Friday, April 30, 2010

Police Force Thinning Out; Poors Rejoice!

According to a very journalismy, investigation-ish article from 27east, the Westhampton Beach Village Police Department is operating on a very thin roster these days.

"As many as four of the department’s 16 full-time officers, or 25 percent, have taken a substantial amount of time off for medical reasons in the last six weeks or so, prompting Police Chief Ray Dean to rely more heavily on part-time officers and to make do with fewer cops staffing each regular shift."

So 12 full-time officers translates to only 4 officers per square mile of the village! Gulp. Expect crime statistics to go WAY up!
Celebrate, residents of Mastic, Mastic Beach, Shirley, who trek into the Hamptons to work. You might not get pulled over today!

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Attention Hamptons Fameballs!

Now's your chance at Hollywood fame! Well, not really. But it is a great opportunity to show off how pretty, rich, and spoiled you are, so everybody wins! The smarmy sounding casting agency Grant Wilfley Casting (GWC) is looking for all you well-heeled Homptons-types to fill the background of the new season of "Royal Pains," a scripted TV show about a physical therapist who serves the wealthy Hamptons crowd because he traded his soul to Satan for a block of cheese when he was growing up in the ghetto. Something like that. Here's the list of qualifications. Stay away uglies! Make yourselves scarce poors! Unless you're Latino, of course.

  • Men and women with upscale, late model cars, e.g. Mercedes, BMW, Lexus, etc. Please include the make, model, year, color and a recent picture of your car when you submit. (Bleh)
  • Latino men and women to play Cuban horticulturalists. (Subtext alert: they mean gardeners.)
  • Older men with real-life experience as barber. (That should be fun role!)
  • Young, attractive heiress type who is comfortable driving a sports car on camera

(Note: you don't have to be an actual heiress, just an "attractive heiress type." Here's how you cast this. Step 1. Walk out onto Main St, East Hampton in July. Step 2. Throw stone. )

Break a leg! Seriously. If you respond to this casting call just go ahead and snap your femur. Both for bonus points.'s Guide to Toolbaggery

Remember the good times? When you could buy a plane ticket in cash at the gate? Do you long for those halcyon days when college classmates were all white, and your alma mater had an a cappella group? Care to dust off that old Panama Jack hat and party like it's 1989?

Go to New Haven. According to this gem from, there's a bar/restaurant that happens to be paired next door with a cigar lounge, and ever the two shall meet. The restaurant's called Bespoke, and the cigar bar is called The Owl Shop, which is appropriate enough, because it's where a-holes of a feather flock together.

Truthfully, the article is impeccably written and the co-authors really know their cigars and their coctails. And I guess they're doing a service. There just aren't enough toolbag indicators enough these days. Sure, there's tribal tats, and fistpumping, and fake tans, but those are just youthful indiscretions. Even the Mercedes/BMW indicator is gone, now that every 18-year-old owns one. But now you can take heart, thanks to this article, because nothing unleashes your sense of superiority than sitting back in a leather chair, crossing your legs, and sucking on a hand-wrapped Nicaraguan while listening to the pianoman "tickle the ivories."

Ambience you say? How about this: "Today The Owl Shop still attracts a refreshingly mixed crowd of New Haven regulars, visiting dignitaries, Yalies, and a remarkably full representation of the New Haven Bar. Early evenings at The Owl often see stalwart prosecutors encamped in the bay window overlooking College Street, while defense attorneys and trial lawyers congregate at the bar and trade war stories."

Kids. Don't smoke cigars. It makes you wear funny hats.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Sans Papers: The April 23 Recap

By which we parse that parrot cage lining people call "Dan's Papers" for all its subtext and stupidity. Mostly stupidity.

Oh, that this blog had only started last week when Sans Papers printed one of the most hilarious corrections ever written. Seriously, it was written seemingly by accident, that's how bad it was. There almost needs to be a correction of the correction. In the Police Blotter section Dan's (aka The Worst Editor Ever) neer-do-well son David "Lion" had to correctly report on a plane crash at Montauk airport, one in which the pilot walked away unharmed, because he "confused" that plane crash with a plane crash from a year earlier, one in which the plane went on fire. Oh, and that pilot had also been involved in a head-on collision with his daughter in the car, a story David also got "confused" with this plane crash, which actually has nothing to do with either plane crash to begin with. Huh? Exactly. For a "newspaper" that covers a region where not a whole lot happens between October and half of May, you'd think they'd at least get an F-ing PLANE CRASH right. Sigh. But not really sigh, because being led through that Cretan Maze that resides in David Lion's head was hard work, but entertaining, once it was all figured out and the Minotaur just stared back at us and shrugged and said, "I don't know, dude, I just live here." Then he begged us to kill him. But we wouldn't. Oh, we wouldn't.

So many questions, we fail to ask the big question. How in the hell does one "confuse" the details of one plane crash with the details of another crash that happened a year before? Is he working from memory on these blotters, or a release from the PIO? Then I scanned through the April 23 issue's Police Blotter and realized, I think I might be right. No names. Fuzzy on the details. "A 49-year-old man was arrested in East Hampton." "...a car that was involved in a theft in Montauk." How about: "A 27-year-old woman was pulled over..." (my favorite) "Police approached the driver, who was a woman." Really? The cops were able to determine that the suspect was a woman after arresting a woman? Then he buries the lede and mentions in passing that she and another female passenger were both hauled in because they were joyriding drunk with a 5 and 7 year-old in the back seat. But David Lion reserves his best for last. "A woman with a house in Water Mill reported..." items stolen from her house. You know. Which she owns. Because she's...a homeowner and stuff. "Shelter Island: You can't burn in a barrel on Shelter Island." Kids, don't listen to him. You can burn inside a barrel just as easily as anywhere else if someone were to set you on fire.

We move on to the letters, which mark, I believe, the second week in a row we've had to hear about this insufferable whale that died on the beach. People. Beached whales are a common occurance. Half of East Hampton are wearing black arm bands over this, and a few dipshits decided to lay down in the sand in the shape of a whale, as if that was going to accomplish something. The heartbreak is palpaple. And also a little overwrought. I mean, I know this is the Hamptons, where nothing dies, at least not without naming a tree, or a park bench after it, but this death is "about a community?" Really? Can I move out of this community of yours?

Jumping to the front of the paper, though, we get to Dan (The Worst Editor Ever) Rattiner's lede story about "Beach Lane," a supposed NBC sitcom slated to air about a "funky Hamptons Newspaper." My first thought was 'don't encourage him, NBC.' But, turns out the sitcom is not based on the trials and tribulations of Dan's Papers. No, that story would be so boring it would make viewers raise their remotes and say "Man, when's C-SPAN on?" But just in case you thought you might learn about the pilot (the TV show, not that kind of pilot David Lion, get away from me) think again. Dan's going to regale you with wonderful yarns about HIS newspaper that NBC doesn't give a flying frig about. And he begins with Dan's Papers HQ in the back of a trailer behind a shed that overlooked the East Hampton post office, or something, I don't know, I fell asleep after "Matthew Broderick." Subtext alert: (Which is what Hamptonyte will call out whenever it's easier to paraphrase an article's intent) Subtext Alert: Real Headline: "How I Thought NBC Was Going to Make a TV Show About Me, But Was Wrong." Real lede: "NBC is launching a sitcom about a millionairre neer-do-well who tries to launch a newsaper in the Hamptons, which has provided ample segue for me to tell everyone what NBC clearly isn't interested in knowing. And speaking of neer-do-wells, have you met my son David Lion?"

But congratulations are in order. This week's issue is the first "South O' The Highway" segment that didn't require Dan to play his own game of Six Degrees of Dune Road in order to fill out this gossip bleh. All the items were legitimate. We think. And goddamn frightening to boot. The Millionairre Matchmaker bitch is allegedly looking to move to the Hamptons. This is the woman who invites women to come on her show for a potential romantic link with one of her clients and then proceeds to dice them up for no apparent reason, with lines like "excuse me, it says here you're a stylist? Yeah, you're a big, hot, tranny mess." Charming. Someone needs to wake her up and tell her high school's over. The cheerleaders have all wandered off to greener pastures. And the pain doesn't end there. Tinsley Mortimer, of CW's "High Society" nonfame, is looking to film the second season of that horrendous, end-of-the-empire-show out in the Hamptons, where producers are looking for more "likable friends." What? Wealthy, self-absorbed, racist, homophobic, spoiled, aimless, nasty, stuck-up people aren't likable? Well, good thing you're coming to the Hamptons, where none of that wealth and superiority complex exists.

We won't recap the Hamptons Subway Newsletter, because, well...we don't understand what the hell it is. This is a regular segment in the paper that consistently makes no sense, carries no interest, and I can't even come up with other descriptors because, well...I don't understand what the hell it is.

Moving past the profile of Jules Feiffer from a sycophantic contributor who happened to waste their money taking his class at Southampton, and also moving past The Worst Editor Ever's two moronic pieces (a nonsensical rehash of a nonsensical article about lizards/his softheaded opinion of two murder trial outcomes) we stumble unfortunately upon the sleep-depriving concernz of the neer-do-well son David Lion.

You see, he has stock invested in Goldman Sachs. And he wants the meany SEC to call off their dogs on Goldman Sachs, because, well he has stock invested in them. And...they didn't do anything wrong. Well, they didn't mean to. They're real sorry, too, so what's the SEC's prob? Like, get a life, SEC! Totally.

His biggest concern would be for the lives Goldman Sachs ruined, the foreclosures, the predatory speculators licking their chops to purchase and dissolve whole neighborhoods, scattered families, suicides, the long, arduous process by which working and middle class people need to rebuild their lives, right? Quote: "There goes my portfolio, I thought. And I was having such a fun year in the market. "

If you're concerned about his portfolio as well (and who isn't?) you shouldn't be. He's sticking with his guys at Goldman Sachs. Sure, there will be firings, and maybe even a little time in the clink for the mid-level fall guys that get framed by the C-suite during the investigation, but all in all, GS is a sure bet, and his portfolio will not go up in flames like that airplane in Montauk did. Or didn't. (We're still not sure.) No, he has no sense of corporate social responsibility, no obligation to refuse patronage of a company that designed a product to defraud people and enrich themselves. He's watching the numbers, and he has faith in Goldman Sachs. Such loyalty is missing these days. It's really a love story.

And Marie Antoinette, laughing, spreads her wings.

After that article was written The Worst Editor Ever came into the office. He looked around, forlorn. Clutching last week's edition. His eyes fell upon his son. He stormed up behind him and led him away from the computer by his ear.

"You had one job to do, one job!" he screamed at his boy as the boy wailed. "Report on a freaking plane crash by visually locating and reading a press release! One job!"

"But dad, whatevs, what's the big deals anyway, nobody died and I got that right."

And The Worst Editor Ever nudged him out the back door and told him to go play Grand Theft Auto and wait for him to come home. They would discuss this later. They would sit at the kitchen table and The Worst Editor Ever would calmly explain to him. He didn't mean to be so rough in front of the newsies in the office. But he had to understand. And besides, the story of the giant eel, invading the 4 train in the subway and poking its head out for a photo op in the back of The Golden Pear in East Hampton was really giving him a tough time nailing down. Nobody would talk. Now he had to make shit up.

And the boy rubbed his ear not-so-thoughtfully and reassured his dad with a nod. And his dad told him what he wanted to hear since the morning. "Go play with your poors, you're excused."

And the boy ran off to the back of the house where the servants were sleeping, and he woke them all up by banging a metal spoon against a lobster pot, declaring himself King of Hamptonsville. And he made his servants bear gifts to him, and he watched them dance. Oh, he watched them dance. And soon he reeled off to sleep with their image in his head. They had danced and spun and swirled and mispronounced his perfect English in such amusing ways it made him forget the icky things in life, like accurate reporting, and Wall Street accountability. Something in Esterina's dance made him feel tingly down there. Something in her eyes made him dream the dreams of all Hamptonytes. That the dream never ends. The summer winds approach. And with it come the echoes of the playground it all once was, and will be again.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Serve Me Drinks, You Poor Person!

This is why I hate Hamptons party coverage. The obligatory slobber that neccessarily accompanies these things. Our victim: the Parrish Museum's Spring Fling! Which I'm sure is a well-intentioned meeting of the minds for both year-round and seasonal residents that happen to support and have a passion for the arts. But not according to No, it's so much more than that! It's practically the G-8 Summit.

My favorite line? And by favorite I mean the line that makes angels in heaven cry and punch a baby: "This is the major Southampton Spring event that brings out everyone who is anyone on the east end..." [emphasis, mine] Really? Sure, I mean look who was there! Dara Goldstein! Dr. Mark Kot! Countess Catherine Buxhoeveden!

Nothing? C'mon people, Kathy Rae!? Monica Ashe? What's with you people for not recogni...Suzanne Caldwall, Maria Greenlaw, Michael McDowell?!

Can we please take the phrase "everyone who is anyone" out behind the woodshed and shoot it once and for all? For once it would be nice to hear a lifestyle journalist from one of these rags acknowledge that everyone is someone. Alas, all our friend Sean MFK Bruns can muster is a few lauditory golf claps for the wait staff and how they managed to pull themselves out of the doldrums of being "no one" long enough to serve him his drinks at whim.

New Super at Bridghampton Schools

Bridgehampton School District has announced its new pick for superintendent, and plans to pass the resolution officially at tomorrow's budget workshop meeting. The new supe's name is Lois Favre, and she hails from the Lakeland School District, which covers six towns in Westchester and Putnam counties.

Favre will replace Dr. Dianne Youngblood, who is retiring from the school district. Before the workshop meeting, district residents are invited to a meet & greet, where they'll get a chance to see Favre in person.

Monday, April 26, 2010

And So It Begins...

Got this little alley-oop from our friends over at Gawker. Not sure how to take news of the Real Housewives of New York City cast members renting out their Hampton homes during the summer for nothing short of your firstborn.
Disbelief: that they would vacate their "summer" home in the...ahem...summer!
Joy: that they are vacating the Hamptons, thereby triggering a reverse brain-drain effect.
Fear: that they are unleashing the hounds of summerhamptons-hell upon an unsuspecting public in the form of tribal tat Jerseyites, valley-girl upper east side-ians, or Devorah-Rose-barnacles.

I'm going with all three emotions.

But at least one thing sucks. Before I've even had a chance to look at the calendar, it's apparently that time of year again for Montauk and Sunrise Highways to clog with sports convertibles, releasing, like aerosol cans, their douchebaggery into the atmosphere. Oh, who am I kidding. I can't wait!

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Situation Wanted: Hard Worker Seeking Boss That Doesn't Mind Screwing Around On Company Computer

So the village of Sag Harbor fired a part-time employee for "inappropriate use of a village computer."

Quote: Both [Mayor Gilbride and Deputy Mayor Scarlato] said they couldn’t discuss the issue in more detail because of legal restrictions on personnel matters.

Yeah...we're guessing porn too. Chin up, Alan Steel. It rises up to snag the best of us!

Friday, April 23, 2010

Hamptons Homes: Not Cheap Anymore. Boo!

According to Business Week, the average price of homes in the Hamptons is on the rise. After an agonizing half-year hiatus in which opportunistic Wall Street and Hollywood types (See: vultures) had to forego the third home, they're now smelling blood in the water, which has increased sales on the east end to the biggest annual jump in seven years.

Jonathan Miller smells bullshit: "You had a lot more high-end properties in the mix and that skewed the indicators. I’d still characterize the housing prices in general as stable."

What does seem apparent is that buyers and sellers are engaging in a classic poker game staring contest. The sellers know what they're holding. The buyers know the sellers are shitting themselves to sell. They cancel each other out and meet half-way. Must have been tough, that long, hot summer of 09, but congrats everyone! You made it through!

In other news: Mastic Beach is still poor.

Sag Harbor School Teachers Want Their Mommies

Starting with this whole debacle going on with the Sag Harbor School district, the teachers union there is actually, seriously, remotely even considering the possibility of taking a salary freeze to "save" the budget. You know, the budget that hasn't even failed yet. And needs to fail twice before it goes to a state-run contingency budget?
All this so they can save the untenured teachers that are always held hostage in these administration vs. union budget pissing contests.

My advice? Let em' shoot the hostages. So you lose a few apple-cheeked 22-year-olds, too bad. It's better than opening the first combination to union busting. WWJHD? What Would Jimmy Hoffa Do? I'll tell you what he'd do. He'd let NYS shoot the hostages.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Welcome back my friends...

I suppose the calm before the storm is as good a time as any to launch a “Hamptons” blog. Mid-April isn't exactly jumping on all these Main Streets. I just moved back into the area, after many years away from where I was raised, in that dirty welcome mat to one of the most expensive regions of North America. I always marveled at what passed for “news” in the Hamptons, the navel-gazing, the exaggerative hype of all those boring parties, the marketing scam put forth by Southampton College and every other business that made one believe there was a celebrity standing on every street corner.

This blog might provide some much needed perspective and introspection. Probably not. It’ll probably just make fun. And reduce itself to name-calling. Beware Dan Rattiner, the end is nigh.