Kardashian Stalker Arrives In Record Time

We swear, we never thought we'd write this much about the Kardashians, but this must be our fifth post? Consider it a public service announcement, because we think our "Hamptons" Google Alert we set up netted a pretty scary dude.

It's the blog of "evilsax," a multi-blogger who recently published two posts on his blog "Diary of a Republican Hater." In the first post, "I Drop Into The Hamptons During Kardashian Season," he pretty much divulges his obsession with Kourtney Kardashian and how he enlisted friends to drive him from Baldwin, NY out to Southampton to stalk the DASH store. When they arrive, the Kardashians are not there.

His grand plan when he sees them?  

I had been ready to tell Kourtney that Scott's a nice guy but 'we both know he's not worthy of you, that he doesn't treat you like you deserve to be treated' which we would follow by a song-the Car's 'You Might Think'-and old 80s hit. Of course, we didn't see them. Our last ditch effort was to go to 75 Main St. for dinner but, of course, we had neglected to sign up for a reservation.

Even more interesting is that his one friend "Kev" brought another friend, "Pauly" and the two of them like to do a bit in public where one punches the other in the stomach as hard as he can.

 Often they get quite a kick out of it. We're trying to stoke things.

Yeah, so...

If his failed attempt to find her house in Noyac, or track her movement to the General Store in Noyac, or his failed attempt to catch up to her in DASH, or his last-ditch effort to find her at 75 Main doesn't scare you a little, his next blog should.

It's called "OK I Make The Case For a Mike Sax-Kourtney Kardashian Merger." Enough said, but we'll give you some nuggets anyway.

 Ok, so if I never get to make my case to Kourtney, much less serenade her with that Cars song-'You Might Think' what is my case? I mean why would she be interested in some totally random guy who she doesn't know and is some wildeyed super to boot? 

And...

So in a back drop of disappointment for the Kardashian women, could it be that we will be a breath of fresh air? I mean for Kourtney, maybe she can use a guy like me-with my Quixotic worship; I mean, compare this to what she's used to; indeed maybe the Kardashians will find super fans a refreshing change as they spend a lot of time around people who have a 'been there, done that' attitude to celerity. 

And...

I'm just going to try to get her autograph and hopefully get to talk to her for a few minutes, and sing the Cars song. Kev will do his shtick with his wrestling friend where he punches him in the stomach as hard as he can. The guy seems not to feel it. 

         Maybe such dorkishness will be a nice change of pace. Also, now that I have a little cash-nowhere their money, of course-she might like that a little better. I mean the one thing she certainly doesn't want is a guy who wants her money. 

Good luck, dude, go for it! Oh, but wait. Her kids. Darnit!

Actually, the one thing I'm less sure about is her kids. I have nothing against them, but it does seem that she's so involved with them she has no time for Scott. I don't think he's blameless-and naturally I'm going to take Kourtney's side no matter what-but I feel for the guy the way she makes him sleep in another room every night.

So yeah, he's coming back to the Hamptons in a "couple weeks" to stalk her again. That didn't take long, did it.

Hamptons Architect Sentenced In Child Porn Case

Call him creepier than your average pedophile, which is quite an accomplishment. Jay Lockett Sears, the architect who reportedly designed homes in the Hamptons for Michael J. Fox and Clint Eastwood among others, was sentenced a few day ago for his nastly little child pornography photoshopping habit.

Photoshopping, you say? Yeah, apparently this creepster with a Mark Twain-Tom Wolfe-Santa Claus fetish vibe, was taking pictures of kids in public and then photoshopping himself and other adults into the harmless photo, making it, yeah...really not harmless anymore. Yick. This strikes us here at Hamptonyte as oddly creepier than a guy in a van with fists full of candy.

In either event, Sears was sentenced to six months house arrest and five years probation, according to the Associate Press.

Looks like the judge was on his own "Mission of Kindness." See what I did there? For background, check out this article by Erica Jackson at the Westhampton-Hampton Bays Patch, back when there was an Erica Jackson at Westhampton-Hampton Bays Patch. Or any Patch for that matter. The best is the closing quote from Vincent Cinque, who had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Angel's Wings back in the 5th grade.

"When he came to talk to us back in elementary school, he was just plain creepy," he said.

Creepy? What gave it away? The all white suits? The wings? The Cheshire grin? The cane? The camera snapping away pictures of girls at beach parties? What shocked us here at Hamptonyte is that anyone could see this guy around and NOT think he's a pedophile.Yes, we're shocked by people's shock.

On the bright side, if you're looking for an architect in the Hamptons, we know one who'll be home every day until December.

The Most Ridiculous Help Wanted Ads Pt. 2

We're chronicling some of the most corporate-inspired lines of BS to ever find its way into a job description or title. Last week we brought you the "Educator" position at Lululemon. This week's installment includes Nike's bizarre job title for its openings in Riverhead and Deer Park.

Nike Seasonal Athlete.

Athlete? Will Nike be sponsoring my long jump? Are they looking for someone to wear their shirts at the Winter Olympics?

You wish. No, the Athlete is what they call the people who stock the shelves and ring up customer purchases. Or as we used to call them: stock boys and cashiers.

Nike Athlete. A position that holds firmly to the optimistic notion that the young people we're targeting don't read past the headline.

Not just a failure in business, a failure in life

We're more than just curious about the mental processes of whoever posted this Craigslist ad looking for a "Millionaire Mentor," we're curious if anyone responded!

"I am a failure in my professional career and need to reinvent myself and get my head screwed on straight," the ad laments. It's so full of self-loathing and so unclear in specifics ("I have no direction or focus and need to be put on the right track") that it reads less like a Help Wanted ad and more like a search term for a good dominatrix.

Poor creature. We don't know a lot of millionaires, but we'd venture to guess that most would never want to work with someone who describes themselves in such terms as this ad.

Then again, times are tough for everyone.

David Rattiner: 'Hamptons in the winter rain isn't boring'

Then he proves that it is. Check out David Lion's blog post he was apparently forced to write at gunpoint. It's a true confessional, a treatise on a life lived, spilled out on the page in all its whogivesashittery.

The Hamptons isn't boring in the winter when it rains, he posits. Shoot, I go to the movies! I'll even plan to go to one movie (Les Miserables') and then suddenly change my mind and see Django instead; that's how off the chains I am in the Hamptons. Or I'll read a book. Or work on a novel. (Please don't.)

We think David should open up a suicide hotline that convinces people ordinarily not contemplating suicide to go ahead and do so.

Also, David...Les Miserables'? You're fired from manhood. Turn in your testicles before you leave.

Hamptons homeless now visible without leaves to hide behind

We're not sure how to take this 2-page feature by the Associated Press, which was republished by ABC.com. On one hand there's the WhatTheFuckery of this:

It's not that the homeless don't exist in the string of famously exclusive waterfront communities on the eastern end of Long Island — they just blend in more easily when it's warm.

But then there's the delicious, CueTheGuillotinesery of this:

"The privet hedges, the beaches, the resort community, the gigantic homes that are used 12 weekends out of the year," she said. "Every time I drive past one of these homes that for the most part are empty, I'm thinking, wow, how many people could we house in this place?"

The profile is of Maureen's Haven, a nonprofit organization that provides shelter to homeless people on the east end. Their home base is in Riverhead, but appparently they house a lot of day laborers and minimum-wage workers in the Hamptons.

The story is interesting in that it addresses something that all of us here on the east end know already: that folks is brokes. I'm not sure what camoflogue the homeless are using in the summer, but I will admit I've never seen a homeless person the way you see them in New York City, where, for the record, you can spot them year-round.

Ours don't lay on benches I guess? Ours don't lean against buildings or sit on the ground? Ours know better? Hmmm.

Getting back to the last statement in the story, we love the idea of raiding these beachfront houses and stocking them with smelly poors. We already have one douchebag on our list of whose home to invade first.

Jerry Della Femina's Problems Would Make Jesus Christ Want To Murder Him

Jerry Della Femina's idea of poverty is so rage inducing we saw the Dalai Lama read this Business Insider article and then immediately turn around and punch an infant in the face.

Della Femina, the sleazy, slimy lying gold-toothed creep ad man was one of the few Madison Avenue execs who amassed his fortune and didn't manage to blow it on a coke habit in the 80s. He's been a permanent fixture in the Hamptons since forever and even opened up a successful restaurant with the money he made convincing people with money they don't have to buy shit they don't need.

Now he's sold his house because, well, because his poor unborn great grandchildren may not be able to sit by a pool lined with the skin of Mexican day laborers while doing lines off a blonde co-ed's back. Or as we used to call it: The American Dream.

That's right, a man who lives in America in 2012, with full knowledge of how high the unemployment rate is, who no doubt had to lay off some of his own workers at his various business ventures, who flies his helicopter over thousands of foreclosed homes, has the balls to complain that he's selling because he refuses to pay more taxes under the Obama administration.

Taxes? Really? Taxes? You do realize, Della Femina, that your tax bill is probably quadruple the monthly mortgage of the average home just west of where you live, right?

Instead of feeling fortunate that he even has the money to PAY those taxes, he's selling low just to avoid them. His ginormous, disgustingly lavish, and grossly unnecessary oceanfront house went for $25 million. He wanted $40 million. But he's settling for 25. A fact that makes us just...so sad.

“I want the proceeds of this sale to go to my kids and my grandkids,” he told The Post's Jennifer Gould Keil and Selim Algar. “I don’t want my money going to Obama, and that’s what’s going to happen in the New Year. That’s why I sold right now, that’s why I wanted to get this done.”
“I’m basically the loser in Obama’s class warfare,” he added.

Wow. That really gets us...right around...the chest/heart region or thereabouts. Another loser in Obama's class warfare, according the article, is Discovery Networks CEO David Zaslav, who inherited Della Femina's meager 8 bedroom, 6.5 bathroom, heated pool-even-though-there's-a-literal-ocean-500-feet-away, mansion that sits on 1.7 acres.

On a side note, we'd like to know how an advertising/marketing guru can be this culturally tone-deaf. On a sider note, we'd like to know how Della Femina's brain didn't say to him: 'please don't call the NY Post and...say anything like what you're about to say.' On an even sider note, we'd like Della Femina to eat a bag of dicks.

Hamptons Hosts Ridiculous Hat Convention

We're not sure what this is but our friends at Guest of a Guest captured a photographic essay of people being huddled into a tent and apparently forced to wear ridiculous hats. Our only guess is that it's some sort of Hamptons hazing gone horribly wrong. You have:



Just keep smiling and don't turn around. Do Not Turn Around.











 

 

The hat made from leftover ribbons at the bridal shower.

Air Syria flight attendant flushed accidentally as plane passed over.

After his refusal to wear the baby blue fedora, his captors acquiesced and handed him the equally shameful peach blazer with a handkerchief sticking out of the pocket.

It's not a hat if they have to pin it to your hair. Or, as in this case, allow the bird to keep his talons so he can grip firmly down on the scalp. Her smile is one of controlled pain.

This group tried its best to camoflogue the little one as a white girl by squishing down what was left in their flower garden on top of a nest of lace. Oh, when rich people adopt.

Bride of Barney

You can actually SEE her wondering how ridiculous she looks.

This 4 Non-Blondes wardrobe sale came with a miniature-sized replica of the Mayor of New York City. She wouldn't stop bragging about how much of a steal it was.

She brought enough hat for the two of them, but he kept insisting.

Okay, that's actually Edith Beale, but so long as we're documenting batshit crazy....





 

Celebrities Attempt to Wrap Brains Around Tragedy: Realize They Have No Brains

The real tragedy is in the asking. When Professional Blonde Muppet Gina Glickman-Giordan (whose metamorphasis into pretentious Hamptonyte is now complete with the hyphenated name) asked a room full of VIPs at the Bridehampton Polo Club what they thought of the Aurora, Colorado "Dark Knight" shootings, our only explanation for the answers she got was that they were all high. Someone left the valve open on the helium machine. Someone brought in some special-baked brownies. Our only explanation for Dan's Papers actually publishing the responses is that the newspaper hates them.

The only "celebrity" but sort of isn't one  who came close to a reasoned response was Polo Player Chris Del Gatto, who said "The first thing we think about is our children and that you could be some place as innocuous as a movie theater taking them out for a family evening and something like that happens." If you're looking for clarity after that the closest you can come is Countess LuAnn de Lesseps, who started out on solid footing and then gave us every reason why we should take away her fame. "I think it's terrible and I feel so bad for the families. I have children and everybody has children that they are connected to those people that were there."
Huh? But that was not to be topped by the absolute beauty pageant answer we got from Donna Karan's neer-do-well daughter (whom Glickman felt the need to run down her resume as though she gained all this by herself) Gabby Karan:

"It breaks my heart. I think that we just have to change in our soceity and try to give back a little bit more."

Who knew charity and soup kitchens can stop mass murder?
What this column truly exemplifies is something that sort of strikes at one of the pillars of why we launched Hamptonyte Blog. Just because you're a celebrity, does not mean you should be tapped to give opinions. In fact you probably shouldn't. Because you're a brand. And brands are very touchy not to say anything that even smells of controversy. Okay, that's too long of a pillar, but the lesson stands all the same.

Well-documented stupidity

Are we really this desperate to become friends with our kids now?

The Weakonomy: Everyone's Too Poor to Bang

It's exactly like rap group Three 6 Mafia said it was: "It's Hard Out Here for a Person who brokers business transactions for services rendered between an experienced woman and a lonely man.

Wow, the economy sucks so bad that nobody wants to get sucked so bad? According to this article in Business Insider, who took its cue from the Daily News, the swinger "industry" (industry? Really?) is taking a beating in this economic climate, as attendance is way down and membership to exclusive swinger clubs is getting a little too prohibitive.

Especially in East Hampton, where, according to the article, swinger clubs are still charging about $300 for you to get your freak on with a whole crew of sweaty people. Memberships further west including New York City cost about $150.

Damn zone pricing. Still. We can't just skip the cable bill? Or cut up a credit card?

Former Provost Of College Has Trouble With Academic Citation

Or...Congressman Tim Bishop is a snake like every other politician trying to run for re-election.


As an alumnus of Southampton College, the degree hanging on my wall is beginning to have less and less meaning with each passing day of this political season. Have you seen this? It's a political ad approved by Tim Bishop in which he accuses his Republican opponent, Randy Altschuler of outsourcing American jobs to other countries around the world.


The ad comes replete with grainy video footage of Altschuler speaking to what appears to be local businessmen about his company (Office Tiger) and its ability to save them money by shipping back-office support positions to other regions of the world, such as India, and the Philippines.


Then he pulls out a quote Altschuler gave the Financial News in 2003. "In India you get a much higher standard of person doing...work than in America," the full-screen reads. What a scumbag, right? Saying Indian workers are better than us? And now he wants us to vote for him!?


Only. The ellipsis troubled me. You know, the "dot, dot, dot" after the word "doing?" That couldn't have been a pause on Altschuler's part. And if it was, what journalist would have inserted the pause? Something was fishy. So I did about five seconds of research through my local library and I found the article in question, from the March 23, 2003 edition of Financial News.

Here's what Altschuler said in the article. "In India you get a much higher standard of person doing assistant work."
That was it. The Bishop ad cuts the qualifying term "assistant" and then adds what their Cap N' Crunch invisible ink detector apparently picked up on the page hiding "than in America."
Or, more likely, Altschuler never said "than in America." And he was talking about assistant work, not ALL work. This also followed that quote from Financial News:

"Altschuler says banking staff in Western financial centres need not be concerned about losing their jobs. Instead they should be pleased that the roles remaining in the West will be of higher calibre. He says: "People in New York and London will be working in higher-end areas. There will be more need for people with higher education-employees are going to have to get smart."

I know Tim Bishop was the provost of a failed college and all, but come on. Tim. A quotation is word-for-word. That's why it's in quotes. And next time you're going to lie to us about something your opponent didn't say: do yourself a huge favor and don't bother providing the citation.

In other news...Randy Altschuler is a huge outsourcing douche. Don't vote for him.

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.