Today we went to the Hamptons, a group of fancy beach towns on Long Island frequented by celebrities and best remembered -- by me, anyway -- as the focal point of certain Seinfield episode. Some of the landmarks dated back to the 1600s, which is interesting from an America historical perspective. We shopped at a few antique shops (as a guy, not my first choice of activity), participated in a wine tasting and visited a cool mansion whose name escapes me. MBV wanted to show us that there's more to New York than "the City." Maybe so, but judging from today, not much more.

In the "This Always Happens to Me" Dept.: Last night we wanted to see some live music, so we saw a listing for a ska concert. MBV noticed that the band was from Arizona and asked me if I'd ever heard of them. She misstated the name, so it didn't ring a bell. We went to the venue and while listening to the opening band noticed a poster for "Warsaw Poland Bros." I realized this was the new name for Warsaw, the band whose lead singer SB "dated," (for lack of a better term) and whose guitar player made fun of me for drinking a Zima. Suddenly, I realized that that was the band MBV was talking about, and that I was about to sit through an excruciating concert of bad memories...MBV even recreated one of them by requesting "Slow Down Sister," also known as the P-word song. Oh boy...

Tomorrow: Manhatten.

Now I'm in Central Park. I'm struck by the enormity of this city and the foresight of whoever envisioned establishing public space as the municipal core. NY is awesome, in the original sense of the term.

Here I am -- in New York city! I got an unlimited subway/bus card (Bay Area Rapid Transit, are you listening?) and am heading toward Manhattan. I have about nine hours to kill before LS gets here.

I'm sitting in Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, which seems reassuringly busy. The only real difference I've noticed is the Phoenix "bike cops" riding around the place. San Jose, by contrast, looked deserted. Guards searched my ride's car at the airport parking lot, and in addition to the usual check at the ticket counter, asked for a photo ID at the security gate and even at the plane itself. Uh, weren't those hijackers TICKETED PASSENGERS?

MBV called me a "motherfucker" when I told her I was getting in at 6 a.m. Apparently, she's still a little jet-lagged.