Spent Memorial Day in The Hamptons, New York City’s version of Martha’s Vineyard. (NYkers may take issue with that comparison, as, since NYC is the center of the world, MV would be Boston’s version of the Hamptons. It’s all amusing to me, a Northern Californian, where in the summer more people go TO the city during the weekend than leave it.) Found myself at a party on Saturday night hosted by the publisher of Gotham, LA Confidential, and other fine, extra large glossy magazines showcasing celebrities and parties. Found myself wandering in and wondering of the spectacle of many tan lithe twenty-somethings with gorgeous clothes and bodies to match. Kept wondering why a video camera was pointed my way until I noticed that I was standing behind James Lipton, the guy from the Actor’s Studio. Other notable attendees included Tina Louise (Ginger from Gilligan’s Island) and Ivana Trump. Finally managed to congregate with other fellow wonderers (what are we doing here?) and was able to relax and enjoy the party. Later a friend emailed along this poem by Emily Dickinson. Seems like they had spectacle parties in her time as well…
I’m Nobody! Who Are You? by Emily Dickinson
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
Excellent fudge brownies and a hilarious talk with David Lee Roth, who reminded me very much of someone who could have been a Darmouth alumn from Psi U fraternity who rejected investment banking for gun-running in the Carribean. Very cute, energetic bordering on manic, engaging, laughing eyes, with great, great stories. Of course being the clueless un-pop-culturite that I am, someone had to remind me who he was. Van Halen. Oh that figures. I don’t think I ever did listen to that group.
Happy to be back home in Nobodyland.