Menace to Society
There’s a reason that the Hamptons Jitney is the one bus that New York’s elite will deign to place their fancy tushes on. The air-conditioned anti-Greyhound actually showed up on time Friday afternoon, and the nice lady who came to take our credit cards gave me two cartons of lemonade and a bag of Bachmann’s Party Mix.
Because it’s not a party without Bachmann’s Party Mix.
I made sure to grab a window seat because I was determined to keep an eye on the road. It was time for me to figure out where exactly the Hamptons were. The last time I ventured a guess, it was deemed so clueless that my publicist, R. Couri Hay, had to step in, spinning my ignorance as some kind of adorable party trick.
As Seen in SCENE
If you haven’t met Priyantha De Silva, there’s still a good chance you’ve encountered him, perhaps when he was pretending to be someone else: cherubic cocktail chaser, uncredited Academy Award-winning producer, conspicuous Condé Nast editor, philandering philanthropist, ICM agent or the creator of the Kardashians. Some say that if you put your ear to a martini, you can almost hear his overdone debonair voice: “What do you mean I’m not on the list? Don’t you know who I am?” Priyantha De Silva was that really, really sweaty guy of Sri Lankan descent who successfully crowbarred his way into progressively higher social circles, ultimately crashing down into of Manhattan’s most closely guarded venues: Rikers Island.