a blog with cultural bulimia.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

It's really, really nice.

I arrived in NYC Friday morning and after a quick stop at Murray's on 8th for a bagel (oh, I missed bagels...), Mr. DF & I took the train to Fire Island. I guess you can call it the Jet Set life.

It was perfect: the weather, the house, the people.

It was the first time I was doing something social in NY (albeit FI) since I had gone into the hospital almost 1 year ago. It was also the first time I was seeing again a lot of people I know and being where we were took all the pressure off (I was anxious). Say what you will about The Pines - it can be an amazing place. I will quote my friend Eric, who writes We, Like Sheep, and was one of the people I re-connected with this weekend:

At first glance, Fire Island (and I specifically mean the hamlet known as the Pines), is a profoundly stupid place. All of the pathologies of gay life in New York are simply exported to a slightly remote barrier island: bitchy attitude, body fascism, classism, dance music, alcoholism, drug-fueled sex marathons, and flag dancing. Add Lyme disease, premature aging of the skin from sun exposure, monopolistic pricing, and an incorrect understanding of appropriate beach attire for persons over 18, and you have to wonder why anyone would bother to go out there.

The answer: it's really, really nice.

After a long week spent in a huge city where you can never escape the sound of a car horn or a police siren, it's so unbelievably refreshing to be in a place with no cars where the sounds of the waves and the birds drown out pretty much anything that humans can come up with (ok, you still hear the occasional thump of dance music or moan of a group orgasm, but the sounds of nature generally win out).