Modern Love Revenge: My Date With the Online Stalker

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For most of us, sitting down with our Sunday New York Times is a relaxing experience. But for subjects of the "Modern Love" column, it can suddenly turn into a choke-on-my-scone nightmare. For those unlucky few, Double X launched Modern Love Revenge, a series of responses written by the subjects of Modern Love columns. Got a lead? E-mail us.

Early last fall, while I was in Chicago at my sister's wedding, I stepped out of the reception to listen to a voicemail from a former housemate. He said something about an ex-girlfriend and the New York Times, and D.C. night life, but he was over-excited so I couldn't make out the rest. The next day, as my wife and I headed to O'Hare for the trip back to our home in D.C, e-mails started trickling in from other friends. Apparently, a former romantic interest had written a story about me in the "Modern Love" column in the Times.

As I paged through my mental little black book, dusty and unopened over the past four years, I realized there were a disproportionate number of English majors who were potential culprits. English majors can write, exaggerate, and embellish, and I'm sure that I, like anyone, provided dates with plenty of material. It was conceivable that, while trying to impress some date, I'd made some embarrassing boast.

When we arrived at our apartment and I logged onto the computer, I tried to play it cool. Instead of looking up the column, I visited my favorite running website, letsrun.com, run by the same former housemate who had given me the initial warning about the article. Not very helpful. "Scott Anderson in Modern Love Section of the New York Times" was emblazoned across the home page. My name hadn't been mentioned in the story, but as it turns out, I'm the only Chicago-native in the D.C. area who has run a sub-four minute mile. Throw in a bunch of other descriptors in the article (my penchant for karaoke, my "tall and lanky" frame, the Chicago MBA, and the Ivy League undergrad degree), and my identity was obvious to anyone who knew me.

I clicked on the hyperlink, and before even reading the title, my eyes went to the byline: "Joanna." I was foggy on the details, but I remembered that she'd worked for some health-related non-profit, that she was attractive, and that she'd come across as intellectual in a literary way. When I met her at a karaoke bar in Adams Morgan, she had asked my buddy Greer and me whether we were there "ironically." The first few lines of the piece made it seem like she was the one who should be embarrassed. "I met a man the old-fashioned way: tipsily, in a bar," it began. "Then I ruined my chances with him the new-fashioned way. I Googled him." For my wife's sake, I particularly appreciated how she noted the G-rated nature of our parting at the end of our date: "an awkward car-hug."

I remembered enough to know that there were a few minor details that were off in the story. To begin with, Axl Rose is not in my karaoke wheelhouse. At the time of our date, I was in a "Living on a Prayer" phase, under the influence of my business school housemate Jake, from New Jersey. (The struggles of Johnny the dock worker really resonated with future finance geeks like us.) I have since progressed to "Forever and Ever" by Randy Travis, perhaps more appropriate for a Mid-western boy still trying to scrape up some rural cred with his southern wife. Joanna also claims that I had offered to help her research spas and good places to get a facial. I certainly do not remember that. More importantly, though, I do not want my wife to get any ideas about any dormant enthusiasm for that kind of research. Finally, it made me cringe to read that I might have volunteered my undergrad GPA on a date. Yikes.