And now I am going to take a break from actual event reporting and talk about my unintentional vacation.
Memorial Day Weekend, Cherry Grove, Fire Island – Cherry’s and Ice Palace
Sometimes you accidentally end up on Fire Island.
It started with good intentions. I had planned on locking myself in my apartment and catching up on work over Memorial Day weekend. I had been invited to a couple of beach destinations, but no – I was going to be a good girl. Everyone was going out of town. No one was going to bother me. I was going to be productive. I was, among other things, going to write half this article that weekend. I was going to be diligent and post photos of my friends on AfterEllen and call it journalism. I was going to suffer for art.
Then I logged into Facebook. Facebook’s News Feed algorithm is designed to be as irritating as possible. I am sure there were others stuck working that weekend – or stuck with their dysfunctional families, but all I could see were overly excited announcements about travel plans to vacation destinations. “Provincetown with the girls!!!!!” “I’m goin’ to da HAAAAAAMPTONS!!!!!! DA HAAAAAAMPTONS!!!!” “I’m going to the Jersey Shore, bitch!!!” “Spa spa spa!!!!” It was like watching a bunch of exclamation points have group sex, repeatedly. It was obscene. Photos of ladies lounging poolside in bathing suits and drinking beer on the beach were already soiling my feed like dead bugs on a windshield. Lesbians holding cocktails throwing up fake gang signs in the sun were staring back at me, daring me to flash a fake gang sign back and launch myself at them, Angry Birds-style, destroying them all. My news feed was mocking me. D–n you, Facebook. D–n you.
I was not in any of those places. I was in my living room. There was no sand or sun in my apartment. There were no babes in bikinis in my apartment. I decided that this was unacceptable. F–k art! I’m comin’ out! I want the world to know! I got to let it show! But it was already noon on Saturday. Provincetown is a six hour drive, and the ride to P-Town left the day before. Jones Beach is a septic tank. I texted a few friends to see what they were up to. “Come to Fire Island!” Aha! A day trip to the expensive little sand bar off the coast of Long Island full of deer and gays. Perfect!
A couple of hours later I was at the Fire Island Ferry on the way to Cherry Grove.
Soon afterwards, I was on the ferry watching lesbians hold cocktails and throw up fake gang signs in the sun in person. How exciting! Take that, Facebook!
Because I am a lesbian and am genetically programmed to check into places on Foursquare, a friend of mine saw my check in at the ferry and directed me to her barbecue. It was going to be a good day. I would drink a beer, eat a hamburger, play with puppies and stay out of trouble. I would sit in the sun until sunset and go home. Earlier, I had chatted with Ellie Conant, promoter of Choice C—s, and she warned me that Memorial Day Weekend in Cherry Grove is widely known to be “a total sh-tshow,” but look at these puppies! What could go wrong?
“Da plane! Da plane!”
And then this happened.
Ten minutes later I found myself walking to Cherry’s, a beach club overlooking the bay, with a gaggle of tipsy lesbians. Adam Smith’s invisible hand was leading me towards Cherry’s, where I would participate in the local economy. This is a good thing. Right?
And then I ran into the ladies of the Stonewall Inn. Their arrival is generally a precursor to one thing.