If I were ever given the task of torturing someone, and although the call hasn't come yet you never know, what I would do is I would strip them down to their skivvies, throw them to the ground and subject them to intense heat until they gave me bin Laden's street address, and if that didn't work, I would throw in clouds of mosquitos and maybe a boombox playing Eye of The Tiger. Just so you know where I was coming from when Amanda pranced into the room screaming "Fire Island! Fire Island! Fire Island!" At first, thinking she was raising an alarm, I frantically looked for the nearest exit. Then, when I realized what she was suggesting, I looked for the nearest exit with increased urgency. But cooler heads prevailed, and we hit the expressway, only to discover that 4,507,989 other New Yorkers had been struck by the very same impulse. After three or four days, we arrived at the ferry with only one soiled diaper and no left-coast vomit, for which we were grateful, and soon found ourselves in paradise, new york style. And here the snarkiness ends, because it was really quite nice. Good food, wine, and conversation was provided by A & J's friend Tory. It was great fun walking the little boardwalks and sitting on midnight beaches and whatnot. So I'm still not a beach person, but I'll make an exception like that any time. I guess nature in small doses can't hurt. Plus now I know every Michael Jackson joke that ever was.