The Hamptons: An affluent playground for the Jews and the Wasps. AKA TAG Heaven.

In an attempt to get my mind off of... my life, I wandered into Barnes & Noble yesterday in search of a good beach read. Since I didn't have any sand to sit on, my bed would have to suffice. And it did.

Admittedly, I walked into B&N hoping I'd walk out with Lovehampton. Falling in love and vacationing in the Hamptons are two of my favorite activies. How could I not love such a title? I've seen the book in at least half a dozen magazines by now so I figured it'd be front and center. After not finding it on the 'Beach Reads' or 'New Fiction' tables, I sighed and came across this:



How the Other Half Hamptons by Jasmin Rosemberg. I won't give too much away, and after putting the book down at three this morning and finally falling asleep, I'm close to finishing. The time has now come, however, for me to address one of the most controversial topics of New York City life: the Hamptons share.

To share or not to share? A question I've asked myself countless times. This book, decidedly, chooses the former. It follows three Jewish girls (not once has religion been mentioned in the book, but you just know) and their summer half share in a house on the infamous Montauk Highway. (Yes, the one with Lobster Roll and The Dump Across the Street from Lobster Roll. Such a good highway.) The book is a fast and funny read and hits the nail on the head about young NYC life. ("What are you drinking?" "Grey Goose and soda." Why should he have to know that the drink she just finished was really well vodka? BINGO! I'm a Ketel One girl, however.)

I think the fact that I have only done the Hamptons with my parents is what's hindering me from making the same decision. Thus far, I've been chauffeured around the East End in a Mercedes station wagon. I've lunched at Cittanuova and dinnered at Harvest. I've bought to my heart's content (the amount of shopping bags the four of us bring home far outnumbers our luggage, and we oftentimes have trouble closing the hatchback). We're back at the condo and in bed by a reasonable hour. I've only had good, clean, family fun. To cohabitate with upwards of dozens of horny, drunk twenty somethings sounds intriguing, sure, but also quite different than the only Hamptons experience I know. I'm not sure how well I would fare out there depending solely on Tuna Cabs and a barbeque grill.

Not to say that there aren't people who don't do some of these same activities while summering in a share house. But this novel tells of no such tale. Those precious weekends revolve around sunning, drinking, and hooking up. Food and shelter are nowhere near the top of the survival list. It's a whole different side of the big H. It is, precisely, how the other half Hamptons.

So, will I ever do it? I'm not sure. I'd prefer to strike it rich, buy my parents a house there, put a big bow on it and casually point out the car window as we roll by and say, "I got you something."

I won't be out there until late July, so until then, the books will have to do. I highly recommend this one. I'll be sure to get my hands on Lovehampton next. In the mean time, wishful wardrobing is a very powerful coping mechanism. This morning I sprung from bed and threw on my tiniest Lilly shift and white Jacks. Hell, if I can't be there right now, I'm at least going to dress like I am to make up for it.

Lilly would have it no other way. And neither would I.