In this case, the city is Long Island City, just a stone's throw across the East River but a million miles away from the glam of 5th or the eclectic vibe of the East Village. Once a run-down, industrial wasteland, Long Island City is slowing throwing off the smoggy shroud of its past, helped in part by avant garde projects like MoMA's experimental PS-1 gallery, housed in a converted warehouse. In addition to forming an exhibit space for the city's hottest up-and-coming contemporary artists, it also hosts a pretty mean outdoors dance party every summer.
When it's as hot as David Chang's latest Momofuku creation, you need to keep the mosh pit cool. Fortunately whoever dreamed up this new outdoor installation included a convenient mist spray feature. It may not be Monet, but when the mercury is touching 100, it's a darn sight more refreshing than staring at shimmering water lilies.
Who said artists are a dreary lot? The Mixter and the Roxster get ready to party, preferably without the loss of an ear along the way.
The party is only just getting started. Except in Rock's case where half a beer and more than half a sunburn send him scurrying for the kiddie's paddling pool.
Who would have thought art could be this much fun? You don't get to sit on the exhibits in the stuffy galleries of Museum Mile.
What's the best way to refuel after gyrating through the day? How about a seafood hotpot so big it could almost qualify as the eighth continent.
Perhaps when the waiter said this was ordinarily meant for six people to share, he knew what he was talking about...
And just to prove this really is the melting pot of the world, and not just the melting pot of Korean seafood delights, how about a spot of Dragon Boat racing in the Flushing park?
Strrrrrriiiiikkkeee! And he's out swinging. Err, say what? He's still there? Waddya mean he might be there for another couple days? Is this a joke man?
Cricket with Dragon Boat racing just beyond the boundary rope. Yep, when they say you can get the whole world in one city, they know what they're talking about.
Another glorious weekend dawns, which can only mean one thing. Pack up like half the city and head for the island. The Long Island that is, New York's favorite summer playground. Today's destination: Fire Island, about two hours east of Manhattan.
The ferry hasn't even left the dock yet and the party is already getting started.
A reclusive hedgie takes a moment away from the blackberry to check out a few of his waterfront property holdings.
Fire Island is where those you can't afford the Hamptons hit the water.
Still, what it lacks in super yatchs it makes up for in laid back seafaring charm.
Nothing like the open sea and the wind in one's hair to forget the frenetic pace of Broadway.
Not a crazed yellow cab driver in sight. Definitely the place to unwind. Which out here refers to something other than one's losing positions.
Babes on the beach.
Fun in the sun. Nothing like a refreshing sea breeze to wash away the accumulated stickiness of a hottest August for a decade.
The only thing missing is the famous J00ster beach tent, regrettably languishing in storage in Sydney.
Definitely the hottest August on record, by any metric.
The beach closes at five, which conveniently is when the waterside bars kick off happy hour. Out here a beer costs less than a starting cab fare in the city.
It may be the hottest August in many a year, but that still doesn't mean the water has forgotten it's journey through the arctic to get here.
Surely it's not time to head back already? Darn right it's not; there's a couple dozen oysters between here and the last ferry sailing for the day.
The permanent population of Ocean Beach, Fire Island is something like 600 brave souls who batten down the hatches each winter for four long months of lashing gales. But in summer the population swells as the city slickers arrive to drink the island dry.
Main Street USA.
Fortunately the ketchup supply ship made it in to port. Not to mention the beer tanker.
