The two sides of Fire Island...from Bros to 'Mos, and the nonconsensual undertones of Dave Matthews Band.

The Fire Island that I had always heard of sounded like an idyllic fairyland.  A place with beautiful beaches, no cars and drag shows...What could be better than that?  That is the Pines and Cherry Grove....and then there is Ocean Park Beach, or whatever it was called.

While still lovely, this township has a very different population, you can recognize them by their heavily developed upper bodies and tribal tattoos; the bros. The bro is very loud.  The bro gets his super human strength from Jagermeister, Coors, and steroids. The bro gets told no and hears yes, and the bro really loves Jack Johnson and Dave Matthews Band. Surprising, considering these mid 90s college rock jam bands seem innocuous enough.  They remind me of my summer camp in New Hampshire, filled with the young, white, suburban and upper middle class, who would write the deep philosophical musings of "Dave" in their quote books in between canoeing and getting to second base behind the ropes course. (Admittedly, I took part in all of this. Not proud.) Little did I know that "Dave" would become the rallying march of the man who would follow four women he did not know up to their hotel room, and when told that he was being inappropriate and overly aggressive simply respond with "You girls going out tonight?  But I guess if you listen to the lyrics with adult ears Lover Lay Down was pretty damn rapey.

The Pines and Cherry Grove were everything I'd hoped they would be though, complete with afternoon cocktails with a gay porn mogul who dropped such pearls of wisdom as "Creams don't work, only needles work" when it comes to skincare, an impromptu drag performance on the ferry dock, and a Bruce Villanche sighting.

The Best Life Made for TV Movie Titles of all time...would you wear these on a well cut t shirt or tank top?

Co-Ed Callgirl (classic Tori Spelling)

Why I wore Lipstick to my Mastectomy (Becky number 2 from Roseanne/blonde one on Scrubs)

Too Young to Die? (Juliet Lewis in her Griswold days)

My Stepson, My Lover (Lover is the grossest term ever)

A Boyfriend for Christmas (not about human trafficking)

Homeless to Harvard (now I just feel lazy)

She Woke Up Pregnant (no commentary needed)

Cyber Seduction (Porn Addiction! Yay!)

Mother, May I Sleep with Danger? (Thank you again, Tori, Thank you.)

How can you date someone with no internet presence?

What if you met someone and they didn't have Instagram? Or Facebook? Or Twitter? You googled them and all you found were a bunch of linked in profiles for married dads in the UK who were clearly not your romantic interest? How could you possibly investigate (stalk) them?  How could you show their picture to your friends and analyze if they had the red nose of a chronic alcoholic or if their jawline indicated that they would get fat in the next few years?  You can't. You just can't.  You have nothing to do, but wait...or not wait for that matter by the phone and try to make plans with them in person like people did in the 90s.

The only way around this is if they are at least famous enough to have an IMDB page. That provides some scant information and photos...but rarely enough to be satisfying.  But is internet stalking someone you may, or may not even really like ever truly satisfying?  Weren't the 90s just a sweeter, simpler time? Minus all the grunge rock and heroin overdoses.