Hamptons Hobnobbing

We spent the weekend at the home of a gracious friend who lives in East Hampton year round, and we had a simply delightful weekend. But wow. Every time I go out there, I think it can't get more crowded and then it does.

Our Dapper Host

Over the course of my life, I have spent a lot of time out on the South Fork of Long Island. It has changed enormously since my first trips to Montauk in the 70s, but as overrun as it's become, a lot of what I love about Eastern Long Island is still evident. But it's July, so I had to look very hard.

Spending time out there during the summer is like being in a movie. Everything is so completely over the top. I know that I am lucky, and I never feel poor. However, there is nothing like walking through East Hampton to remind me that I am not rich. The obsession with and outward display of wealth is unrelenting. Manhattan has it's share of wealthy folks to be sure. But one could stand next to a katrillionaire in line at Fairway and never know it. In the Hamptons, making sure everyone knows it has become a feverish preoccupation.

Despite the overhead whirring of private jets and helicopters, it was a peaceful weekend with beautiful weather, savory food and great company. For two days and two nights, life was good.

Weekend highs:

1. Using my igo charger in the car for the first time. Unlimited laptop use. Amazing. I used the whole trip out to organize photo folders and the whole trip home to work on tournament stuff and start writing this post. We could have driven to Florida and I would never have run out of battery power.
   
   
2. Discovery of Pimm's and tonic. How did I make it to 36 without ever trying this perky little beverage? Perfect for a girl who detests sweet cocktails. This could be a replacement for the vodka gimlets I've grown a little tired of. Try it with some lime.
   
   
3. Drinks at the AmHo. Terry and I rented a house in Sag Harbor for many years with a great group of friends. Late night at the bar of The American Hotel was a standard. We went Saturday night and it felt just like old times. It's a quirky spot that always guarantees amusing conversations with characters of all types. We caught up with some old acquaintances and met some delightful new ones. My favorite part of the evening was the precocious beagle stealthily mingling at ankle level. I have no idea to whom he belonged, but he fit right in.
   
   
4. Paying a visit to the beach where Terry and I got engaged (at sunset 9 years ago in August. Holy cow, I’m old.)
   
   
   
   
5. Celebrity sightings: we tried hard to stay out of the fray, so we didn’t have many. Just Keith Hernandez in Java Nation on Saturday morning.

Weekend lows:

1. Feeling completely deaf while trying to have a conversation with a stranger at a cocktail party. We went to a small gallery opening on Saturday night. It was a really nice event with two of my favorite things: wine and cheese. So the gallery owner flits over to us at one point and gushes, “Oh, I want you to meet Tony Curanaj [one of the artists being shown].” She introduced him and then scurried off. So I found myself in exactly the kind of situation in which I cannot hear anything. The room was pretty crowded, so there was lots of noise and the floors were wood. I had no ability to discern any words at all without violating personal space norms in a really uncomfortable way. Asking Tony to repeat would have been futile. So I just smiled and nodded. Later Terry explained what the conversation we were having was about. As a fellow hearing impaired commenter recently quipped, I know that one of these days I am going to unwittingly agree to help someone rob a bank. I just know I’ll be pulled over driving the getaway car, and I’ll have thought I was aiding in a Starbucks run.
   
   
2. Not really a low exactly, because I didn’t care, but I endured some shabby (but ultimately amusing) treatment at one point in the evening at the AmHo. Two cougars on the prowl spied our host and were clearly interested. Since I was standing next to him, I would need to be disposed of. In one of the most adept yet shockingly rude social maneuvers I have ever seen, I suddenly found myself sandwiched up against a wall with my nose less than three inches from the center of one of the cougar’s backs. The speed with which this happened was impressive, and it was masterful in its subtlety. A casual on-looker would never have assumed this as a deliberate gesture and would have attributed the whole thing to the normal jostling that happens in a crowded bar. I knew better, but obliged by finding a less crowded perch. Sorry, ladies. He’s taken anyway. By a woman with better manners, I might add.
   
   
3. Visiting our old summer house and being shocked at the state it was in. This was truly sad. I’ve rented many summer houses in a few Hamptons spots. But the one that I really think of as “my old summer house” is the one we rented for years in North Haven (just outside Sag Harbor). We had the perfect group of friends in that house with wonderful chemistry all around. The historic house had belonged to a whaling captain who sailed out of Sag Harbor. In fact, the creaky pile of planks is haunted by the ghost of Captain Corwin himself. I’m serious about this – Terry encountered the old spook while reading in the parlor one evening. Others had similar experiences over the several years we rented this house and adjoining cottage. Much fun was had, despite the uninvited guests. We had many feasts with excesses of wine at a dining table that could seat well over a dozen (and we always pushed the limit). We solved countless Sunday Times crosswords around the oversized island in the kitchen while gossiping about the happenings of the night before. I made a lot of life-long friends in that house. So we were all very sad when we had to stop renting it because the owner was selling. (Interestingly, it was sold to Spalding Gray who infamously committed suicide a few summers ago by jumping off the Staten Island Ferry.) On Saturday afternoon Terry and I decided to drive by and see how the old homestead was doing. I imagined it was going to look great. I guess I assumed it must have been sold again after the Gray tragedy and that since it had been bought and sold twice now, some renovation and TLC must have been applied. Well, when we turned the corner we were shocked. The house is in complete disrepair. The grounds are completely overgrown with weeds. The cottage in the back looks like it is no longer habitable. There was literally an arm chair out on the side yard and a clothesline in the back with tattered looking clothes. I don’t know what is going on there, but it looks like there are some hill-billies renting the place, and there is obviously no one managing the upkeep. So sad.

A stolen glance at a house gone to seed

In the end, the lows were far surpassed by the highs, and it was an extremely successful weekend overall. Thanks, JB! We're coming back soon...