Every summer for the past 8 years, I’ve been going to Fire Island. The 32 mile long vacation community is an hour and a half outside of New York City, and it’s only accessible by ferry and boardwalks. Fire Island is known as a gay paradise (as seen in a romantic comedy last year), but in fact, the island is comprised of many smaller communities— from Long Island meatheads to tyrannical WASPs— with two gay enclaves called Cherry Grove and the Pines next to each other. Cherry Grove is appreciated for its diverse mix of day-trippers and seasonal lesbian renters, whereas the Pines is known for its modernist shingled mansions and gay “clones”—rich white men who seem most comfortable amongst other rich white men in speedos. For years I was reticent to come to Fire Island, let alone the Pines, because of its reputation.
Then 14 years ago, my friend Faris started the BOFFO artist residency in the Pines. You’d be hard pressed to find an artist who doesn’t want a free beach house on a gay island for three weeks. As more artists I know started coming to the Pines for the residency, I experienced its magical nature and spectacular architecture firsthand. I was a BOFFO artist-in-residence in 2017, and during that stay, I recorded a series of long-form audio interviews with friends and neighbors (not surprisingly many of the oldest people on the island have great stories). There are many historical relics on the island— from the shack where Truman Capote wrote Breakfast at Tiffany’s, to locations from Andy Warhol’s film My Hustler, or modernist houses designed by Horace Gifford, where Wakefield Poole filmed avant-garde gay porns in the 1970s.
As BOFFO continued, more and more artists expanded the island’s artistic traditions. Some of us return each summer, and this year I came with a large group of lesbians to counterbalance the dominant gay male clone culture. One of those lesbians is Rachel, my friend who works at the high-end dispensary Gotham, which opened a month ago on Bowery and 3rd Street. Since becoming Gotham’s “star sampler,” and writing a pot diary, I have become what some might call a “pot influencer.” I believe the key to becoming an influencer (and reaping its gifts) is to tell everybody that you’re an influencer. So as I walked Rachel past the flyers for the weekly women’s mixer called “Wine and Shes,” and she pulled out her overflowing stash of flower, pre-rolls, and edibles, I recognized that the opportunity to solidify my gay stoner influencer identity had arrived.
Drew Martin Be Open - Rose Petal Infused Pre-Roll (THC: 30.9% Hybrid) / Lobo Minis Wedding Cake Pre-Rolls (THC: 22% Hybrid)
Rachel is obsessed with the cannabis brand Drew Martin because the packaging is pretty, a lot of their products are mild, and the herbal infusions taste good. I appreciate rose petal accents, but smoking for me is a means to an end to experience mind-altering euphoria. Yet, it was 11am on a Thursday, and there was residual ash from an ecological catastrophe wafting through the air, so I decided to go light with a “Be Open” joint. I put on a gray swimsuit, a gray long-sleeved shirt, a gray sweatshirt, and a gray hat to be aggressively neutral (the equivalent of being a Hasidic woman in the Pines).
After smoking half of the joint, Carl, Eve, and I walked past the ferry dock, where I saw Cliff, a queer elder who started the Pines’ accessibility program during the height of the AIDS epidemic. Every day you’ll find Cliff in a motorized cart, whizzing by on the boardwalk with a disabled or elderly person in tow. I interviewed Cliff for two hours about his life when I was an artist-in-residence, but every time I make eye contact and smile at him, he looks the other way and speeds past me. There is an unspoken culture of saying “hi” to everyone you pass on the boardwalk, and while stoned, I take that job seriously with mixed results.
I’m what some might call a nosy neighbor. As a child, my family and I would go on walks at dusk to look through people’s windows after they turned on the lights. My parents never moved, but each weekend we went to open houses to see how other people lived. That tradition continues on Fire Island, where I give impromptu architectural tours. My commentary is not historical in nature, but rather consists of me saying why I like a house or not. Every year there’s a benefit Pines house tour, where you can marvel at architecturally significant homes for $150, but I’m too cheap for that. I just assertively say “hello,” and hope for the best.
Carl is no longer interested in my tour, but Eve is agreeable, and they both followed me down the boardwalk past a beloved A-Frame house with a verdant garden. Feeling effervescent on the “Be Open” joint, I approached one of the homeowners Sumner Freeman— a 96-year-old Ear Nose and Throat specialist— and suggestively said, “We’re big fans of your garden.” Sumner, in his gardening overalls, invited us to walk around clockwise, because that’s how the garden is designed to be experienced. A few years back, Carl and I invited ourselves into Sumner’s garden, and he instructed us to sit on a stone bench overlooking his pond and to hold hands.
Later that afternoon, we ran into Rachel, her partner Steiner, and their small dogs on the boardwalk. Rachel, ever the marijuana pusher, sparked up a Lobo Wedding Cake mini joint. The Wedding Cake hybrid strand was notably voted “best strand of the year” by Leafly in 2019 for it’s relaxing effects with euphoric undertones (I’m trying to keep this about pot because I’m an influencer). As we were smoking, two gregarious gay bears approached Steiner to pet her dog named Teddy. They reminded her that it was “bear weekend” on the island, and Steiner emphasized that her dog is a bear too—a teddy bear. The bears proceeded to follow Teddy to the only grocery store in town, The Pantry, which was crawling with toned men in speedos even though it was chilly outside. Inspired by our surroundings, we bought a pack of engorged sausages.
We joined our housemates, Jen and Tyne, to grill and to watch the shocking conclusion of the chaotic lesbian reality show Ultimatum: Queer Love. In the show, a group of women give their girlfriends an ultimatum to get married, but in the process of deciding, they swap partners to test the strength of their relationships. Spoiler alert—nobody gets married, except for the gender non-conforming person named Aussie (pronoun Aussie), who puts on running shoes and literally runs to parking lots to cry when experiencing emotional dysregulation. (I’m in a relationship with a therapist, that’s a diagnosis.)
Drew Martin Be Bright - Ginger Mini Pre-Roll (THC 8-10% Sativa)
I like a rough and cold ocean swim. We rented in June because it’s cheaper, but around that time of year nobody gets in the ocean, except for the die-hard early riser swimmers. I made Eve watch me because of the riptide warnings, but I had to go in because a freezing and dangerous swim followed by a piping hot shower calms my nervous system. I also wouldn’t mind dying in the ocean at Fire Island because it’s romantic. The poet Frank O’Hara was tragically run over by a reckless Jeep driver when he was sleeping on the Fire Island beach in 1966.
I was anxiously expecting to hear if I got a job that day, so I decided to distract myself by smoking a Drew Martin Be Bright joint. I appreciate the mild Drew Martin strains for times when I don’t want to be stoned out of my mind, and this particular strand felt bubbly without any manic side effects. Eve was concerned she hadn’t gotten enough steps in for the day, so I offered to go on a long walk with her to Water Island.
Some have called Eve a lesbian artist heartthrob, but we call her “fruit queen” because she constantly eats fruit. Immediately after we got to the beach, Eve became predictably parched, and I warned her that there would be no fresh water for over a mile. We had originally set out to explore the abandoned ruins of a 1960s resort called the Talisman, but I changed plans to find Eve drinking water in an exclusive beachside community.
Water Island is probably the nicest place I’ve ever been to outside of New York City. Like the rest of the island, there are no cars, but uniquely they only have one ferry service a day and no grocery store or amenities. There are 50 homes— many of them are modest cottages, but there are also tasteful mansions mixed in. I explained to Eve that the people who go to Water Island work at the intersection of art and commerce. She said, “You mean rich people with good taste?” Correct.
My friend Marc is an artist and carpenter, who spends much of the summer in Water Island fixing up his friend’s beautiful house. Incidentally, it’s the same house where Frank O’Hara was staying when he was killed. Two years back, Marc’s friend bought a separate dilapidated one-bedroom beachside house with an idiosyncratic postmodern design. He commissioned Marc to restore the house in his signature utilitarian style. Marc hadn’t responded to my texts, so I intended to trespass into his construction site to get Eve some water. But to our surprise and delight, Marc was there, and he showed us his incredible design and carpentry. We sat on the deck with expansive views of the ocean, while smoking the rest of the “Be Bright” joint. Marc is a gay pothead, and I explained to him that I’ve recently become a pot influencer. He retorted, “So you’re working right now?”
After hydrating and peeing, Eve and I made our way back to the boardwalk, where we saw a family of swans floating past the docks (they appeared to be glowing, which I attribute to the Be Bright strand). Then on the beach walk home, I got a call from a producer— I didn’t get the job. I briefly spiraled into existential dread, but Eve encouraged me to jump into the icy cold ocean. I got thrown around and spit out onto the rocky sand, and my stoned spirits were lifted.
Leal Hella Jelly - Pre-Roll (THC 16.78% Hybrid)
I was itching to go on an epic walk because Eve and I had only reached 18,000 steps the previous day (they should give you a step and a half for sand). Jen, Tyne, Carl, Eve and I set out to hike through the beautiful Sunken Forest— a nature reserve with a boardwalk that hovers amid treetops, and leads to a majestic beach. I told Rachel that I needed something stronger to lose track of time and space, so she handed me a Leal Hella Jelly joint. This pre-roll and its Jelly Racher hybrid strand are my top recommend for the month. Leal’s products aren’t yet carried in New York’s finer dispensaries, but I’m impressed that their farms are Certified Kind©.
Carl and I wore matching tie dye shirts as homosexual camo for the journey (he made them using the ice method). We traipsed through the beach and boardwalk, past the rococo clothing optional Belvedere Hotel in Cherry Grove, and by the time we reached a vista at the tail end of the Sunken Forest, Jen was developing heat stroke. She and Tyne turned around, but I sparked up by beloved Hella Jelly joint, and I tried to convince Eve to hike further down the beach to a private Stepford Wives community called Point O’ Woods.
Unlike Water Island, Point O’ Woods is explicitly unwelcoming with fences and signage that says “private community.” The houses are identical with a preppy shingled style, and the area is typically colonized by WASPs, who are required to play tennis in whites. I fantasized about being accosted by community security in my tie-dye shirt, looking like a deranged gay hippie, but Carl convinced Eve it was too far. Instead, we walked back to Cherry Grove to meet Steiner and Rachel at the Sand Castle, a mediocre beachside restaurant, where Steiner likes to eat lobster rolls, and I drink my annual Pina Colada.
The restaurant was overcrowded because of an annoying gay wedding, so we couldn’t get a table together. When Steiner complained, a snappy gay waiter in white short shorts growled at her and Teddy, “This is an exceptionally busy day and you’ll have to wait your turn.” Misogyny rears its ugly head, even in Cherry Grove! Rachel’s clams seemed rancid and lumpy, so we stepped outside to the boardwalk (amongst a heterosexual hen party) to smoke more of the Jelly Rancher joint before leaving disappointed. These are some of the drawbacks of Cherry Grove.
Eve and I went our separate ways over to Nicole’s house— another lesbian safe space in the Pines. When we arrived, Nicole and Nash were splayed on lawn chairs amongst a tableau of La Croix cans, fresh flowers, a lucite candlestick, and flamingo print pillows. They had been tripping on mushrooms all day and appreciated the “vibe shift” when we arrived sunburnt. The Jelly Rancher made me relentlessly chatty, so I went inside and grilled a new friend Hardy about his queer siblings— a satanic dominatrix brother, who is in drag “full time,” and a non-binary mushroom foraging sibling, who is in a relationship with another nonbinary forager with the same haircut. Hardy is considered conservative because he’s a gay man, who likes fancy clothes, makes etchings, and studies classical Greek philosophy. Eve checked her step count, and we had reached 20,000, so it was time to go home.
That night was the annual Women’s Pride in the Pines party (tickets starting at $175), where lesbians are required to wear all white for their own version of a circuit party (very Point O’ Woods). As we walked by the event, Eve joked that she could scrape a rich “sugar mother” off of the boardwalk to be her wife, which I interpreted as “a lesbian barnacle.”
Drew Martin Queer Pre-Roll (THC 21% Sativa Hybrid)
My time at Fire Island had come to an end, and it’s for the best because I shouldn’t be smoking this much pot. As we packed up our suitcases, Rachel shared a few puffs of Drew Martin’s limited edition Queer Pre-Roll, which without a doubt, is the strongest pot I sampled all week. Despite my initial impression that Drew Martin joints are mild, this joint gets you heartily baked (I bought two more for future enjoyment), and be warned that it brings on the munchies (which I think is body positive for pride season). I also recently learned that Drew Martin is queer and runs the business with his life partner Andrew. Spend your pink dollar on this excellent limited edition joint because a portion of the proceeds goes to queer non-profits.
Carl and I boarded the ferry as I chomped on a Butterfinger and pretzels. The boat was filled with homogenous gay men, and Carl was wearing his Dean Sameshima “Men Ruin Everything” Nancy t-shirt. In my stoned daze, I muttered, “Are we different than these people?” Carl looked at me and said, “I don’t have an answer to that question.” What I do know is that, although we weren’t able to attend the Wine and Shes party that Wednesday, our lesbian Pines experience was complete.
I dream of one day hosting a gay stoner monthly party called “Gay Pot Canteen,” at a tasteful, cozy venue with plenty of couches, candles, and dim incandescent lighting. I’m friends with a chef named DeVonn, who has expressed interest in making elevated snacks for guests with munchies. Hit us up if you’re interested. In the interim, I am happy to be co-hosting a pride event at my favorite dispensary Gotham on June 23rd from 5:00 - 8:00. It’s my coming out party as a gay pot influencer. I’ll see you there.
thorough
🏆 “I don’t have an answer to that question.”