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I live under this bridge and guard it day and night

Tonight on Manhunt I was chatting with who I thought was a 19 year-old British guy in Hamilton Heights when, after unlocking my face picture for him, he replied:

EWWWWWWWW.

OMG you went to Fordham?! ISAAC?!?!?

To which I replied:

Yes, who is this? Do I know you? because I did not recognize him from his pictures.

He replied:

LOL you cock goblin faggot mr. oliver, you're gross

You're a troll, get off Manhunt. LOL

And then he blocked me. Which is fine because I was already on my way to do the same to him. I mean, yikes. That was rough.

Sure, it could have been someone playing a joke on me. In that case, it wasn't funny.

So now I'm listening to Jill Scott and trying to shake the asshole. The whole encounter just made me sad. It's not that I believe what he said; I'm just shocked by it.

Also, if he's really 19, he wasn't at Fordham when I was there. And as I said above I didn't recognize him at all. Which leads me to believe his was a fake profile being used by someone too cowardly to put their own face and body both on the site and behind their own words.

It might be time to take a little break from that site.

7 Things

1. So Firefox has frozen on me a couple of times. I'm beginning to think it's me. Am I trying to watch too much porn at once? I like to have options, though: I like one window open of smooth twinks going at it, another window with hairy guys throwing each other around, and maybe a window combining the two types. Straight-but-broke here, a piss party there, whips and chains everywhere. I strive for the Neapolitan ice cream equivalent of porn consumption, you see.

2. Micah and I really want to go see Bette Midler in Vegas. Is it even possible for that to happen without us spending $1,000 each we don't have?

3. I see Van Hansis at Next Door every time I'm there for brunch. Today, with Ian M. and Carrie, was the third time. So cute.

4. Tara sent me this from Starked:

Don’t they know proper theatre etiquette?! Jake Gyllenhaal and Reese Witherspoon were in town this past weekend, where they caught the matinee performance of the show “August: Osage County” on Sunday. A fellow audience member reports that the couple kept their heads down and were “texting on their BlackBerrys the entire time” before leaving at intermission.

What. The. Fuck. I'm over that shit. Jake? We're done. You don't text during August: Osage County. I know your chest is gloriously hairy, but this is worse than not liking Sarah Kane.

5. Is anyone else crushed that Samantha Power resigned from Obama's campaign this week? So she called Hillary a monster. Inappropriate, yes. Her resignation was swift and classy. But I'll miss her. Hopefully she'll be back.

6. I invited the Cute Usher to see Paradise Park and have dinner after with me on Thursday and he said yes. Is that a date? I'm terrible at this. But he is mighty cute. I spent most of last night convincing myself that no one will ever want to date or have sex with me.

7. Dave is yelling at me right now to come have lunch with him. So I'm going to go. Duty calls. I'm whipped.

2:55

Fuck you, Safari. I just downloaded Firefox and I am fully satisfied.

I'm in a proactive mood now. Should I change to Wordpress for all my blogging needs? I'm bored with this format. I'm having serious format envy over Adrienne's blog.

I just watched the episode of Lost where Juliet gives Sun the ultrasound and cried my eyes out.

It's 2:47 in the morning. I tried desperately to get the Aloof Actor over tonight but to no avail. I should probably go to bed, huh?

But, honestly, there's so much porn to be watched and so few hours in the day. Today Jamie hinted I should take a "zen weekend" away from technology by sending me the link to some op-ed in the Times about a guy who did that.

So I tried masturbating with only my thoughts as stimuli and began fantasizing about a former boss. Apparently my attractions to porn stars are healthier by comparison.

Carrie wins!

I've been tagged. No, not by a gang. Although, every now and then, I'll come home to find a piece of chewed-up gum stuck on my front door and I always wonder if that means I'm a target for something. I've been tagged by Jaime.

I have to tag other people now, so I tag Marianna, Brian, Lauren J., Tara, and Natasha.

I have to look up 15 of my favorite films on IMDB, take a quote from each, and list the quotes below without crediting the films. When someone guesses the quote correctly, I'll add the film and who guessed it.

Ready? Let's begin:

1. Oh, you don't complain? Then I must be psychotic, then! What is this? Yeah, let's bring in the laugh-meter and see how loud it gets. (American Beauty -- Ian M.)

2. When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window. (The Sound of Music -- Carrie.)

3. If not now, when? Wanna meet here in six months with a guitar? You know, I'll fly all the way over here, you may or may not make the metro... (Before Sunset -- Marianna.)

4. Well, how long is your program? Well, it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were suppose to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... only to no home I'd ever known... I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like... magic. (Sleepless in Seattle -- Carrie.)

5. Hey baby, you back just in tiiiime! She's about to get in on with Shake-a-speare! He found out she's a girl. (Scary Movie -- Ian M.)

6. But you will! But you will, and I'll get bored with you and feel trapped, because that's what happens with me. (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind -- Meg.)

7. The road is my home, and my home, the road. And when I think of all the people I have come upon in my travels, I cannot help but think of the people who have come upon me. Tommy, can you hear me? From this milkless tit you have sucked the very business we call show! (Hedwig and the Angry Inch -- Joey O.)

8. (singing) Portobello Road, Portobello Road, street where the riches of ages are stowed! Anything and everything a chap can unload, is sold off the barrow in Portobello Road. You'll find what you want in the Portobello Road! (Bedknobs & Broomsticks -- Jamie.)

9. Secret's in the sauce. (Fried Green Tomatoes -- Roberta.)

10. You know, if I were you, I'd be a little nervous about firing somebody I'd just had an affair with, okay? (You Can Count On Me -- Roberta.)

11. Look, you don't really see other kids coming up to my car, Drey, to talk to me it's uh- I'm your teacher, not your friend. Why don't you go play with other kids your own age? I'm just trying to be alone. (Half Nelson -- Carrie.)

12. Here's the Remains of the Day lunchbox. Kids don't like eating at school, but if they have a Remains of the Day lunchbox they're a lot happier. (Waiting for Guffman -- Marianna.)

13. Drainage! Drainage, Eli, you boy. Drained dry. I'm so sorry. (There Will Be Blood -- Carrie.)

14. I think we're just gonna to have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that, Ritchie. (The Royal Tennenbaums -- Marianna.)

15. I couldn't find a quote anywhere on the Internet for Pedro Almodovar's Bad Education, which is probably my favorite movie of all so I couldn't leave it off the list. There, you get a freebie.

Shudder

Today at Boys' Lunch we had a photo shoot with Van's quirky new glasses and our creepiest of faces.

Yikes. Ian M. looks like a child molester and I look like someone who lives vicariously through The Sims. With an enormous forehead.

Afternoon Swoon: Leonardo DiCaprio

Lovely Lizz

I'm sure I've talked about her on here before, but if you have not listened to any of Lizz Wright's music, you must. She has a new album out and it's beautiful.  

Lizz Wright, The Orchard

Tuesday

Today was alternately joyous and terrible.

My desk at work provided the terrible, and so did the news that all this Democratic mudslinging is going to continue on for months.  I'm just kind of exhausted by it.  I'm unnerved by how divided people are when it comes to Obama or Clinton.  We'll only win this thing if we're united and voting for the Democratic nominee no matter which of the two it is.  I lost a lot of respect for Hillary after her horrific television ad the other day.  If you ask me, she lost any credibility she had to go after Obama for "Karl Rove tactics" when she approved an ad that might as well have been for Giuliani.

Anyway, on to the joyous.  On a whim, Theresa, Tallulah and I ran across the street to the Times Square Dave & Buster's for a "business lunch" today, during which we ate crappy food and played ski-ball, Air Strike, Nascar Racing, Shoot Hoops, and Super Trivia -- the only game at which we excelled even slightly.  It was quite possibly the best lunch break I've ever taken.

More Letters

Dear Eczema Outbreak On My Forehead,

Please go away. You are not welcome here. I want to scratch you when you itch, and I catch myself doing it and I know that'll only you make you more powerful. I'm begging you to leave me be.

Urgently yours,
Isaac

Dear Elizabeth Mitchell,

God, you are so good on Lost. I just finished Disc 4 of Season 3, and you had me crying sympathetic tears until it was revealed that you were just as evil as we all initially thought. God. But, seriously, you're so nuanced and thoughtful in everything you do on that show. Will you be around for the rest of Season 3? Wait. Don't tell me.

All the best,
Isaac

Dear Our Waiter at Joe Allen's Tonight, or "Jeffrey," as You Introduced Yourself,

You are SO FUCKING CUTE. Thank you for saying cute things like "cheers" every time you replenished our wine glasses or brought over those warm Tollhouse cookies with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Adoringly,
Isaac, Colin, David, and Kevin

Dear A Train, and MTA In General,

Fuck you. You raised our fares and still it took me ninety minutes to get to West 4th Street this morning! That's a trip that on a weekday would take me thirty. I was twenty minutes late for brunch with Melanie and Jen because of you. I'll still pay you every month to take me places late, but nonetheless, fuck you.

With contempt,
Isaac

Dear Conductor On the A Train This Morning,

CC: A Train, and MTA In General

STEP AWAY FROM THE GODDAMNED MOUTHPIECE. God, you were so loud it hurt everybody's ears. A small child started crying. Why did you bark each station stop as if you were fighting over a parking space on 8th Avenue? With each stop I fantasized about you falling forward and hitting your mouth on the speaker, perhaps chipping a tooth. That helped.

Yours at a Polite Decibel,
Isaac

Dear Everything I Consumed Today, Specifically the Cup of Coffee, the Breakfast Burrito, the Three Mimosas, the Two Handfuls of Cadbury Mini Eggs, the Chocolate-Covered Strawberry, the Bottle of Aquafina, the Two Handfuls of Smoked Almonds, the Cheeseburger, the Fries, the Two Glasses of Wine, the Warm Tollhouse Cookies, and The Scoop of Vanilla Ice Cream,

Play nice.

Peacefully yours,
Isaac

March March March

March, you beautiful month you, get over here and give me a hug.

Every year I'm so happy to see you.

S.O.S.

I am terrible with men.

Case in point, today at work:

CUTE USHER: Your hair is so sculpted today.
ISAAC: Oh, really?
CUTE USHER: No, I mean, in a good way.
ISAAC: Oh, thank you!
CUTE USHER: It looks good.
ISAAC: Thanks! I actually washed it today.

Holy Christ.

Go Ellen

There is nothing like a hunk

Holy Hammerstein, Batman. It's rare that I start drooling over an article on Playbill, but this "sneak peek" into rehearsals for the revival of South Pacific at Lincoln Center nearly did me in ... and before noon, too.

I've been trying to get house seats for my parents and me to no avail. Maybe because it's a fucking hot sausage-fest and everyone wants to be there in case these guys have a wardrobe malfunction.

Update: Because I know you all were concerned, I did finally successfully acquire house seats to South Pacific for my parents and me. Now, when Matthew Morrison sings "Younger Than Springtime" with his shirt off (just a suggestion, Bartlett Sher!), I will be there.

Snap crackle pop

You're looking at this best part of my day so far. I don't see how it could get any better. Marianna, amazing, sent me this commemorative mug quoting the legendary Brenda Dickson parody video:

You know, down in my snacketeria, in my Mos Def, in my Shaggy D, in my cleft palette and my dirty moose hoof, and my fuzzy mimosa ...

Thank you!

I squealed with joy upon seeing that the mug was bubble-wrapped, and like a child six years of age I began feverishly popping it and giggling, immediately comforted.

It was at this moment that an extremely attractive male actor from the next show coming into the theater came up to the box office window.

"It looks like you're having fun," he said jovially.

"Oh. Yeah, I am," I muttered, absolutely mortified.

In other news, I am completely obsessed with the Beth Orton song "Sweetest Decline" which I heard on the radio yesterday morning as I was waking up. I laid in bed until the end of the song so I could hear what the song was called, then ran over to my computer to download it. Now I can't stop listening to it.

In other other news, the Ripley's Believe It Or Not! museum across the street from my work pumps loud music onto the street all day long, and every time I walk by they're either playing "Umbrella" or "The Sweet Escape." I kid you not: that is all that they play.

I'm considering writing a strongly-worded letter to Ripley's management. Sure, not much of the foot traffic on 42nd Street will return often enough to know that they're on a two-song loop, but the few of us that are in such karmic debt we have to be on 42nd Street daily are suffering.

Maybe I'll bring over my Beth Orton mix and sneak it into the rotation. That'll get them believing. Or not.

Send in the clowns

Tonight I got confirmation that the Aloof Actor does indeed have a boyfriend.  This hit me harder than I would have thought had this presented itself as a potential scenario in my mind.

I'd seen him on the street a few months ago on what he later confirmed was a date, but hey: I haven't been lighting a candle in my bedroom window for him every night.  I've gone on dates.  I've hooked up with other guys.

But, still.  I wanted to see him tonight and he said the play he's in is opening tonight and then he's spending the weekend with his boyfriend; "I hope that's not a problem."  They have an open situation, so I suppose I'm not quite the Other Woman.

And I'm a relatively modern person.

I don't want to date him.  When he opens his mouth to do anything other than moan with pleasure I pretty much tune him out.  I like his penis, his body, his hair.

There are benefits to being pragmatic about sex -- on that I will forever be insistent. But it's still an emotional act. And as sad as this might sound, he's the most consistent series of physical intimacies I've ever had.

Ugh. Thank god Ian J., Theresa, Porfi and I had a lovely dinner with lots of laughter earlier tonight. Now I think I'll go have an orange and watch Lost.

Rear Pantry Song

Look how they spelled our names at Pinkberry! They've never gotten mine right, but Ian?! Come on, folks.

What I'm getting at is that tonight Ian M. and I went to see Parlour Song at the Atlantic. I was very excited and hoping for some serious Jonathan Cake nudity. The best beefcake is imported, honestly; he's British, and a good actor too. He's been in about four hundred plays this season and in each one, without fail, he's in a towel at some point in the proceedings. So I was feeling confident we were going to see some flesh.

Little did we know how much we were going to see. Yes, he spends most of one scene in skimpy briefs, but that's not the nudity I want to talk about.

The older gay man sitting in front of us was not wearing any underwear. And seeing as how he was on an aisle, he was constantly standing up to let folks into their seats further in on the row. I swear to you, his pants dropped every fucking time he stood up and I saw full ass cheeks.

Full!

You think I'm joking? Ask Ian M. He saw it, too. We saw undercheek shadow, folks.

He just. Kept. Standing up.

Also, on our way into the theater, one of the ushers was reminding us to turn off our cell phones, which I did in front of her so I wouldn't forget, and she said, "Last week someone's cell phone went off right before the suicide! It was so tacky!"

As we walked into the theater I turned to Ian and said, "Did she just tell us there's a suicide in this three-character play?" to which Ian replied, "Yeah, I think she did. Thanks for that."

Well, either we're incredibly obtuse or there wasn't a suicide in the play. Was there? Who's seen it? Did it happen while Jonathan Cake was doing lunges in his underwear?

Scenes from Casual Sex: V

(Late at night. ISAAC is lying in bed with the PERKY PROGRAMMER.)

PERKY PROGRAMMER: Yeah, I don't really go in much for pop culture. What did you think of Juno?
ISAAC: I liked it.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: You did?
ISAAC: I mean, I thought it was a little much at times, but I was ultimately charmed by it.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: And by "much," you mean overwritten and cloyingly self-conscious?
ISAAC: Well, I certainly don't think it was the best original screenplay of the year.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: What did you think was?
ISAAC: Probably The Savages. Although I did love Lars and the Real Girl, too.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: My ex-boyfriend loved Juno.
ISAAC: Oh. Well, a lot of people do. It's a hit movie.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: He's twenty. Just turned twenty.
ISAAC: A young'in.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: How old are you?
ISAAC: Twenty-four. And a half. You?
PERKY PROGRAMMER: Just turned twenty-seven. Part of the reason we broke up is because he was so young. We just weren't right for each other.
ISAAC: Oh, I'm sorry.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: Don't be sorry. We needed to break up.
ISAAC: So it was a good break-up?
PERKY PROGRAMMER: No. There's no such thing as a good break-up.
ISAAC: Oh. Sorry.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: Sorry -- I don't know why I'm telling you this.
ISAAC: It's all right.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: So you're twenty-four and a half, you were born in ...
ISAAC: November.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: And that makes you a Scorpio?
ISAAC: Correct.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: What are Scorpios known for?
ISAAC: Their sex addiction.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: Primarily?
ISAAC: Maybe not primarily. But that always stands out in the guide books.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: So we just fed your addiction.
ISAAC: Yes. But my addiction is coupled with an intense fear of intimacy, you see.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: So basically you're kind of fucked up.
ISAAC: Basically. Oh my god. Why am I telling you this?
PERKY PROGRAMMER: I don't know. Maybe because we're strangers. When I first moved to the city, I was going through a rough patch and I was sitting on a park bench crying, and this woman who was also crying came and sat next to me. She told me all about how she was barren and her husband was infertile and all they wanted was a child. And then she thanked me, said she only told me that because she knew she'd never see me again, and then walked away.
ISAAC: Oh my god. That's really intense. And kind of beautiful.
PERKY PROGRAMMER: Yeah.

(Beat.)

PERKY PROGRAMMER: I should probably get going.
ISAAC: All right.

FIN.

Cuuuuuute

James McAvoy! You look so cute. I want that outfit.

:) & :(

You know what I enjoy, other than Cadbury Mini Eggs and gazing into John Krasinski's eyes?

I enjoy lying in bed hiding from the day ahead. I highly recommend it.

Do you know what I don't enjoy, other than February and eczema?

I do not enjoy taking tickets over to the TKTS discount ticket booth in Times Square. Not only are the employees unnecessarily brusque, but each time I wait for my drop-off receipt at Window 12 a line of tourists forms behind me and I become an informal, and apparently insufficient, resource.

"Are you buying tickets? Are they open?" they ask every time, with unfaltering impatience and international lilt.

"No, they open in an hour," I say.

"Then why are you in line?" they demand.

"I'm from a theater -- I'm dropping off tickets," I reply.

"Well, I'm not getting out of line," one will invariably declare huffily, as if she's caught me in an intricate web of deceit I've cast in my plot to snatch up all the half-price Little Mermaid tickets before she can get to them.

Most others accept this response but linger to ask things like, "Do you think they'll have any Spamalot tickets?" or "What would you recommend for us? He hates musicals and I hate plays," or "Have you seen Young Frankenstein? Is it as funny as they say?"

Eventually the savviest (and usually most Russian) of the bunch says, "Are you from ze Jersey Boys? Are zose ze tickets you bring? Do you bring Jersey Boys vith you?"

When I tell them I'm bringing tickets to a play about slavery with drumming, singing, and dance, they finally leave me alone.

Afternoon Swoon: John Krasinski

God, he's just so dapper. I can't handle it.

Oscar Oscar

I won Ian M.'s ultra-competitive Oscar pool last night for the second year in a row. I'm already preparing for next year -- that's how seriously you have to take it. Admittedly, I only won because Ian M. and Carrie went out on a limb and picked Julian Schnabel for Best Director, and even though he was certainly deserving, I went with my instinct that it was the Coens' year.

I finally saw The Diving Bell and the Butterfly yesterday with Jack. Wow.

What can be said about the Oscars last night? I love how every year the biggest criticism of the Oscar telecast is their montages, yet year after year the number of montages in the telecast grows. They cut everybody's speeches short only to subject us to three totally insipid songs from Enchanted and a montage of people waking up from bad dreams in the movies? Give me a break.

Speaking of breaks being given, can one please be given to Laura Linney? I love that woman. She's amazing. When will it be her year?

Obama & Power

Goddammit, I tried to flip that picture so you could read it. I'm sure you can deduce that that is my nametag from an event I went to tonight called Writers for Obama.

Why was I there, you ask? You mean besides the fact that I'm a writer and I'm for Obama? I was there because my handsome friend Jamie got me onto the guest list amongst a couple hundred other people who paid far larger sums than I to attend.

The cause célèbre of the evening, besides Barack Obama, was language. Fittingly. After eight years of a barely literate administration whose foreign policy considered communicating with the world using anything but force cowardly, we have an opportunity to rebuild a meaningful, working dialogue with the world. After all, Obama is a writer, and a good one at that.

Tony Kushner and John Guare were there. So was Michael Chabon. And Jonathan Safran Foer, who's totally cute, if a little precious.

Toni Morrison spoke. Even while loopy from painkillers prescribed after a recent surgery, the woman is royalty; the room devoured everyone of her slightly slurred, entirely profound words.

Kurt Anderson spoke. So did Walter Mosley.

Michael Cunningham introduced "the gorgeous Rufus Wainwright," who performed "Going to a Town" and "Hallelujah." I'd snagged a seat in the second row -- perhaps the only benefit of attending solo -- and became a little flustered when he first started singing. Not as flustered, though, as the gay sitting next to me who kept sending excited text messages the entire time to his friends.

Come to think of it, a quick scan of the room -- my sexual profiling is sharper than that of an airport security checkpoint -- seemed to reveal myself, the queen to my left, Tony Kushner, Rufus Wainwright, and Rufus Wainwright's Super Hot Boyfriend to be the only visible gays in the crowd. Where were they, at a Hillary event?

The highest point of the evening was hearing Samantha Power speak. I recognized her from her interview in No End in Sight, and was thrilled to learn that she's one of Obama's senior advisors. She spoke so passionately yet accessibly about the strength of Obama's character and the ferocity of his intellect that I wish I could have written down everything she said. I've spent the rest of the evening Googling her, watching her on YouTube, and wishing she was my friend. It's extremely heartening to know that she is the kind of company he keeps, and if he's President he'll surround himself with people like her.

Read this

Have you heard about this blog Stuff White People Like? It's hilarious and I will read it every day from here on out.

Afternoon Swoon: Ben Foster

You know what is hot about Ben Foster, aside from the talent and the looks? Melanie and I saw him at the Feist concert at Town Hall. He likes Feist. Mmmm.