Baby Vines!

For those of you who thought this blog had gone the way of Gawker, wiped out by an over-reliance on click-bait headlines and salacious tabloid fodder, prepare for disappointment. It's been 229 days since the last time Team J00ster hit the road, but now they're back with a new addition to the team: Ryan Lexington, a.k.a. MileagePlus number FY599232.

Daddy now I see why you got me my frequent flier number before my birth certificate even arrived.

The destination for Ry Ry's first flight: the white sands of Nantucket. White being the operative word; if you're not a fifth generation Ivy-Bro from Beacon Hill than you're just an impostor who thinks donning this season's aquamarine Vineyard Vines shorts will cover up your societal shortcomings. It won't, but hoist a case of Bud Light on the shoulder and you might just have a fighting chance.

Oh look, finally an airport that doesn't have a TSA line coming out the door.

Home base for the weekend is 76 Main, a gorgeous old Nantucket mansion that's been converted into a boutique hotel. Now all the guests this weekend can enjoy Ryan's boutique collection of curated screams at 3am.

The only thing more New England than an inebriated Harvard frat boy who just confused his bro's lacrosse helmet for a urinal is a lobster roll. And Bartlett Farm does one of the best on the island.

Brooklyn knows there's more to life than secret handshakes and skull and crossbones societies.

Stocking up on locally grown provisions. The genius of the hipster farm is that you can charge Whole Foods prices without those pesky overheads like, you know, a store. In fact, those city slickers will pay you for the right to forage around in your dusty field for a few Instagram-worthy turnips.

If you're relying on these folks for a bumper harvest you may want to consider befriending the local Indian tribe in the hopes they invite you to their autumnal feast.

It's FIGAWI weekend, which, just in case the photo below gave you the wrong idea, is a yacht race from Hyannis to Nantucket that officially kicks off the summer social season. In other words, that critical juncture in the year when you swap your Ferragamo fireside loafers for your Canali boat shoes.

So did either of them inherit their Daddies' shaky sea legs? Only one way to find out, ship them back on the first yacht home and enjoy the rest of the weekend diaper-free..

The mighty FIGAWI Fleet, not to be confused with the Pacific Fleet. Easy mistake to make with so much red, white, and blue.

FIGAWI weekend is also the biggest frat party on the whole of the Cape. Because everyone knows those crates of Bud make great ballast on the sail over.

Clearly the one library in America that isn't lurching from one funding crisis to another. Most borrowed book: The New England Social Register.

In fact, the cost of maintaining the library's immaculate lawn for a summer could probably keep the rest of the state's libraries running for a year. This is the lawn for the 1%, a sumptuous green carpet fertilized by slivers of truffle and watered by stray splashes of Krug from the Debutantes' Garden Soiree.

Daddy can we get a lawn like this? Son, there's plenty of the green stuff down where you come from, it's just got a few more prickles. And ants.

Now listen up kids, when mommy said you can be whatever you want when you grow up she meant you can pick C++ or Java.

When the biggest challenge of the day is picking between pink or turquoise shorts you know you've found a slice of paradise, or the Vineyard Vines shop down by the wharf.

On a day like this the lighthouse is mainly for show. So just like the rest of Nantucket really.

Introducing Baby Vines, preppy wear for the discerning baby who knows how to say Daddy, Mommy, and Panama.

Don't worry kiddo, by the time you're old enough to read this blog they'll be back in style.

The fast ferry from Hyannis delivers another cargo of Bud Light to keep the festivities rollicking along. When dad asks you what happened to the trust fund at least have the sense to say you invested it in a rare bottle of Japanese single malt, not a crate of Bud.

Children's Beach, the kind of name that would have sent J00ster scurrying to the other side of the island for the first decade of its print run.

Yes son, this is what the burbs look like. Terrible isn't it?

It's ok, eat it. It's called foraging and it's all the rage right now.

The beach has emptied out, either it's lunch time or all the bros are still hung over.

Can't keep his hands off the chippies, must be a regressive gene can't possibly get that from Daddy.

If you ask Mommy really nicely she might add some caffeine to your afternoon milk.

On Memorial Day freedom comes chrome-plated. Without a muffler.

No need to smoke the Evil Doers out of their rabbit holes when you can just run them over in the Freedom Mobile.

Dentistry? Solid choice son, that will pay off your student loans.

Always pause to remember those whose day at the beach won us ours.

Pre-dinner drinks for the adults in the party. That explains the lone glass.

Caution, future hipsters in training.

It wouldn't be an Atlantic island without at least one rainy day. Time to retire to the sitting room to peruse some, ah, offshore investment opportunities with Mossack Fonseca.

As the showers clear it's time to explore the other side of the island. Turns out it's just as rich as the other side, go figure.

Rock is shamefully caught with last season's understated pink instead of 2016's Make Investment Banking Great Again hue.

The quaint village of Sconset is still just a collection of old whalers' cottages. Except now it would take a whole year's worth of harpooning just to rent one for peak season.

Next they'll be resurrecting the Pequod.

A 30 minute flight isn't quite the same as 7 hours. Next up: London. Mommy and Daddy, did you ever imagine you'd ever be ineligible for the exit row? Burn.