THE LAST FIVE ...

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Monday, May 5, 2003 - 1:58 p.m.

42 hours in the Hamptons

I should take these slower moments earlier in the day to get down what happened this weekend, since work will pick up in the next few hours. Apparently, someone's friend got married in Hawaii this weekend, and that's a big deal. Funny how little press the guy got before this, compared to certain other couples, married or not.

FRIDAY, 7 p.m. on the nose
Casey and I pull out of the driveway, headed for the George Washington Bridge and, ultimately, "Barn Again" in Southampton, N.Y.

7:17 p.m.
We're crawling eastbound on the Cross Bronx Expressway, with occassional pockets of 40-mph cruising. I narrowly miss a street sign along the dotted line of the center and left lanes. We're beneath Jerome Ave.

7:26 p.m.
We're at the exit for I-895 and it's taken us 26 minutes to go 9 miles from home. Casey remembers that she forgot to pay her credit card bill.

7:28 p.m.
We're off the Cross Bronx and passing through the tolls for the Throgs Neck Bridge. "Thank God for EZ-Pass," I say as we roll through a nearly empty lane as the losers with cash wait in line.

7:36 p.m.
Off the Throgs Neck and onto the Cross Island Parkway, we reach the exit for the Long Island Expressway.

7:38 p.m.
We're finally on the Long Island Expressway after spending two minutes on the exit ramp while a steady line of cars merged from the exit onto the LIE amidst congestion and construction. Such safe conditions. "Now that I know I'm going to be on here for a little while," I say before slipping into the middle lane, which moves faster because drivers in the right lane must deal with all the cars merging in from the on ramps. Casey worries that Moom thinks she's dead because she didn't e-mail her earlier.

7:54 p.m.
The Crowded House CD has finished so a burned copy of Rubber Soul and Revolver on one disc replaces it.

8:01 p.m.
As promised by the omniscient electronic signs, the congestion clears up at Exit 38 when we pass a stalled tanker truck either over on the shoulder or in the exiting lane. Why a stalled truck off to the side that isn't blocking any of the thru-lanes causes an eight-mile slowdown is beyond me.

8:15 p.m.
Passing Exit 49, I turn on the cruise control, now that the traffic has thinned out enough to warrant taking my foot off the pedal at 70 mph.

8:46 p.m.
Now off the LIE and the short stretch of a north-south road, we've turned the corner and joined 27 East, the road that leads to the end of Long Island. I spy a pizza parlor and mention it only because Casey has suggested that maybe we should grab a bite before we reach Bob & Liz's in case we get there late and have no other eating options. Casey frets that we didn't bring a bottle of wine.

9:04 p.m.
We're counting traffic lights because we have to turn at the sixth one. The Mets are on the radio, and the third light is green, as the directions said it probably would be ("the third light is always green").

9:10 p.m.
Turning left at the sixth traffic light, I see the glowing eyes and shadows of two or three deer crossing the road about 200 yards ahead but don't mention this to Casey.

9:14 p.m.
After erroneously second-guessing myself and backtracking a few hundred yards for no reason, we pull into the driveway and up to the house. Roughly 90 miles on a Friday night from New Jersey to the Hamptons in two hours and 16 minutes.

9:15 p.m.
Stepping out of the car, I'm immediately hit with the overwhelming and pleasant smell of pine. "It smells like Maine," I say joyfully. "It smells like camping," Casey offers.

9:27 p.m.
Standing around the island in the kitchen with Bob, we munch on crackers and cheese. Sometimes, Budweiser from the can tastes pretty refreshing. Sometimes. This happens to be one of those times. The others are usually in a field or parking lot near a football stadium.

10:50 p.m.
After sitting on the coach and talking, we realize it's late and time for bed.

SATURDAY, 9:38 a.m.
Casey and I finally pull ourselves out of bed. Bob's gone to his antique show and says in his note that he'll be back by 10:30.

10:20 a.m.
Bob's back, and Casey and I help him unload a coach from his van and rearrange the furniture in the living area of the main room. He says he needs to paint the white horse fence near the driveaway. I remind him that the woman he's renting the house to for the summer has a 13-year-old and an 11-year-old and he should make them do it for a little extra money. He says it's a good idea.

11:48 a.m.
Casey and I leave for Montauk Point and the lighthouse. Bob tells us to take 27 east until the road ends. "It's about as far east as you can go south of Maine," I say. "Yep," Bob adds, "after that it's pretty much Portugal." Upon arriving at Montauk, however, I see on the horizon and on the maps that Long Island doesn't go as far east as I'd suspected. Block Island (part of Rhode Island) is visible to the east, and maps in the museum show that not only is Rhode Island still east of Long Island, but Boston and Cape Cod, Massachusetts are as well.

12:53 p.m.
We've climbed the 137 steps to the top of Montauk Lighthouse and looked out at the point and the ocean. We make our way back down and saunter through the museum some more. I spot a poem called "The Lightkeeper's Lament," and Casey begins hyperventilating. "You could set it to music," I suggest. "It even has a refrain!" she exclaims. Alas, I cannot get a decent photo of the poem � typed out on yellowed and framed paper � that would rend it readable upon developing. A search of the internet Monday morning proves fruitless. While it is mentioned in a few places, none have the text; one even mentions that it has been put to music on a CD.

1:26 p.m.
After walking around Turtle Hill, where the lighthouse now stands a few dozen feet from the edge of the bluff after having been built nearly 300 feet from the edge (it's called erosion, and it does things like necessitate moving the light at Cape Hatteras further inland and everyone talks about it like it's the most special lighthouse ever), we descend a rocky path toward the beach, where we stand on the shore as the waves crash on the rocks. The lighthouse looms above us. It's among the oldest in the country, commissioned by George Washington and built in the 1700s.

2:15 p.m.
In the village of Montauk, where the cab companies paint their cars hot pink or bright green to get noticed. We park in front of the town square near the gazebo and walk along Main St. before deciding on Pizza Village for lunch. A beagle cocks its head as we enter, apparently disappointed that we didn't go the extra six feet past the door to pet it. Casey feels guilty.

We order a four-slice Mexican pizza, topped with black olives, onions, jalepenos and monterey jack cheese. I push aside some of the olives, since they are piled on liberally, but I eat some of them. The jalepenos really overpower any other taste, and we each only eat one of the four giant slices. The leftovers accompany us to work on Monday.

At a table in the corner, two fathers have brought four boys and a girl out for lunch. One of the boys gets up after eating with pizza sauce still on one cheek and his lap soaked from a spilled cup of soda or water. "So you spilled your drink and then peed your pants?" one of his friends teases him. Then these white third graders talk like inner-city rappers. "Yo yo yo, I'm a rapper!" they repeat over and over, with the hand signals for emphasis.

3:08 p.m.
Back in East Hampton, we park in the free public lot behind the stores and walk along Newton and Main streets. We buy hot cinnamon-sugar doughnuts at Dressen's and watch the people and their dogs. We must spot about two dozen dogs today alone, with another dozen on Sunday. Everyone has dogs, from tiny yappers to adorable yellow labs.

4:37 p.m.
We stop into Scoop Du Jour for ice cream and a "one-scoop" cone gets you a cone topped with a scoop the size of a softball. I manage to finish mine, though. Moosetracks is the flavor � vanilla ice cream, pieces of chocolate shell and mini peanut butter cups. Heaven.

No celebrities spotted.

5:28 p.m.
Casey buys a pair of Michael Kors shoes in Southampton and we walk around there in the early evening. We think back to the monkey pants we saw in one store window in December (but I curiously forgot to mention) and are pleased to discover that, for summer, they have whale pants on display! That's right, a pair of sea-green slacks with little pink whale-spouting-water images spread out on the legs! (Colors may vary.)

6:04 p.m.
Back at the barn with Bob (Liz is now on the ferry returning from New England and expects to be home around 8:30), I remember the Kentucky Derby. We turn on the TV in the kitchen and watch while Casey drinks some white wine and I enjoy another surprisingly satisfying Bud.

8:20 p.m.
Liz returns and we talk some more.

9:33 p.m.
Having not truly had dinner � Bob munched on cheese and crackers while Casey and I were too full � we all go out to the Driver's Seat in Southampton. Casey gets soup and salad, Liz orders buffalo wings and Bob and I each get burgers.

9:52 p.m.
We talk TV. Liz calls David Caruso her "boyfriend," and admits to liking American Idol.

9:56 p.m.
I lament that, with Aaron Sorkin's departure, The West Wing is likely doomed to join ER in Suckville. Both Sorkin and Tommy Schlamme are leaving WW as producers, leaving it all to John Wells, who also produces SuckR. Casey asks, "So are you going to keep watching it even when it sucks like I do with Buffy?" I probably will.

11 p.m.
Lights are out, eyes are closed.

SUNDAY, 9:22 a.m.
We always seem to get up between 9 and 10 a.m., but when we've gone to bed at 11, that's 10 hours of sleep and pretty damn good, I say.

11:44 a.m.
Sag Harbor, once home to John Steinbeck. I'd forgotten this until we saw the plaque posted on the replica windmill down by the wharf. His widow recently died in the city. This is where Steinbeck embarked from on his Travels With Charley journey.

12:23 p.m.
We watch a woman play with her German shepherd on the grass in a tiny park along the water. A stroller sits on the curb, but there's no baby in it. We wonder if she's noticed.

12:28 p.m.
I spot the woman pushing the stroller beside a friend who walks with a baby in her arms. Whew. The dog trots along behind.

12:36 p.m.
No indication what the big, abandoned brick building a block off Main St. was. I suspect maybe it was a school, but there's no indication any way of what its purpose once was. Either that or a factory, we decide.

We wonder if we can find the tree Billy Joel crashed into a few months ago.

12:53 p.m.
Back in East Hampton, we park in the lot again.

1:21 p.m.
I buy Casey a cool pair of multi-hoop earrings, but I stupidly don't offer to do so until she says, "You could buy them for me because you love me." I was thinking of it, but my brain is working slowly on this sunny Sunday.

1:44 p.m.
We finally make it to the Blue Parrot and order lunch. A guy who looks a little like Kurt Russel from behind comes in and sits at the bar, but it's clearly not him. We see no celebrities here, either, or on the trip, but several sheets of paper about 16x20 inches are framed on the walls, all signed by various stars. I pick out Robert Plant, Christie Brinkley, David Caruso and Joy Behar.

2:30 p.m.
Back at the barn, we have a Coke and chat more with Liz.

3:44 p.m.
We're on the road home, pulling out of the driveway.

4:49 p.m.
Dammit if the electronic signs don't accurately predict the congestion between exits 38 and 34. "Maybe if they didn't say it, it wouldn't happen," I say.

5:01 p.m.
Approaching the Throgs Neck Bridge, I wonder what it's named for. Who or what is/was a Throg? Or Throgs.

5:21 p.m.
The Cross Bronx was a breeze. We're crawling through the traffic approaching the upper level of the GWB. The lower level would've been a little easier, but we're OK.

5:35 p.m.
We pull into the Food Emporium after exiting the highway to pick up beer. We're essentially home, less than two hours after leaving. Awesome!

8:28 p.m.
MARGE: "All we have left are the Earthquake Ham and the Funeral [I think] Ham." HOMER: "C'mon, Marge, they're just hams."

9:00 p.m.
Previously on Alias...

9:02 p.m.
Um, J.J.? Is a laser in Will's eye really necessary to the plot?

9:49 p.m.
I posted a short entry (click back) after a couple of beers.

10:00 p.m.
The commercial break wasn't as long as we expected, and Alias is launching into its second hour.

10:57 p.m.
"She's in the future!" I joke as Sidney Bristow wakes up in an alley in Hong Kong.

10:59 p.m.
Is it bad that I can predict the plot even when I'm joking? Nevertheless, I loved the episode. Even more than the post-Super Bowl one.

11:01 p.m.
I call Heather to warn her about the Eye Jiggery-Pokery at the start of Alias. "You are a god," she decrees.

11:23 p.m.
Zzzzzzz...

MONDAY, 1:58 p.m.
Dude, I've got to get some work done. But first lunch. Yes, lunch, then work.

2:13 p.m.
My GOD, they put a lot of jalepenos on that Mexican pizza. I'm going to need another Coke.

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