Living in Manhattan can be
hard work. The heat, humidity, traffic, crowds, and cost of living are not what overwhelm. Rather it's the pretension and posturing. For whatever reason most New Yorkers are always in some sort of a race. Beyond tedious, this drive to compete consumes most of us every day of the week.
Working in fashion, I've seen it all, know them all, and have done most if not all. Driven by the need for recognition, we travel like wolves in a well coiffed pack. Come summer most migrate to the Hamptons which requires as much planning as a grand tour of Europe.
as if they didn't plan them.
Their activities don't change, just the venue. Every weekend they entertain in their alter ego abodes. The difference is that their "girls" serve it up on iron stone and Simon Pearce rather than porcelain and William Yeoward. And yes... they love to grill.. the "girls" that is...
Maintaining a perfectly casual lifestyle requires appropriate accoutrements. Therefore each day, the ladies must stock up at diminutive versions of their favorite Manhattan retailers. The difference is it's Easthampton Village, not the West Village.
The gay boys used to escape in isolation on Fire Island. Now they've moved next door to their clients. Not only are their homes fabulous, their perfectly toned, tanned, and togged presence
takes competition to new level.
So, today I'm taking a cab to the East River and 35th. I will hop on a ferry to the Sandy Hook National Park in New Jersey. Seventy five minutes later we'll arrive on it's sandy shore.
However, what I really wish is that I was in Lewistown. Frank and I only have to ride twenty minutes to Gigantic Warm Springs. After leaving our five dollars in the can, we swim in pure water as it bubbles up from the earth below. Ah... paradise!
