tremendous people I call friends. Your generosity makes me cry. Thank you for being a part of my life. 

www.aprilbrucker.com