7/27/06
I got out to East Hampton yesterday. A long flight next to a manic five year old girl. Her father was impressively attentive.

Now. East Hampton. Surreal as I remember it. The “Quaint” summer cottages ($4million), the rustic tree lined streets with more high dollar automotive consumables. And the effervescent ladies of the island (manhattan or long) with their unattainable entitlement and their shoppers scrutiny.

The private jets of the wallstreet warlords stream by overhead. The laborers headdown and sweaty. An iotta of community, or humanity is bereft and left on the sidewalk like spilled change-too prescribed to pick it up. Commercially consumable and viable as Las Vegas. But whacked as a prozac/zoloft bender.

The air is thicker here, more moisture. Less desert. More season. Less space.

Tonight a dinner with the folks. Steak and subterfuge. Yes, got to manifest. Did a couple sets today, got my motor to turn over even if I didn’t do much. Possibly go for a program tonight. Stephen’s Talk House. Or Star. Or The Resort. Though this was supposed to be $20 cover and all you can drink. Would they let me in to not drink for free?

Stepmother Joan wants me to run the table and lamp over to the other house. Jump through another hoop. Alright, what can I get her to do for me? Just start small. Pass me the salt. Get me a glass of water.

My dad and Joan, together in fantasy, till debt do us part.

Time to move the table.