Before you know it, it’ll be Fire Island time again and all the queers and their supporters will hop the overpriced train to the overpriced van to the overpriced ferry, so they can walk back and forth on wooden planks looking for something to do.
As someone who doesn’t drink, do drugs, or lie in the sun, I find I’m basically a diabetic in a candy shop every time I go there. But I still like the chance to hang with my homeys, to beg drag queens to update their diva impersonations, and to run from tic-infested deer and people wielding paddles in the Meat Rack. And I can certainly understand the allure of such a retreat to those looking for some weekend hedonism under the sun, sans guilt, socks, or meaning.
I actually prefer Cherry Grove to the Pines because I’m way more popular with the lesbians, fatties, and wackos than with the body boys. But walking back and forth between the communities at least gives you something to do. Meet me by the Slushie machine at the Fire Island Pantry. Then we’ll play bingo at the Gay Center before stumbling along the planks back to the house, trying not to fall into a dune. Fun!