(ISAAC and IAN M. are sitting on the L train, which is stalled at Union Square, waiting for it to continue westward. They sip at cups of lentil soup. A DRUNK YUPPIE GUY stumbles onto the train.)

DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: Ew. What is that?
ISAAC: Lentil soup.
DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: I’ve never heard of such a thing. What’s in lentil soup?
ISAAC: Lentils.
DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: Where’d you get that?
ISAAC: In Williamsburg.
DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: When these train doors close I’m gonna fall through them backwards.

(Beat.)

DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: I think lentil soup is — it sounds like some government project — something you eat that brainwashes you into voting for Democrats.  Yeah.  Like, a Republican wouldn’t eat lentil soup.  They wouldn’t.  Lentil soup — it’s part of the Obama administration.  It’s propaganda.  Like this guy over here.  Hey, would you eat lentil soup?
OTHER DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: No, no.  Split pea, man.
DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: Yeah, split pea.  What color is it?
OTHER DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: It reveals itself to be green.
DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: Green is where it’s at. We gotta get, no clean coal.  You gotta leave lights on.  You gotta flush your toilet like eight thousand times a day.  Even when you’re just peeing, you gotta flush it.  I just turn my car on and let it run for weeks.  Until the gas runs out.
CONDUCTOR (V.O.): Stand clear of the closing doors, please.
DRUNK YUPPIE GUY: Oh.

(He falls backwards out through the closing doors.)

FIN.

And his sweater:

Where do you think he got that?

Good god.  Rachel Maddow is the only person who could make this palatable:

Looks awesome:

Thank you, Chris, for passing this along:

Hi, Mom and Dad.  You should skip this one.  I’m doing well, though.  Love you and am looking forward to being with you at  Thanksgiving.

« »

A few nights ago in a horny haze I rejoined Manhunt, and within two hours a gentleman caller was rapping at my door.  What a thrill, what a lark, to experience that old rush of anticipation again — humming the songs of Bock and Harnick (will he like me when we meet?) while giving your nether regions a courtesy-wash in the shower, gargling with mouthwash, giving him directions on the phone while gauging his masculinity through his voice, and peeking through the peephole at the sound of his footsteps in the hallway like a child on Christmas morning.  A child on Christmas morning whose present is an actor on the down-low.

Seriously handsome, he was, with a glorious mane of blond hair, piercing green eyes, and the pinkest lips and nipples you ever did see.  We went at it from 1:45 to 5:30.  It was terrific sex — unhurried, assured.  It was slow jazz, Paris Sunday, old poet sex.  We looked in each other’s eyes, we laughed, we cooed, we bit pillows and pulled hair and grabbed my bookcase for leverage.  This is amazing, I thought to myself, I am connecting with this man on such a deep, physical level — there’s no way he’s not feeling this as well, he seems nice, I might even let him sleep here, and that’s when he climbed up and, without asking first, came all over my face.

Oh, right.  I met this guy on Manhunt.  That’s where this began and that’s where this ends and that’s why I stopped doing this.

It was like in movies when a character is stirred from a dream by a bucket of water to the head, and, after three and a half hours of steady provocation, a bucket of water is an apt visual.  He fucking Old Faithfulled my face.  There was no post-coital cuddling, since I had to run immediately to the bathroom to rinse my face, eyes and hair.  As he dressed he asked me about my plays and how long I’d lived in the neighborhood and told some story about his super not fixing his sink correctly.  He left soon after, with the sun rising.

An interesting feature from the Times.  Thank you Chris.

(ISAAC and IAN J. are in Whole Foods, standing in front of a big display of Seaside Cheddar Cheese.)

IAN J.: I’m getting a block of this.
ISAAC: I don’t know — I think I’m good with the Seriously Sharp.
IAN J.: But this will taste so much better.
ISAAC: I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I don’t ask much of cheese.

(ISAAC picks up a block of the Seaside Cheddar, examines it. A handsome SILVER FOX approaches the display.)

ISAAC: “Aged 18 months,” only to be eaten in one sitting.
IAN J.: Huh.
ISAAC: You know that’s what’s going to happen.
IAN J.: I do.
SILVER FOX: It’s really good.
ISAAC: Is it?
SILVER FOX: Yes. I recommend it. It’s got a nice bite to it.

(SILVER FOX walks off.)

ISAAC: (putting a block in his basket) Well, I am getting this cheese.
IAN J.: What? You’ll listen to some hot guy before you listen to your dear friend?
ISAAC: I’d like to give him a nice bite.

FIN.