Law Defying Protest Cancelled. 'It Might Defy The Law'

In one of our old Dan's Papers recaps, Dan Rattiner tried to write an article on a planned act of civil disobedience from the Baymens Association to draw attention to the harsh new fishing restrictions they say are threatening their livelihood. The protest was supposed to go down in June, and from the tone of the article, it sounded like Dan was heading down there to get his head busted by a copper with a nightstick. Or, you know, fined and possibly arrested for catching three porgies.

Now the protest has been called off. Why? Because it might cause legal troubles for two baymen standing trial for illegally trading seafood without valid commercial licenses. They don't want the protest to run afoul of the law. What?

Pussies.

Ted Danson. Bar Tender. Baseball Player. Marine Biologist(?)

So Oceana, the ocean conservationist group, is throwing its hat into the summer party maelstrom that is fundraising benefit galas in the Hamptons. They're trying to raise money and awareness of the dangers posed to the oceans, which incidentally make up 70% of planet earth and are loaded with autism-causing mercury, over fished dead zones, and now BP oil.

What better way to make people realize we have oceans than to throw a cocktail party in the Hamptons? And what better and more knowledgeable guest to invite to bring the press to your event than...Ted Danson?

Yeah, he's on the Oceana "board." Which is probably a really hard job and one of the reasons we haven't seen him in anything in a while. Question: is there a party going on in the Hamptons that doesn't cost at least $150? Just curious.

At Trata East, Your Waiter Might Actually Be A Slave

If you've ever eaten at Trata East in Water Mill, you might as well call yourself Thomas Jefferson, because you own slaves. At least that's what two waiters and two busboys are claiming in a lawsuit reported in this article from 27East.com.

According to the lawsuit, sometimes they got paid and sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they got their tips taken away and sometimes they got their tips distributed upward to managers. Also, they weren't paid for extra time worked in their shifts. Basically, Trata East was operating like a household full of children. Sometimes they got their allowance, and sometimes they had to be locked in the freezer and threatened that if they ever went to the authorities they'd make their passports disappear and claim they were here illegally. Ah, memories of home.

Check out the article. Then pick someplace else to eat your souvlaki. And feel free to e-mail us at news5525@gmail.com with some of your waiter/waitress/bartending nightmares. We'd love to hear it.

Something Positive (Gasp!)

We interrupt our usual broadcast snark to bring you a nice wrap-up in the Hamptons art world courtesy of the East Hampton Star. Day late and a dollar short to catch the opening weekend of “Winslow Homer: The Pleasures of Summer” at Guild Hall in East Hampton, (although the opening reception was a members-only affair) but this and three other interesting exhibits are open until July 25. Winslow Homer is considered the first major artist to work and draw inspiration from the Hamptons. Our personal interest: the exhibition of east end art teachers in the Boots Lamb Education Center. Nice to see living artists getting some space in the Guild.



And it's not too late to catch the opening reception of Moises Esquenazi's “Natural Boundaries,” at Gallery B in Sag Harbor. The reception will be held on June 26 from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. That exhibit is running through July 5.

The Star calls out a bunch of other interesting receptions. Check out the full article; it's worth pencilling in a couple of these shows. Real artists doing real work! Yay!

Decorate Your Ego In Pink

Make no mistake. If you wear this shirt, you're a toolbag. You're a pink toolbag. Guest Of A Guest wrote this article about how hard it is to get your hands on this new, Zev Norotsky-inspired T-shirt that obnoxiously declares "We (graphic of people running) The Hamptons." Translation: "We Run The Hamptons." Because they? Oh I get it, because they go to clubs in the Hamptons. And that's so cool because nobody else does that. Also, who's Zev Norotsky, you ask? See: Fameball.

From this T-shirt gag, we're surmising that he's a 30-something man-child apparently stuck in high school. You know, that time in life when making declarative statements that are testament to how cool you are was marginally acceptable and generally ignored. Only he's not in high-school (at least we don't think he is). Also, this ass-kicking-worthy shirt is available only in ass-kicking-worthy pink, for an ass-kicking-worthy $48.

Unintended laughter of the entire GofaG article? The whole angle of the blog post centered on their 3-part wisdom of how to cleverly score one of these "hard-to-get" T-shirts from Zev or anyone in his non-tourage. A commenter leveled them by posting up a website where it's easily for sale to anyone with a credit card and zero understanding of how much of an asshole they're going to look like.

P.S.? I've heard enough about this Axe Lounge in one month to make me want to punch whoever goes there in the face for a lifetime.

Brown Publishing's Papers: The June 11 Recap

By which we parse that parrot cage lining people call "Dan's Papers" (but is really Brown Publishing's Papers, or Jimmy Finkelstein's News Communications Papers) for all its subtext and stupidity. Mostly stupidity.

Dan doesn't know it, but this week he touched on what may become the new "summer of" theme on the east end. Sure, there's the "summer of the shark," and the "summer of the child abductions." This week Dan lent his voice to the journalistic echo chamber of what is becoming the "summer of the dog."

From Steven Gaines' crusade to clean up dog crap, to dog owners protesting tougher restrictions on when and where they can allow their adorable little members of the family to terrorize people--make no mistake: Dogs are taking over the Hamptons.

From the front lines Dan reports on two dog incidents rattling around in court this month. Well, "reports" is a generous term. What he does is more like eavesdrops midway through a private conversation, dumps out of the conversation when he thinks he's spotted Alec Baldwin, and then tunes back in to hear the out-of-context conclusion. Then he makes that his lede story. So it's sort of reporting. You just have to take away objectivity and fact-finding. Subtract what he might have learned had he gone to J-school, and then multiply his opinions. Then add rumor, but be responsible and attribute whomever started the rumor. There's also grammar. You know what, never mind, it's the lede story because it is (this is like explaining God).

The article tells the harrowing experience suffered by a lawyer and his wife. Allegedly some bimbo was jogging on the beach when her dog trotted up and summarily mauled the two. The bimbo kept right on jogging.
"Sorreeeeeeeee," she yelled, "but I did forget his chew toy, so it's not really his fauuuuuult," as she jogged off into the fabulous cocktail parties of her near future. The two bloody stumps dragged themselves up the beach like at Normandy and latched onto her bumper just before she tore off. She doesn't know, but she has just entered The Nightmare. And her little dog too, whose brains they intend to feast on. At least that's how Dan was told the story and he actually says he "hopes" the person who told him "got it right." Ahh journalism.

The other case was of a woman who walks her dog and thinks about going near the Piping Plover sanctuary. The teenage cops who run East Hampton village sent out numerous warnings not to even think about going near the Piping Plover sanctuary. But she did think about it. And she got ticketed. Now she's fighting it. She'll take it to the U.S. Supreme Court if necessary. She has the time, trust us.

Sharon Feirreiraeiouandsometimesy weighed in with "A Night of Amazing Star-F-ing," a comprehensive look at how many people are bribing guests to RSVP with the promise of meeting a celebrity. Which begs the question: have we really become that cynical? Even among the wealthy? We can't pony up to attend a party that helps prevent young gay and lesbian kids from committing suicide, or provides relief for children with HIV/AIDS or cancer--we can't turn out for drinks and dancing to keep a museum running or help the environment without the promise of bumping elbows on the dance floor with some actor, reality TV star, or washed-up supermodel? Are we that insecure in our causes that we don't think people will show unless you tell them they can create their own awkward, celebrity-to-foaming-fan moment? Sorry, but if you need to shake hands with Joy Behar and tell her how funny you think she is in order to feel your cancer relief check was money well spent, then hell awaits you.

Seriously, if I had the $50,000 for a "Platinum Table" at the Ross School benefit, I would shell it out, walk up to Christie Brinkley, and say "you have no idea how many tissues I burned through watching you in Billy Joel's Uptown Girl video." Her expression would be worth the price of admission.

Moving on, Susan Galardi was unavailable to work much this week. She finally snapped and decided that instead of Piping Plover sanctuaries, we need "Human Resting Areas." (Pssst: they're called cemeteries, Susan!) You might see her resting at the beach, but do not approach her. She'll attack you. And if birds come flying by, she'll attack them. And if your dog comes along, she'll eat it. We think she might be kidding, but just in case--be on the lookout for bat-shit. She might be nearby.

In the "We've Got A Huge Set Of Balls" section, Dan actually put together an event where he presented a "Donkey Award" to the book reviewer him and a few other mooks thinks is contributing to the "pathetically low level to which book reviews have sunk."

A group of book reviewers, book publishers, and prominent authors (who, Dan? Bwahahahaha) assembled on the lawn of Dan's Papers..."

The "award" went to Janet Maslin of the New York Times. Runner up went to Nellie McKay, Stanley Fish, and Walter Kirn. The inscription on the plaque (presented in front of a rapt audience of no one) reads: For the Best Abuse of Space For the Least Deserving Book" (subtext alert: books, that is, not written by members of this stupid committee.)

If David Lion is still searching for something to plug the leaking oil pipe in the Gulf (and we think he is) he need look no further than his own father's balls. We're speechless. Gobsmacked. Flabbergasted that Dan's Papers would have the gall to call out a reviewer when the very review included in this same issue is nothing short of sycophantic payola. How many reviews have we been subjected to that were poorly written, misunderstood, and in violation of every conflict of interest known to journalism? Why some of these editors would even stand in a photo with one of the poorest writers ever to be published, let alone sit on a jury panel to judge the writing of others, is beyond comprehension.

Speaking of sycophantic. Speaking of payola. Dan's team coverage of Bay Street theatre's season-opening play "Dissonance" carried over into the photo pages. Joy Behar, Terrence McNally, Eli Wallach and a bunch of other people who accidentally got in the picture was there. Then Real House-nut Ramona Singer was in attendance at the "Take-A-Black-Kid-To-The-Hamptons" Benefit, along with her husband Mario (he has to be cheating on her). "Janice" from the Sopranos was there. She got mad and shot everybody. The end.

Meanwhile South O' The Highway, Joe Biden tipped the scales of balding white-haired men window shopping in Southampton, and Frazier's brother Niles bought a house in Amagansett with his husband Brian Hargrove. (Yo, that actor is gay? Who knew?) Ralph Lauren is still playing monopoly, this time buying hotels, Alex McCord and her slave Simon celebrated their 10th Anniversary in Wainscott, Real House-whore Sonja Morgan got tossed in the clink, and Christie Brinkley smacked her daughter around like Don Corleone in the Godfather when Alexa Ray checked herself in a hospital for whatever the hell could possibly ail her. "You can act like a man!" Christie yelled, smacking both sides of her face. Then she got back to her tell-all book on Peter Cook's sexual proclivities while making sure the gag order on Cook's side of the story remains in tact. Also Brooke Shields is on a hit-list from PETA because she's heading over to Denmark to go kill animals, skin them alive, and sew their fur together for a coat--apparently her "little girl's dream." Models don't just model clothes. They model behavior. They do.

And in David Lion's ode to 20-Something boredom, he observed a woman in East Hampton getting a parking ticket by the snot-nosed little fucks that are sure to get their comeuppance for doing the Devil's laundry. You see, he sides with the little fucks. Sure, they have nothing better to do, they can't get real jobs, oh no, that would require a little effort on their part, so they take these patronage jobs walking around with chalk and making sure that nobody does anything serious, like stay in their parking spot 15 minutes longer than they paid for. Can I say little fucks once more for good measure? Sure I can.

So there's David chortling at the outrage this rich old woman is exhibiting at her ticket. She's circling the blocks in East Hampton, and for all we know she's still circling the blocks into eternity looking for someone who gives a crap about her ticket. Because David sure don't. No, he's too busy enjoying her little hissy fit while the little fucks walk off with their little chalk sticks, feeling the power of the world in the palm of their hands. Feeling God's power. David imagines the woman telling them "Don't you know who I am?" "Don't you know how important I am?" He watches her pace and pout and piss herself over this ticket, and he laughs. He laughs the comforting laugh of someone living in the land of Notaticket. He watches the woman and laughs so long, he loses track of time. And when he gets back to his car, he sees a smear of white chalk on his tire.

Sonofabitch.

Steven Gaines Nothing From This Fight

Apparently East Hampton's largest rising problem is the fact that people own dogs, and when people own dogs, people own the dogs' need to poop, and they satiate this need by bringing those dogs to the beach.

Enter Steven Gaines. The author of Philistines at the Hedgerow apparently draws the line of wealth and privilege...at dog shit. Now a resident of East Hampton, Gaines visits a private beach every morning, I guess when he's not writing about the cult of privilege. Read about his recent fight to clean up the beaches and toughen anti-shitting laws in his America, in this article from the New York Times news service.

Gaines has written a number of best-sellers and has had his fair share of books turned into films. This recent bit of ink he's earned himself can only make me think of one thing: Tennessee Williams' essay The Catastrophe of Success, which he wrote just before the New York opening of Streetcar Named Desire. In it, he contrasts the poor, hungry, obscure Tennessee Williams to the now rich, fat, and wildly famous Tennessee Williams, and he comes to this conclusion about the role of art and the artist:

...The heart of man, his body and his brain, are forged in a white-hot furnace for the purpose of conflict (the struggle of creation) and that with the conflict removed, the man is a sword cutting daisies, that not privation but luxury is the wolf at the door and that the fangs of this wolf are all the little vanities and conceits and laxities that Success is heir to...

Oh Steven. Has your fire really burned down to a flicker only large enough to illuminate dog feces?

Decorate Your Broken Heart With Glitter

There are very few universal truths not contradicted by customs, mores, and religious teachings all over the world, but they do exist. One such Platonic truth: "The only thing that really matters is how you look."

It's a fact. And Hamptons.com's newest advice columnist Kimberly Garrett knows it! She wrote a whole article on the secret to not feeling so bad. Do you know what she does when she's a Sad Sally and wants to turn that frown upside down? She shops! Of course, she does. And so should you.

To quote Garrett: "It's hard to be in a terrible mood when you're wearing bright pink lipstick."

Trust her people, she knows. She works with celebrities all the time, and we know how happy they always look.

Here's a prescription from Dr. Kimberly Garrett, bad-mood-killer extraordinaire. (Well, to be fair, we tried to match the ailment to the outfit.)

• Victim of child labor? Versace floral-print stretch satin dress: only $1,775!


• Orphaned by bunker buster in Iraq? Emilio Pucci printed cotton-jersey minidress: $540


• Unemployed with mouths to feed? Tucker printed silk-satin minidress: $210

So you see, it fits all budgets. So cheer up. And remember...if you look good...you'll get into heaven. But if you're ugly and you don't shop, well, just keep your depressed, ugly self away from all of us wearing the bright pink lipstick!

Hamptons.com's Sean MFK Bruns Invents Drinking Game

And it works!

It's real simple. Just read his latest embedded article about his Memorial Day Weekend binge drinking affair. Click here. Then, every time he uses the word "fabulous," take a shot of whatever your poison is.

For bonus rounds, we're willing to bet you can open up any of Bruns' past filed works of namewhoring nonsense and play the same game. There. Now you can be just as drunk as Sean MFK was when he filed this non-story about his three-day-long pub crawl trying to cozy up against people he thinks are important to the world.

Don't say he never contributed anything of merit.

P.S. We know, in fact, how many shots it takes to complete this game, but we're not telling. All we can say is: best of luck.

Brown Publishing's Papers: The June 4 Recap

By which we parse that parrot cage lining people call "Dan's Papers" (but is really Brown Publishing's Papers, or Jimmy Finkelstein's News Communications Papers) for all its subtext and stupidity. Mostly stupidity.





Like Lucy stuffing chocolates into her mouth as they come out on the conveyor belt, we can't keep up with all the possibilities of how to recap Dan’s Papers before another one rolls out.





By now Dan has probably made it a habit of wandering the streets of the Hamptons looking for unmanned tables of food to swipe from, but this week was different. Well, Main Street was different, and after Dan read from his Memoir "Nobody Cares, Again" he stepped down from his soapbox and discovered boutique and ritzy stores all over East Hampton just giving food away. They probably put it out for him. He's been known to stray and run off into the woods, chasing celebrities up trees, but nobody had heard from him since last week's terrible debacle at the Potatohampton MiniFAIL. So, local businesses put out food in case he got hungry. And he did. He got very hungry. And nostalgic. Remembering when the Hamptons was...(fill in the blank). Which made us all wonder, when was the Hamptons ever what Dan remembers it to be? It seems since time indefinite the Hamptons was a place for privileged, accomplished, renowned, and uppity New Yorkers to get away from people and ride horses, or plant corn. They brought poors with them, sure, and perhaps the poors gave it that "blue collar" feel, but simply judging by the age of the mansions and estates to be found out here, it seems pretty clear...all these boutique and ritzy couture shops and high-end clothing stores now invading Main Street are just the offspring of some pretty well-heeled forebears. Dan would be better to take that "remember when" schtick to Williamsburg, Brooklyn or Hell's Kitchen.



Or Twitter and Facebook, which Dan's next big article informs us of his inability to maintain, even when his imaginary invites from Madonna and David Letterman are piling up in his social media inboxes. He needs to hire someone less important than himself to sort through all the ways people are clamoring to talk to him.

Which is opposite of David Lion's 20 Something woes. Nobody wants to talk to him. They just don't have the heart to tell him. So they're blaming it on the cell service provider and so far he's buying it. He keeps trying to make plans with his buddies and they just keep cutting out. Making that khhhh...khhhhh noise, hoping he doesn't pick up on their breathing. He bangs his cell phone on the hood of his car. "Hello? Hello?" Nothing. Just that ceaseless khhhh noise. "Hello?"

Meanwhile, South O' the Highway, Sarah Jessica Parker is still from the Hamptons. Calvin Klein is buying houses like he's playing Monopoly and someone needs to tell him he can't collect money from people who happen to stroll by his properties. Tennis stars from all over visited the very poor and deprived Ross School to speak to some underprivileged, tennis playing kids. Russell Simmons threw a party. Bryan Greenberg of "How to Make it in America" went to one, and consequently started a bare-knuckle, no-holds-barred catfight outside of the Axe Lounge. (though Dan doesn't make mention of this little inconvenient truth). Also, blah blah blah, Howard Stern, Jerry Seinfeld, Phony Countess Housewives, and Alec Baldwin. Always Alec Baldwin. Forever and ever. Love Dan.

Walking, talking Bratz Doll Gina Glickman took on the tough assignment of inserting herself into nightclubs all across the east end and was lucky enough to score an exclusive interview with Real Housewives of New York City's Alex McCord and her slave Simon Van Kempen, which was a genuine stroke of luck because we all know Alex and Simon hate press coverage. Her and her slave were celebrating their 10th anniversary together when Gina's head flapped open and shut like a muppet as she ran for them. Alex told her she'd gone through a transformation, which is good, while Simon sat beside her and wondered if his 10th anniversary present was actually going to be that Alex finally takes on his last name like she promised. It was the year 2000. They were sitting at an outdoor tiki bar in St. Barth's. They were just sitting through a long moment of uncomfortable silence after Simon brought up the name change. "Tell you what," she said. "If we're still together in 10 years, we'll take a ride down to the DMV." He clapped and went shopping with her.

Now 10 years has gone by and still he's heard nothing. He's afraid to ask. He's afraid to get what he already knows is the answer. "Listen, Simon, I know what I promised. It was the year 2000, we all thought were going to die." And that was true. So what could Simon do about it, really? Still...(he dropped his head down in shame) Gina didn't notice. Her back was turned so the photographer could get her in the shot with Alex.

But the parties Gina didn't make it to, Dan was sure to cover anyway, and get lots of photos of celebrities holding up glass dildos at the Drama Desk Awards. Also, he was sure to capture the sleazy, smarmy, slimy, oozing, creepy (please comment with more adjectives) Coerte Felske, an "author" who managed to camera-bomb The Real Housewives to promote his sleazy, smarmy, slimy, oozing, creepy..."book" he's been carrying around. So far it's paid off in dividends because he managed to sneak into Engel & Volker's "Toast to Fake-Famery 2010 Gala" in Southampton. Without any irony, he actually turned up with two models on either side of him. The whole thing was sleazy, smarmy, slimy, oozing, creepy...

"Hello? Hello?" David Lion kept calling into his cell phone as he passed the gates of the party. He was heading back to the office to complete his police blotter. Someone actually paid to have lab tests done on his pool water and found gallons of urine in the water. (We think this didn't happen.) Also a watch caused a truck to break down. (We think this also didn't happen). A Hummer flipped upside down and crashed into trees, a fight broke out in Montauk (no shit?), cops handed out 7 tickets on Shelter Island, a land mass with a population of...7. Also, guidos got pinched in the largest guido sting ever recorded in human history at Neptunes, a young man somewhere in Southampton got high, and the dead Chinese kayaker who was found dead on the beach in Amagansett is still dead. Tune in next week (er, this week) for when David Lion has more dead bodies wash up on shore, and then oddly makes ZERO mention of his pet peeve...the arrest of Sonja Morgan (Real Housewives of New York City) for DWI.

Perhaps he hadn't heard the news. Perhaps nobody has told him yet. "Hello? Hello?" he yells into his cell phone.
Nothing.

How To Be A Mooch (in less than 800 words)

From the self-indulged people of Guest of a Guest, comes this helpful article on how not to be self-indulged when buttering up that millionaire friend they seem to think you know.

With this current economic crisis, it's very important that you know how to use rich people to your fullest advantage. Let's face it, you're not buying that Southampton estate on the bay this summer. But your mother's cousin Tom's sister-in-law Rebecca is married to this guy who has one! Make some calls!

This goes beyond the obvious, don't-show-empty-handed advice, and moves on to tackle the even more obvious, "don't hang out all day in your room Blackberrying," and "don't show up at the dining room table refreshed after you did nothing to prepare dinner."

How about, "don't search your mind for some wealthy contacts you can use to spend a weekend lounging around pretending to be rich." No? Nothing?

Attention: Jobs You, You, and You Can Get!

In "This Week in The Weakonomy," there is some hope for all of us living in the Hamptons. With summer, comes jobs for all! Like this craigslist ad I sure hope nobody responds to. To quote:

"Actual, real movie producer seeks part time pool boy for the summer for his country home... "

Yick. But we need to pay bills, right? Sure I'm a little out of shape, but I'm confident I can scurry my beer-belly back and forth to serve this dude his drinks. Oh wait...

"You should be clean cut, All American looking and be comfortable/attractive in a speedo."

And he wants pictures to prove it. Dammit. Fat people have no way out of this recession. They might even be the cause of it!

This article in the Daily News highlights some of the other jobs available for those in desperate need of cash, but good luck. One Quogue family is "seeking a "houseman" who has "experience with museum-quality cleaning and care for antiques, silver and fine art."

We here at Hamptonyte Blog are not housemen. However, we are ass men. (Except Sean, who sometimes blogs here as a guest under our name. He called in to say he's a breast man.)

How about an upper East Side family that summers in Amagansett? They're paying "up to $100,000 a year for a classically trained private chef for "social and religious gatherings, political fund-raisers and philanthropic events."

But how much will they pay someone for them to lay out in the sun? That's what 21-year-old and apple-cheeked, the-world-owes-me-a-living-because-I-look-cute-in-this-bikini Sara Birkholz wants to know. She just completed studying poetry at NYU (yes, we weep for literature too.)

"Laying out is one of the favorite things to do," she said while basking in a pink-and-white bikini on the lawn in Washington Square Park. "If I could find an actual job that let me have time to do that, it would be nice."

But if you'd rather remain an objective observer of the Hamptons summer aquarium, and not climb down into the moat to be among them like Diane Fossey, there's other jobs. Like working in the marketing department for Plum TV. This ad, which is written in a way that actually makes it sound less appealing than it is (no small feat) appeared on mediabistro. Could be a good way to make money while laughing at how seriously people take themselves. Just don't say anything anti-semitic. Or they will fire you.

If none of these appeal to you, you can always act like unemployment is an "experience", like this trust-fund man-child called out in the Daily News article.

"Peter Slowansky, 29, of Williamsburg, Brooklyn would "never, ever" take a serv-ice-staff job, he said."The snobbery!" he said. "It's not a very good vibe. I just don't think it would be worth it. It would devalue my holiday experience."

Oh, get a job, you hipster loser!

Fameball Learns of Dune Ban; Opens Own Nightclub

According to our friends at Gawker, Michael Lohan, the guy who thinks bad parenting is charming, has gone all in on a Hamptons nightclub, aptly named "Controversy." As if there aren't enough toolbags running nightclubs during the summer in the Hamptons.

We think it might have something to do with that story we reported on last month, about how the Axe Lounge at Dune won't let him in. So he started his own. Here's to hoping the maximum occupancy is 1.

Thai Clashes Getting You Down? Phuket, Go To The Hamptons!

Solid rental and resort numbers in the Hamptons explained! Well, maybe. According to this article in Bloomberg News, Thailand is homorraging tourists because of political clashes taking place there. A band of rebel demonstrators are fighting with the country's army because they don't think the leader of Thailand was elected legitimately. Now the economy in Thailand has gone bhat-shit, and Phuket island is seeing a decrease in visitors.

Now the elephants are getting a break, lounging around in the pools because nobody is there to jump on their backs or be entertained by their tricks. So they're happy! I swear, elephants are so goddamn lazy.

The Recession: Trading Nerd-Skills for Painting-Skills

This is what the economy has done to us. Here's an ad put out in all seriousness from a poor soul living in East Hampton who needs a bedroom and bathroom painted. Can he pay for it? No. He's offering as a barter, his tech skills to come clean up your hardrive and scan for viruses, etc...

It's the new currency people, embrace it!

Brown Publishing's Papers: The May 28 Recap

By which we parse that parrot cage lining people call "Dan's Papers" (but is really Brown Publishing's Papers, or Jimmy Finkelstein's News Communications Papers) for all its subtext and stupidity. Mostly stupidity

This week Dan was out on Ocean Road in Bridgehampton. He was stretching out along with literally dozens of other runners getting ready to start the 4,000th Annual Potatohampton 5K Mini-thon. Yeah, the 4,000th. It predates the Greek games.

As he was stretching he heard it in the distance. He didn't believe it, but others heard it too. It was the song that intros the entrance of Darth Vader. They were coming. They were here. It was Memorial Day weekend and the fancy cars were cruising down the Montauk Highway stuffed with pretty boys and girls and Prada handbags, and cocktail shakers, and hope, and crazy, faraway daydreams, and painted toenails, and pretty thoughts, and a slave in the trunk to watch the kids while all the pretty boys and girls dance their pretty dances, and shoot their pretty insults at the wait staff, and give pretty answers to all the reporters and photographers trailing after them to capture all the pretty. And it reminded Dan, to call his photog. Because, after all, these people can't be ignored.

But there was no time. Tens of people were lining up to cheer on the runners. The gun went off. Accidentally. Some ran. Some stayed frozen in their places, as though they'd forgotten how to run. But this wasn't going to be like last year, when the pace car designed to guide the runners through the course took a wrong turn and everybody ran straight off a cliff and fell into the bay, no. This was more organized than that.

Except it wasn't. Apparently the digital clock didn't start until a minute into the race, which meant that runners crossing the finish line filled with glee that they'd set a new record had to be told they didn't. They weren't special. They were their usual dull, slow, non-record-setting selves. They wept on the side of the road.

Also, the winner of the women's class was Alexandra Jennings, 29. But really she wasn't. Really she finished second. The winner was Barbara Gubbins, who was accidentally mistaken for a man. After a genetics test revealed Gubbins to be a woman, she was award first place in the Minithon. But last place in life. Also, the cheating, lying, posing Alexandra Jennings (who is now second place, or, the first loser) kept running. She ran past the finish line, across the monument in Bridgehampton, down the Montauk Highway, pumping her fists in victory. She ran and ran, and nobody has told her yet. Nobody has caught up to her to do so. She made the decision that she'd never stop. She'd keep running. And tell everyone she encountered that she'd won first place in the Potatohampton Minithon, and nobody...nobody, could take that away from her. Dan watched the flash of her track shoes disappear around the corner, but there was nothing he could do. At least, he thought, the folding chairs arrived on time. And at least the digital clock counted in seconds, and not years. So that was good, he thought. Then he actually wrote: "Thinking about things profoundly like this every once in a while is good for the soul in my opinion."

Yes, Dan. In fact, it is your profound thoughts that keep us all alive. We're forever grateful. Now get back to organizing next year's Potatohampton MiniFAIL. We can hardly wait.

Just up the street, Susan Galardi was sitting down to write a profile of Madonna without any cooperation, input, or knowledge from...Madonna. The profile was scathing. By which we mean, Galardi didn't intend for it to be scathing, but it is. From this piece we learn that Madonna is a high-maintenance, pouty, horse-snobby, reclusive, fly-by-helicopter, piece of egotistical work. And this was supposed to be a sycophantic, welcome-to-the-neighborhood article? The last sentence really pops in its unintended hilarity. We like to protect our local celebrities.

Unlike Gina Glickman, who likes to stalk our local celebrities and then tell everyone where they were spotted. Also, her friend's lame Led Zeppelin cover-band was playing at Stephen Talk House, so she gave them a fair amount of ink, while waiting to get that all-important invite to something better. We'd like to further recap Glickman's "Whispers," but, well, she whispers, and we couldn't hear it.

Sitting behind Glickman was Sharon Feieriesen. Of the too-many-vowels Feieriesens. She put together a wrap of all the charity benefits being held in the Hamptons this summer. Well, not all the benefits, that would be lunacy. Because every party that's held in the Hamptons is dedicated to some charity or another, how else will they bribe pretty people to show up? Duh. So there's the Annual "Soup Cans for the Ugly" Benefit, the "Summer Without Bad Hair" Benefit, the "Bring Your Dog Everywhere You Can Possibly Go" Benefit, and the "Mad for Meds" Benefit, all which got completely ignored by Feirereideseien. But in development: the "Getting Actual Meaning From a Novel" benefit, whose honoree will be Rebecca Schiller.

Schiller's review of "I'm Ten Years Late To The Chick-Lit Dance" by Diane Meier did not go well. A novel about renovation, forbidden love, personal growth, and the rediscovery of identity, and what did Schiller pull from it? Totally bitchin' decorating tips! Yay, book reviews.

Dan sent his photogs to both New York City and the Hamptons to cover people drinking wine. The highlight was the Einstein Spirit of Achievement Awards. You know, "spirit of achievement" as opposed to "actual achievement." But hey...everybody looked fabulous, and that's all that ever counts.

And there there's David Lion. Who spent the whole week wandering around trying to eavesdrop on conversations for his "20-something" column. He just couldn't come up with one. Then someone suggested they put Jimmy Buffet on the cover of the Montauk Pioneer this week. Someone climbed a tree and got a photo of him eating lunch. Perfect for the cover! And since Dan had already decided on his Monty-Python's-Flying-Circus cover, replete with a large breasted woman with hairy arms in a shower cap flying up from the ocean, while a dog swoops down like deus ex machina to save her from beach balls, this cover would actually be about something. But no. It couldn't be countenanced. The people of Montauk would revolt. They'd take to the streets. Putting a celebrity on the cover! That's crazy-talk! Because, as David explains, people from Montauk, though just as famewhorey and caught up in celebrity as the rest of us, like to pretend they're not, so to see a mega-star like Buffet on the cover would undermine the very tone of Montauk. That's the conversation he had privately with his staff. Then he took that conversation and wrote a "20-something" column about his intention to use that conversation for his "20-something" column.

Which allowed him to concentrate on the body count in this week's Police Blotter. Two, in total, which is probably the highest body count of any Police Blotter to ever appear there. One body washed ashore from Connecticut, and a youngster was killed during a high-speed motorcycle chase from Southampton police. We'd have something funny to say, but there's nothing funny about a 19-year-old girl going off of her fiance's bike while the stupid fiance is trying to outrun the cops because he had something as minor as a suspended license. It's terrible, and the fiance is in deep trouble. But for the rest of the blotter, we learned that people shouldn't own dogs. Because the dogs fight, and then the owners fight. Because everyone involved is unhinged. Dog owners are unhinged, that's what David Lion is saying in this blotter. Also, rich old women get to lay claim to every bench in America. This rule was not honored last week, and the rich old woman went ballistic. However...video please, or it didn't happen. Also, a woman's car was kicked. She can't prove it, but she called the cops anyway. Ah, tax dollars. And another woman in Hampton Bays tried to run off with a cart full of groceries. So basically, women were crazy last week. We'll see how crazy women act this week before we declare an epidemic.

Then of course, Dan got to his Letters. Ah the letters. And they keep pouring in from the Tea Party movement, some of whom aren't sure which convention they should walk into: the Democrats or Republicans. Like little kids trying to ascertain the male/female graphic on the doors of the public restroom, some think Dan is a dopey Democrat, some think he's a dopey Republican. He's only confessing to the dopey part. Then David took a lashing for saying he was half Irish/half Jewish, because for some people Jewish is only a religious identity. David said, And there's Isreal. So, yeah. There's David sticking up for his right to say he's Jewish, and there's Dan sticking up for his right to be a lightning rod for political kooks. There's Gina Glickman rolling her eyes at the staff and waiting for TMZ to call her for a job. Blowing her bangs away from her face.

And there's Alexandra Jennings. Poor Alexandra, running off into the distant sunset of what-could-have been. She's at a job interview in Manhattan, clutching her recently updated resume. In gleaming black ink, like a beacon of achievement, there it states: 1st Place Potatohampton Minithon. And no one has told her yet. And maybe never will. Maybe she'll move up the corporate ranks of that job. Become a manager, a director, straight on to the C-suite, CMO, CFO, eventually CEO. Still running that race, in her mind. Eventually running for President of the United States. Running on the ticket of her success. And then...the truth will come out. Dan will write an article about how he knew her when, and suddenly a storm of controversy will sweep her out of the race. Alexandra Jennings. The liar candidate who lied. The lying candidate who didn't win the Potatohampton Minithon, as was thoroughly documented in the book Unclean To Command: Why Alexandra Jennings Should Never Run For Anything by Babara Gubbins. The Tea Party's first legitimate candidate, undone by Dan. And from then on, the Potatohampton Minithon will be watched. Oh, it'll be watched like a hawk.

This Week's Hamptons Artist(reporting from a galaxy far, far away)

Hamptons.com accidentally does a cool thing. They regularly feature an artist who actually lives and works in the Hamptons, as opposed to artists who make it in New York and then go to the Hamptons to play tennis and be congratulated.



This week, they got burned. Meet the artist Amy Zerner (pictured here without her tin foil helmet).


Zerner is like that college class you took as a freshman thinking it was a course on the history of dance, and instead you walked in and the woman prof was whispering and moving her arms around in circles and telling you to find your "other," or the "safety animal" inside you. And you had to gather up your things and whisper to the person next to you, 'I think I'm in the wrong class, shhhhh' as you skulked out the door. And the prof had her eyes glued on you the whole time and started to cry when you pulled the door open, so you stayed. And passed. Or at least you think you passed, she graded you with a smiley face. Yeah, that's what this woman is like.

Not that Eileen Casey (the writer who's supposed to navigate this mess) helps very much. Here's her own description of Zerner: "the materials she uses in her work are lush and detailed with the overall result being a piece of art made opulent with many layers of magic and meaning."

Yeah. Suck on that one for a while. 10 things that are important to know about Zerner:

1. She moved to East Hampton when she was 16.

2. She comes from three generations of artists.

3. She's never worked a day in her life.

4. She also writes books that only severely psychologically damaged people turn to when they're completely out of answers. And prescriptions meds.

5. You want proof? Titles: "The Chakra Meditation Kit," "Goddess, Guide Me," "The Mystic Messenger." (should I go on?) "The Enchanted Tarot."

6. She has a "Ouija finger" and she has apparently trademarked it. We're not kidding. She thinks she can point to stuff and magical things happen when she does. Like her parents decision to leave Pennsylvania and move to Long Island in 1967. She pointed her "Ouija finger" to Springs, Long Island and her parents rolled with it.

7. Her friends call from long distances to consult with her finger.

8. She designs "Spiritual Couture" jackets, coats, and caftans and sells them at Bergdorfs in Manhattan. For a sense of what these look like, picture someone trying to sneak out of a Native American arts and crafts fair with a velvet painting of a dream catcher strapped to their back.

9. She has an "enchanted garden." Neighborhood children and dogs have been reported missing.

10. She clearly belongs in the Hamptons.

We're sure Mrs. Zerner is a fine elfish little sprout whose intentions are only the purest, and we're just having a goof. But this is a classic case of a profile actually doing more harm than good. We read, thinking we're about to learn about a local artist and instead we read about a woman who once went to the bookstore, bought all of the Hobbit books, all the Harry Potter books, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Neverending Story, Dungeons and Dragons, and Alice in Wonderland, and then ate them.

From Bikinis to Puppies; Now That's Evolution!

The Memorial Day Weekend Hamptons coverage is trickling in (or should was say oozing?) and we've uncovered some real gems to recap.

Starting with this kiss-ass article covering the Hamptons magazine party. It was held at the publisher's house in Southampton, where the guest of honor was Mariska Hargitay, the Law & Order SVU actress whom graced this issue's cover. (A Pez dispenser to anyone who can e-mail me and tell me if Hamptons is a real magazine, or just a glossy catalog of advertisements with a celebrity on the cover to lure the fabulosity crowd to this guy's house in the summertime.)

From there, the party moved to the Axe Lounge at Dune, where Kelly Killoren Bensimon ushered past a groupie-whore fistfight in the bushes to grace everyone with her toothy presence. Well, first she recorded this creepy-but-important-only-to-Kelly-PSA announcement in the middle of her living room about "systematic bullying." Apparently it's never okay. Neither is 4-on-1 action. That's never okay. Unless it's in the sack. Then it's never not okay. Otherwise, it's never okay. Just, generally defending oneself against attacks, or screeching "go to sleep, you're crazy..." that's never okay. If you see someone being the victim of systematic bullying? Let the bully know...that's not okay. It never is. The more you know.

Okay? Okay, so she stepped over two bitches clawing each other's eyes out to get at a Twilight actor who's probably gay to begin with, and she walked right into the Axe Lounge, and probably had a good time, because she was around a lot of people she thinks are important. Good for her. Making sure you're always at parties packed with self-important mooks? That's almost always okay.

What's not okay is this quote, after she actually became the 1-millionth famous-for-nothing nitwit to show up at a party with a dog in her arms (seriously, when is this stupid trend ever going to fade away?) From Gather.com: "This just shows how things are changing for me, I used to pose in bikinis, and now I pose with puppies." Wow. That's transformation! You know, change has a way of making us both happy and sad. It's okay, yet it's never okay.

You know what's also not okay is Kelly's Real Housewives cast mate Sonja...um...Sonja. Her. The blond chick who's new to the show. Yeah, she got arrested for DWI in Southampton, which should come as a surprise to no one. Apparently she refused to take a breathalyzer, but failed a field test, (which, if you've ever experienced a field test, you gotta be pretty blind stinking drunk to fail). Not taking the breathalyzer is usually automatic suspension of license, but she may have skirted more serious charges. She can cough up the license for a year, no biggie. We're sure some cabana slave will chauffeur her around whenever she needs to be somewhere. So...well played Sonja. Well played. Getting jail time or community service is never okay. Cooperation with authorities is never okay.

Sidebar: The egg on our face for blasting Southampton cops who arrested a crowd of people at Neptunes. Our implication was that they don't target the rich. Our apologies. You have made our day with the pinching of Red Sonja.

Another successful Memorial Day Weekend. Tune in next week when we rattle the bell jar once more and watch the pretty snowflakes trickle down all over again.

Cops Care About Drug Use(of the bridge and tunnel variety)

This story came over the feed from 27east.com. Apparently over Memorial Day Weekend, Southampton Police staged a silent raid on drug dealers and users alike. At the Axe Lounge of Dune? At the new Day&Night brunch ridiculousness in East Hampton? No.

At Neptunes. 'Toons' as it's referred to by those in the know. And by "know" we mean those who know almost nothing. Which presents a natural rift in the Hamptonyte Blog space/time continuum. Do we mock the mouth-breathing fist-pumping toolbags that haunt this outdoor silicon convention, laugh at the image of tribal tats all being stuffed into a paddy wagon? Or do we reach into that other part of our psyche that sees how much this prejudicial Latino-round-up sucks the big one?

Drugs are everywhere in the Hamptons, particularly in the summer months. In fact, there was recently an article on the growing use of heroine among east end teenagers. So with all these communities stuffing all this junk up their noses and into their veins, forgive us if we're a little suspicious of a "drug raid" that garners the arrest of middle to lower-middle class youngsters from just about everywhere except the Hamptons. Really Southampton cops? Really? Of all the gin joints in all the world, you pick Neptunes to suddenly wage the war on drugs?

In the same breath...all those morons at Neptunes that got arrested? Consider it a douchebag tax.

Hamptons Makes Two of the Top 10 Beaches You'll Never Visit

We're the 1000th outlet to report on this, but that's how we roll, journalistically. This CNN.com report lists the top 10 beaches in America, and two of them are located on the east end, with Cooper's Beach in Southampton actually nabbing the number 1 spot. Coming in 5th was East Hampton's Main Beach.

For the uninitiated, these are two beaches you can technically go to. Technically. Cooper's Beach in Southampton? $40 parking fee. Plus $125 speeding ticket.

Main Beach in East Hampton? $20 parking fee. And that's only on weekdays. On weekends you can't even go there without a village parking sticker. To get a village parking sticker? You have to live in East Hampton Village, or pay $300 for an out-of-village parking sticker. Oh, and for the year 2010? Out-Of-Village parking stickers are SOLD OUT. So go home. Or take a day off in the middle of the week to sit by yourself.

Beaches are literally the one thing the Hamptons should just leave off of their marketing materials altogether. 90% of them are private or closed to anyone outside of village residents. The public ones, like what made this list of best beaches, want your firstborn before you can dip your toes in the sand.

Sigh. Twas always thus.