Friday, July 14, 2006
Heading out to East Egg this weekend… Fine, fine, everyone else calls it East Hampton but when Fitzgerald’s descriptions still ring so true, “[it was a] slender, riotous island which extends itself due east of New York… jut[ting] out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great, wet barnyard of Long Island Sound,” why not evoke the lush, lost era of the Roaring Twenties instead of the clumsy, tasteless 21st century (strip malls, fast food, Geraldo Rivera)? I’m much more likely to run into Billy Joel or Howard Stern than a Rockefeller or a deposed aristocrat but a girl can dream…
Bare minimum—a little bit of sun and a chilled glass of white by the pool. Jay Gatsby and the scions of industry can wait until another weekend.