EJ Camp
I'm not sure how you'll be able to go on, let alone me!
But I've accrued two more weeks off and I'm seizing them in order to take a chill pill, deal with some stuff, and try to flush clichés like that out of my system.
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Sorry, folks, but even this well-oiled machine has got to slow down for a week and get lubed up again.
Feel free to spend the time commenting on the millions of existing posts here, which should keep you quite busy till I return from the wreckage of my relaxation.
And I'll surely do a drive-by on Wednesday to remind you of the week's column, which is salaciously good.
Enjoy! Or if it gives you more pleasure, don't enjoy.
Surely you remember my contest where the best travel essay won a free month on JetBlue.
Well, Courtney Sampsell nabbed the prize, and though she never sent me a postcard, she did come home with a lovely new essay about the experiences she enjoyed around the country, and that's good enough for this little contest thrower.
Here's her report:
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Hedonistic weekends in the Fire Island Pines are going to extend all the way into October this year, and you can partly thank humankind's relentless abuse of the environment, which has led to global warming that makes things fabulously tropical well into the fall!
But it's mainly because Andrew Kirtzman and his partners -- who own the Pavilion club, the Blue Whale restaurant, and all the other real estate in that strip -- are promoting go-to weekends long after the traditional end of the season.
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I'm taking the week off from the blog, so I can open my pores and close them again, all while massaging my armpits for greater dexterity.
But there will be a column this Wednesday, and I'll surely alert you to that fabulous bit of business when it happens.
In the meantime, I'll see you at the beach.
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He's already given you Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Nicole Kidman's upcoming film Rabbit Hole, which he's directed.
And now John Cameron Mitchell and his buddy, Brent, have an offer for their friends.
They happen to have a house on the island of Vieques (off the east coast of Puerto Rico), and, as Mitchell put it in a mass email, "We're seeking folks to stay for free in return for making the place more lovely.
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I'd rather die than lie on a beach, where the sand, sun, and people making fun of my body would surely kill me anyway.
But for braver folk who find that sort of thing a wildly pleasurable experience, here are Susan Blond's handy tips for the beach behavior that will make the most of your day in the sun.
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A couple of months ago, reps from the swanky St. Regis Hotel on Fifth Avenue asked for my favorite restaurants and neighborhoods for some promotion they were doing, promising a free, ritzy weekend there as a reward.
I was sure this was one of those large-scale scams, like when I almost went to Liberia to close a multi-million dollar financial transaction that would set me up for life.
But I dutifully answered the questions just in case.
And the result was that my movie club just had our regular session in a gorgeous suite at the St. Reeg!
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The gay ghetto known as Fire Island is starting to recover from a bad 2009, which is good news for the gays who work out all day so they can do drugs all night.
Sorry, kids, but I'm not sure if the vacation weeks here roll over, and I'm too lazy to try and find out. So I'll just seize one now and will spend the copious leisure time enjoying all the end-of-decade reminiscing, desperate fake sun tanning, and obsessive lip glossing while I wait for Santa to drop down my personal chute bearing Snuggies and chocolates.
I trust you'll find some entertainment of your own this week--and I'll even give you an idea of some for free:
My column will appear this Wednesday!
See you then as sure as my middle name is Flo.
