Results tagged "Hamptons"

“I can’t believe I forgot her formula”…

As my eyes locked with those of the cashier. “I can see it on the shelf — it was the whole reason we came to the store today… I’ll be right back”, as I grabbed the three year old, my other hand wrapped around the infant carrier strapped to my chest. I didn’t miss the moans and exasperated sighs from the lengthy line behind me… “She’s just getting the milk for her baby, the poor thing” I heard the cashier attempt to explain.. As if I were some feeble creature, obviously in need of guidance.

Was I the poor thing, or my baby? We hadn’t yet paid for the rest of our groceries, and 30 seconds later when I returned with the infant formula, the glares of hatred that I received didn’t have to blink twice before reminding me that this is August. August in the Hamptons… and what took me so long? Didn’t I notice the other people waiting? The people that don’t live here year round and shop in this very store at least twice a week. The people that never forget ANYTHING. And the people that don’t seem to realize that, despite having dropped college-tuition-amounts of money to be here, they are in fact, on vacation…. which I happened to just look up on Google and, despite my attempts to cause ruin, still means ‘An extended period of recreation…A period of time devoted to pleasure, rest, or relaxation’. How could I be so selfish?

But this comes as no surprise… in fact, the surprise only comes when the random act of kindness appears — such as the woman yesterday that commented on how well behaved my son is. That, coming from someone that just described waiting in the deli line for a grilled chicken breast as “Hell on Earth”. Because, dear Lord, WHY does she have to wait. Why are the deli-people doing this to her? What did she ever do to them? Don’t they know? WHY DO THEY HATE HER SO MUCH?

But they don’t. They don’t hate you — that is to say that they don’t want to hate you. You spend your money here… which in turn makes the big bad economy go round, so please — be welcome. But really. What is with all the stress? The anger? This might be typical New York and you might be trying to relax, but before you get into that car and attempt to speed demon yourself down main street, TRY HARDER. Some people are backing out of parking spaces in vacationer euphoria — THEY DON’T SEE YOU COMING.

Because, I know that you paid for what they think the Hamptons should be — which is each individual’s definition of high priced perfection. But please, your vacation is stressing me out. Watch that blood pressure, and lay it on back… We have a few weeks to go.

_____

This post is being repeated over at Southampton Patch… because it’s fun to share.  You can go there, or stay here… do whatcha like.

Because spelling out the word “FOR” is just exhausting.

Maybe you’re on Montauk Highway — or Noyac Road, winding your way east through the various Hamptons, eager to arrive at your destination — vacationing or not. The sun beaming through the sunroof or the salt encrusted wind blowing your hair with the top down on the convertible — Life, you think, could not be any less complicated when suddenly there — Wait, WHAT WAS THAT?

You know you want to stop — Take a closer look at the pile of stuff that has been left by the side of the road for the taking. Is it junk? Why are they getting rid of it? A pile of poolside lounge chairs; a toy kitchen set; side tables; other stuff. Maybe the garbage company wouldn’t take it — maybe the former owner didn’t want to pay the extra disposal charge, or felt guilty because, in the light of day, it really isn’t junk. WHO KNOWS. But will you stop? Will you decide to pull into the next available driveway to TURN AROUND and go see what you might be missing? No — Because you don’t need anything… I mean, not really. Especially not something left out by the side of the road. But wait. Yes, as you make a 3 point turn on a dead end street, maybe it’s something that could be salvaged… a fresh coat of paint, a quick once over with the power wash… I mean, it’s 4 FREE. 4 FREE! And who doesn’t love FREE, especially when added to the number 4?

But again, WAIT. As you slow the car, approaching and squinting to try and get a better look — What if someone SEES YOU? Not that you plan to clamor around on the side of the road, sunglasses acting as a face-mask. What if you are recognized as you grab that lamp that *could* probably, most likely not be vintage?… Or the twin sized headboard circa 1975 — who knows, maybe you WILL NEED IT SOMEDAY? When the kids get older and have kids of their own who come out to visit their Grandparents in the Hamptons for the weekend… wouldn’t it just be fun and RETRO to have the room all made up all Brady-style and campy? And yes, that might be 30+ years down the road from now, but whatever — will it ever be 4 FREE again!!?!

And as you now sit, across the street on the side of the road with your hazards on — Others passing by with the same rubber necking thoughts… “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure” crossing your mind — Remember 10 minutes ago when everything was so carefree? Now you’re late getting to your destination… And 4 Free doesn’t feel so free anymore as you once again decide to keep on going… Only to think about the possibilities now left, yet again, by the side of the road.

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This post is being repeated over at Southampton Patch… because it’s fun to share.  You can go there, or stay here… do whatcha like.

Anyone can call themselves anything, but it doesn’t make it so…

To begin with, I’m a Designer — a title that I’d like to think that I earned while climbing the somewhat thankless rungs of a career that requires a certain amount of skill that, on occasion, borrows from bursts of talent. To say this talent is consistent is a brilliant lie — no one is perfect and being “right” about how things should appear is one of those “grey areas” that we can all role our eyes at while pretending that we don’t really love Rob Lowe and {TOTALLY} can’t wait to read his auto-pilot book about being a man-slut. Regardless, along this path I’ve had the occasion to design a laundry list of things — for a laundry list of people and companies that have either led to pride beaming successes or unfortunate and mismanaged disasters, but each experience has led birth to something concrete that I can walk away with. AND, while I typically win in the end, I’ve worked hard  — sometimes designs are easy and others impossible, but they all deserve the same respect — anything less would be unheard of. Many times I’ve felt that falling into this career was by way of not being very good at other things. Starving, for instance, wouldn’t ever work for me, so being a traditional Art for Art’s Sake Artist was a little out of the question… I really didn’t have any hope when it came to a money management role (obviously — let them eat cake!) and, by way of a complete lack of interest, all things politics, law, religion and science were totally out of the question… that’s not to say, however, that they aren’t {TOTALLY INSIDE}. Because, when it comes to knowing right and wrong — what works and what doesn’t… what SELLS and what DISTURBS, it only makes COMMON SENSE that when putting IT OUT THERE, some things, you just shouldn’t do.

{IN OTHER WORDS, YOU SUCK.}
{THIS DESIGN IS BAD. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS WRONG. YOU MAKE ME SICK. GO AWAY. DO IT OVER. OPEN APPLE Q. GET A LIFE. STOP. DON’T EVER DO THIS AGAIN. POWERPOINT. WRONG. ANTI. AMATEUR. THROWING UP. GET OUT. JUST LOOK AWAY}

BUT, aside from my vast expertise as a full-time resident of the Hamptons and self-proclaimed design guru, who am I to critique the work of another, right? Where is my license to point out the obvious — Another new free Hamptons publication, The Daily Dan… Published and produced entirely somewhere else by another “local-yet-not” publication, Dan’s Papers — Aimed at making life between Westhampton and Montauk look ridiculous. Obscene. Absurd. Retarded. And, they employ an Art Director – Photography Director, Designers and probably a whole swarm of freelancers — all of which I’m sure have EYES. Because, yes… When I step out of a fake pool with an airbrushed body and horribly photoshopped jewels, overlaying typography that drips and oozes with amateur monkey brains… I {TOTALLY} know that you need to see what’s INSIDE. AND — I will tell you how to buy a husband, live on a mere $1.3M — WHO TO CALL WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK. Because I need you to know all of these things… while my legs and hand get chopped off at the water line and my head might not even be my own… I’m not questioning your intelligence AT ALL… Or blaming you for picking up the magazine — while the gooey airbrained contents barely stick to the pages of Über-gloss and canned editorial, leaving slime and stain on your hands as if a crime was committed. Because this is {TOTALLY} what you need to understand life in the Hamptons.

And while the opportunity to share the real Hamptons with, albeit, the people that already LIVE HERE, has officially been snuffed out like an obnoxiously cheap cigar, I can only react from the sidelines — turning my nose up and looking away from the waste and disaster as the contents start to leak out all over the summer’s beginning…  Because someone obviously doesn’t care about looking good — especially the powers that be at The Daily Dan.

Since this post is entirely about and for ME, I have taken the initiative to BOLD the important aspects. That way you can speed read, grasp the skinny and shimmy on out… At least that’s how I’d do it.

It amazes me.
I was amazed, and still — I remain as such.

The speed at which things can get totally blown out of proportion. Uncontrollable speed. With flames shooting out of the sides of things… Like people’s heads. Or when a seemingly important but not critical, situation is looked at from another perspective, and all hell breaks loose. Kind of like Trump for President, or… entering my house with a freshly baked batch of butter filled chocolate chip cookies…. That you expect me to share…  And while I am torn about whether or not to share this very personal experience with the internet, I’m just sitting here — not lifting a finger… Because that’s what I was told to do. Absolutely nothing.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to not do anything? Especially typing with my tongue — not very effective. So far, I haven’t done anything since last Wednesday around 11am. That was when I pulled my car into the Southampton Hospital Valet and threw my keys at the poor unsuspecting parking lot attendant. If only I had taken a second to acknowledge his smile… knelt down, perhaps, to smell the lovely flowers along the pathway to PATIENT ADMITTANCE. Which, I know, sounds more like some screwball confessional than anything else — but it is accurate in terms of signing yourself up for the unknown… patiently (of course).

But there I was. I had a strange pain in my right side — and being 34 weeks pregnant (give or take) my doctor didn’t hesitate to send me off to the hospital for monitoring. It would have all worked itself out eventually, had I found the ability to control my nerves, but no. No — instead I complained when the pain increased. I squirmed. And worse — I cried when the “call nurse” button on the thingamajig didn’t work and my cell phone had no service. I was, in effect, an infant — by all standard definitions… And yet, they insisted that I stay. They insisted there was something serious going on.. They introduced me to a surgeon who LOVES to cut people open. LOVES IT. He loves it so much, in fact — that he was ready to dive right in without one of those silly CAT Scans to prove that I needed my Appendix out. Medical Technology — WHO NEEDS IT?!? But no. As he went off to sharpen his knife collection, another doctor agreed to a second opinion and had me transferred to another hospital where they stand firm behind JUST THE FACTS MAN. A theory that sometimes gets lost out here in the Hamptons… you know — facts being so REAL and all.

But it WAS REAL.
AND — it was REALLY HAPPENING.
As I laid there, bouncing around in the ambulance being transferred to Stonybrook University Hospital — where ALL of the surgeons and doctors are between the ages of 18 and 25… AND where I finally found solace in the almost apologetic confirmation that NO. I did not need surgery…. AND, with the crowned jewel on top — The baby is ABSOLUTELY FINE.

But still, they wouldn’t let me leave. Because — the pain was still there and according to every 18-25 year old medical professional, House M.D. is the end all of medical mysteries… as in — there is NO SUCH THING. I actually had one late night doctor, who seemed to fancy my humor, tell me that he wasn’t letting me leave until he had this ENIGMA figured out. The enigma, of course, being me — wrapped up in a riddle, fashioned as a bleach smelling gurney. I would have laughed him right out of triage, but by then they had me all tickled pink with morphine. Those sneaky bastards. I guess I should have thanked The FOX Network for giving us this new breed of NEVER SAY NEVER die-hard docs due to HOUSE, but instead I sought my immediate exit.

And so, here I am, home since Thursday evening and starting an official countdown. My due date is in May… bets are being placed that I don’t make it through this week, although I’m not so sure about that. I am still feeling the weirdness on my right side, but with every test known to man telling me that nothing is wrong, I’m just wading around in the shallow end. I am going in for nonstop follow-ups and doctor appointments… none of which involve House OR surgeons that love surgery… And as I mentioned earlier, I have been cut-off on doing anything that involves, well, anything until we see the end of this. “This” being something that we have been looking forward to for a very looooong nine months… Excited is an understatement, as I sit here jumping on the inside. Until then, my posts will become somewhat less and less — although I will be in touch with the final outcome, of course.

AND — whew, enough already, right!
Fam and Friends — Thank you for your comfort… you have no idea.
Mr. Sal — That chair looked damn uncomfortable and yet you managed to stay in it. There are no words…

Subtitle: Ryan doesn’t get her shopping center…

via Curbed Hamptons

But, believe it or not, this really wasn’t about me. I know, it really is hard to believe that a town as large as Southampton could turn its back on someone with such clout and circumstance as myself, but sadly, its true. And who cares that the developer is a really genuine business man that I know personally…. Someone that has built his independent wealth BY HIMSELF (gasp) and gives graciously to local charities. They still held the door open for his departure without giving him the respect of a blink. But, believe it or not, this really isn’t about him either.

No. This is about change. Period.

And I’m really really tired. I went to one meeting as an advocate of the Tuckahoe Main Street project, as some of you may recall, and I would have gone to more — but not only were they strategically scheduled at the absolute most inconvenient times, I also didn’t want to return to that oh-so-unfresh feeling of a recently soiled diaper being wrapped around my naked body as I gurgled and crawled on the floor, whining in order to bring attention to myself by acting like the rest of the town’s anti-change committee… That being the wall between old and new. Because SOMETHING has to change.

So while I might be at fault for not voicing my opinion as graciously those that have perfected the art of spitting on the floor and acting like a crowd of heckling fifth graders — especially when good intentions rear their ugly heads, I also didn’t feel that making myself the pregnant housewife poster child for a new grocery store was really a good look for me. Although, yes, I do have the spatula and apron collection to pull it off in fabulous and unabashed grandeur. And while you may think that I’m just whispering here on my own personal blog that only a few thousand might stumble upon, nationally… Locally, we have serious problems.

I’m not a sociologist (gasp). I’m not even into politics other than what makes for common sense, but I did own a small business once upon a time which has to qualify me for some level of the SAVVE, so bear with me while I lay it out…. Progress equals jobs, which equals revenue, which equals ECONOMIC RECOVERY. So while the current year-round residents of Southampton sit here, watching our neighbors attempt to sell their homes to move to OTHER cities and towns where OPPORTUNITIES are being CREATED, we get to see every other business closing its door due to JUST THAT. Not to mention the hypocrites that seat themselves in opposition to change — as each designer or specialty boutique in the village closes it’s doors for months at a time or indefinitely… How many of them are actually PATRONS or better yet… HOW MANY EVEN NOTICE? Or, how many of them are just like me? Shopping online or packing up on an almost daily basis to head to OTHER cities and towns where shopping is actually affordable?

WHEW, and while I catch my breath… (I said lemon in my iced water, please!) I knew this would happen. It was beyond predictable that the powers that be in our little WORLDWIDE VACATION DESTINATION would clutch the edges of their seats until the whites of their knuckles matched the hideous March snow outside. I mean, REALLY. They won’t even allow for new trees to be planted at the park in town — who was I to get my hopes up that dangerous and trouble attracting VACANT LOTS would be dealt with in such positive and hopeful dreams of infrastructure when the typical attitude takes over …“if it ain’t broke, I don’t know what is broke.” (via 27east.com) — Now that mind is just WIDE open.

We are heading North.

via http://www.portsmouthnh.com/

And I know. Today was finally nice outside… meaning that 20 layers of goose downed garb was not necessary for walking outside.. So why would we go and leave this 50-something degree heatwave and go to a land where ice loves you so much that it sticks to your face? Well… I’ll TELL YOU.

I think I’ve mentioned before that Mr. Sal and I lived in Portsmouth New Hampshire for YEARS AND YEARS before moving to the bitter death end of Long Island. And yes. It isn’t quite true that Southampton is the edge of the universe — it is the Hamptons, after-all (snickering). But…. ye not be unequally yoked, SAY I! It might be all shiny and glossy on the outside… but on the inside, we are still AT THE END OF AN ISLAND. An island that is equal to that of an enormously overdeveloped sandbar… One with famous people that enjoy pretending not to be famous — but don’t you dare treat them as such… As well as the overgrown populous of Trustifarians (thanks to the two Anastasias for the terminology) … Otherwise known as self-proclaimed hippies that drive Land Rovers, only eat organic and live “status” free green lifestyles thanks to that of well endowed trust funds… Also known to cluster in popular ski resort areas, University towns, The Berkshires, and of course Portlandia. It would be remiss to say that they can’t be found in Portsmouth either… It’s just that you’re too busy scraping the ice off your eyelashes to notice most of the time — Plus, any town that reeks of Patchouli as a CLEANING PRODUCT kind of passes the not-a-poser test right away.

BECAUSE… like I was saying before completely losing track of myself, we are going back to Portsmouth later on this week. We haven’t been up for a visit in a few years and I think that if we stay here — despite the hints of spring, at the end of this void where you turn one way and see the same thing you saw two seconds ago, we might just start locking our jaws and talking like Lovely and Thurston from Gilligan’s Island… I mean — IT WOULD MAKE SENSE.

And so, whilst we are away — clamoring the ice and dirty snow mounds of the city where we once lived… in complete and total SIN… please have a nice week. Enjoy the spring-like rouse before Mother Nature notices, takes a big swig of her martini and then blasts us with another 40 feet of winter before being tempted away by the Easter Bunny… I’ll catch you cats on the otha-ahh side.

Seriously.
I need big ones.

(less than 5 miles from my house)

Because last night I went to my very first TOWN meeting, and all I can say is that I wish I had some balls. Seriously. And I have to capitalize TOWN in this instance because after listening to the rants of baffonery, my eyelids are permanently peeled back and my jaw is unattractively dragging on the floor. Of course, it didn’t help that I drowned myself in the biggest wine glass I could find after the TOWN meeting — but we are now just 5 hours shy of 24 hours ago and the overwhelming feeling of ickiness has yet to subside. So.. just what was I thinking? I mean. WHO DO I THINK I AM? Well, to start with, I am a resident of the TOWN of Southampton as well as a former small business owner. I am also a human being that likes to do silly things like… eat food, feed my family, and — on occasion, wear clothes. Unfortunately, living in Southampton TOWN also means that all of the silly little things that we like to do usually require leaving the TOWN to be accomplished. Because we are normal. We are average. We work really hard for the money and things that we have and therefore don’t have the luxury of buying all of our clothes at Saks or overpriced boutiques. Instead, we invite really wealthy people to come here to do that. In the TOWN that we live in. The TOWN that is our homebase… while we leave the TOWN to go to places like most of the country already has downtown. Places like price clubs… Old Navy… STOP-N-SHOP. And so, when I was told about a lovely new development plan for the location pictured above… One that will house a new grocery store and several retail chains… I took the giant bubble maker from the child and started running wildly around the yard chanting… SOMEBODY CARES, SOMEBODY CARES… only to end up sprawled on the grass staring DIRECTLY at the sun. 

But then, as the dictionary defines typical, a complete and total anti committee was formed resulting in last night’s meeting. I wanted to go and tell them all about how expensive it is to live here… as if they don’t already know… I wanted to stand up for the developer and say HEY THIS IS GOOD. I wanted to say, this is MY DEVELOPMENT! GO AWAY. There were some valid concerns, traffic and residential issues… but when the character attacks started my ears began to ring… And then I was all done. Frozen solid into a impenetrable block of ice… which, interestingly enough, was defying all laws of science considering the amount of sweat I was starting to produce. This was being televised. And hey… these people were being REALLY MEAN. Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to stand up in front of these 100+ REALLY ANGRY ANTIS and say… “Like, yeah, I Tooootally need to shop”… I imagined myself strutting.. how was I going to walk without legs? And then I heard myself talking… leaning into the microphone, “balls” was all that came out. I started to become one with the folding chair… I sunk down low. Then someone passed me the petition and I voted YES — signing my name… as it was ripped from my hands by an ANTI I thought… why do they need my name… and then they passed it on among each other… all noting who had voted yes… They knew. THEY KNEW IT WAS ME. And when the ring leader stepped to the podium to ask if anyone had anything POSITIVE to say, I fell hands and knees to the floor and crawled out of the room. Completely silent and without any sign of balls.

But this isn’t the end. I mean not really. This was the first of several TOWN meetings that I plan to attend in the hopes that my voice will eventually leave my brain and land somewhere meaningful. Let’s just hope that I can find the skill of public speaking while being right about everything all the time so that everyone does exactly what I tell them to. Right? Because I need this AND SO DO YOU. And all those REALLY MEAN ANTIS who were glaring at me in an attempt to burn a hole somewhere to pour the brainwash in… just give me a few days to  grow a pair so big that you’ll NEVER see me coming.    

I guess the time has come for reality to finally hit the Hamptons. I mean really. Those of us that live here know how tough it can be… I mean just now I had to lift a finger. I was thinking yesterday about how what we need is a serious reality check. Out here, sitting in the Atlantic Ocean — just a barrier for the Connecticut coastline… the tip of the sandbar, if you will. Not unlike the beacon  of light that shoots from the Vegas skyline… And then, as it comes to pass–and before I get all existential…because it is Groundhog Day… starring Bill Murray, and I’m in no mood for chitchat–The Jersey Shore is thinking about paying us a visit.

I know.
I didn’t know who they were either until I decided to roll off my pedestal and get a clue.

Because I know the Jersey Shore cast members are all REALITY professionals that will treat the Hamptons like their very own stomping ground… Not having watched MTV in a really long time… and then sitting glued with eyes peeled open in mesmerizing awe… Coming to the realization that there is hope for mental dullness…. in a really REAL way.

We spent yesterday thinking about last year.
All day.
Just thinking.
All day.
All of us.
See – Here’s Bluedog LOST IN THOUGHT.
If only he wasn’t so introverted.

Guest Bird #7  – Sylvia

If you’re not familiar with Palm Springs weather, check out last month’s warm temperatures!
 
Water has always been an important theme in the Palm Springs area, for the beauty as well as the cooling effect.  At last count, there were said to be over 30,000 swimming pools in the Coachella Valley.  I have chosen the most interesting residential pools to share with you…

Bob Hope’s pool and 17,531 sq. ft. house!  (1)

Elrod House pool  (2)

When viewing the photos below, please hover your mouse over the word “Notes” on the lower right side, so that you’ll be able to see the descriptions!

(1)  1979 Bob Hope House (John Lautner) photograph by Julius Shulman & Jurgen Nogai, 2007
 
(2)  1968 Elrod House (John Lautner) photograph by Julius Shulman & Jurgen Nogai, 2007
 
(3)  Palm Springs Modern p. 40