What if television didn't minstrelize gay men? What if we weren't protrayed as florists fighting over Judy/Madonna/Britney trivia? What if our apartments were just moderately clean and just sort of okay in the decor department?
Too smart for FOX. Too gay for CBS. Too good for Logo. This is The Kitchen.
INT. A kitchen in a studio apartment. West 45th Street. Manhattan.
D: “Oh, wait. Put some more bubble around that or it’ll break.”
H: “Maybe it was subconscious.”
D: “What do you mean?”
H: “We don’t drink sake. And we have this ugly sake server that’s going to follow us for life.”
D: “But Peter gave us that. You know he’ll look for it in the new place.”
H: “I could have just dropped it and been, like, ‘Oops.’ But c’mon, you don’t like it either, right?”
D: “Oh, God, no. It’s too minimalist-yoga-buddha-bullshit.”
H: “And things get broken during moves, right?”
D: “I know where you’re going with this.”
H: “Go there with me?”
D: “Harry, you know I won’t. It would be bad karma to deliberately destroy a gift from a friend.”
H: “Compromise. We don’t know for sure that it will break. Let karma and fate decide this. I’ll pack it and if it survives the trip, then it stays with us. Possibly forever.”
D: “You’re going to do it no matter what I say, so go ahead.”
H: “I know that’s just your way of agreeing with … Oh. That’s my phone. Hello? … Hi, hi. … Yeah we’re almost done with the kitchen stuff. … We should be done tomorrow, so it’s all set. … Yes, we’re using it all the time. … No, no. He’s right here. His phone is probably buried under something. … It’s your mom, Dick.”
D: “Tell her I’ll call her back in five minutes. I just want to finish this up.”
H: “You’re being OCD again, just take the call.”
D: “Mom? … Yeah, hi. … Yeah. … Yeah. … No, I am; it’s just that I’m … Okay, fine, call it OCD, I just know how I am. If I’m in the mood to do something it’s best I do it because I might not feel like it later. … No, I just own the fact that I’m a combination of lazy and crazy. It’s not a big deal to me. … No, not at all. If I promise to call you back in an hour, can I let you go? … I love you too. I’ll call you in an hour. … Yes, I promise.”
H: “What is this?”
D: “I think it was here when I moved in. I don’t know what it is, but I sort of like it. Pack it.”
H: “Oh totally. We should hang it on the wall, on that column in the breakfast nook.”
D: “Oh. Yeah, sure. Actually, yeah! Have you spoken to Tom? Is he still coming? There’s your phone again … Ha! Tom! … Mind if I answer it? … Tomato! What’s up, buddy? … Uh huh … Heh. … How was it? … No. … No. That’s disgusting! … Don’t worry about it. … See you then. …. No, I won’t. … Okay, bye.”
H: “Where is he?”
D: “Home. He had an adventure last night. He’ll be here around 2 or 3.”
H: “Let me guess. He made you promise to let him tell it?”
D: “I couldn’t do it justice anyway.”
<to be continued>
