We were at this East Hampton beach house that Karen Abbott rented, and it was pretty perfect. Sara and I met up for a late dinner with Susan Rebecca White (on a research trip in NYC), and I ended up crashing at Sara’s hotel because my plane got in SO late. Stupid weather.
It is fun to pretend to feel a world-worry ennui and droop across chaise lounges at the Algonquin, pre-beach, whispering PURELY obnoxious things to each other in our best Old Money accents— “August is just UNGODLY here in the city. Let’s head out to the Hamptons. Should we take the Jitney out there? Or the helicopter?”— and then giggling like loons.
TRUTH: YOU CAN ABSOLUTELY TAKE A HELICOPTER.
Bigger truth: We took the Jitney. I was unwilling to mortgage my house to pay the helicopter fare.
Observation: Only fronting redneck tourists who are playing at silly rabbits (and who have seen sex and the city) seem to say THE HAMPTONS. People who actually go there just say the one they mean— East or Bridge or whatever.
Greater observation: If one is sitting in the lobby of the Algonquin, playing with Mathilda and having a decent human cocktail while waiting for Jitney 0’Clock, it is a LOT more fun to swan your hair about like Carrie Bradshaw and relentlessly say THE HAMPTONS in snobby accents back and forth to each other.
Other truth: A Jitney is a secret NYC word that means bus. It is called a Jitney because WHAT kind of New Yorker New Yorker wants to admit to riding a bus? Hint: NOT the kind that spends weekends in the Hamptons. ALSO perhaps it means a SUPER bus with plush seats and DVD players that has a stewardess who brings wine and coffee and newspapers.
People kept trying to tell me things I had to go and do and see and look at, because how often is one in the Hamptons? but the truth is, I spent 80% of the time in my pajamas, staring at purely imaginary landscapes and sucking the ends of my hair like a mental patient.
The WORST part was when we got terribly attacked by hornets. Morning two I woke up to find Sara had posted this sign on the bathroom door.
The toilet hornet was a HARBINGER!
After him, then there was a steady STREAM of hornets zooming about in threatening ways.
At one point, Karen, in a hornet fueled RAGE, whipped off her shoe and spun about like some kind of black-haired ninja-ette, WHANGING her flower-toe flip flop about with vigorous precision. She killed FOUR HORNETS in less than two seconds—it was like a scene out of Kill Bill with a whole bunch of hornets playing the part of Lucy Liu.
Last night there, we did drive up to Montauk and eat a lot of crustaceans, drink bourbon sidecars, and watch the sea preen itself as it got all infested with glorious sunsettiness . Little bit of a show-off, that sea.
I got a lot of book done, ate a lot of beautiful things, drank too much, hung out with my posse, and didn’t get stung.
Not a bad week.