As an unusual twist for glamourites everywhere, this was a weekend for inside-voices. No-tackle sporting enthusiasts, including myself, have been anxiously awaiting the tennis and golf face-offs of the year.

To get a closer look than ESPN2, Glamourite Lauren and I headed west on the NJ Transit to Gladstone for the HSBC Women’s World MatchPlay Championship. As the only MatchPlay (64 player, 18 hole event) on the LPGA tour since Rosa Parks sat in the front of the bus, players came from near and far for a chance show their stuff.

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“Do you think he’s looking at me?” said the girl next to me to her friend excitedly. Jon Bon Jovi had just taken the stage and was singing “Wanted Dead or Alive.” In most cases the ‘looking at me’ question would be ridiculous, but in a small gathering of about 150 people, Jon Bon Jovi could see everyone.

It was the Michael Strahan/ Dreier LLP golf charity parings party complete with charity auction at Tao Restaurant on Sunday, July 9th. The cause was inner city children who loved sports and played everyday, but couldn’t afford any equipment - including a ball to kick around.

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I was a gymnast. Probably the tallest gymnast in the history of the universe at 5’11”, but a gymnast nonetheless. I apparently don’t have it out of my system yet either considering I do a cartwheel on every curb I come in contact with, want to walk on my hands down the hallway in my office one day soon, and get excited over Cirque du Soleil.

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I’ll do anything - from hitchhiking, straphanging and jitneyjumping - to get outta town. Instigated by ’summer fridays’ and NYers’ competitive edge to one-up everyone else, we flock like the am rush on the staten island ferry - east by northeast to our 75degree-and-sunny mecca, to Long Island.

Before you roll your eyes at yet another raving review of some socialite’s bullshit Hampton’s party - keep it in your pants. I headed on a quaint trip to two unique locales on the search for a casual, intimate and glamouritesque hot spot. First stop, Shelter Island.

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Last weekend I visited an island, but it wasn’t St. Barts or Anguilla or Nevis. I dropped in on Rikers Island. As in the prison. As in the hard-core penitentiary that no criminal caught on Law & Order wants any part of. (“You don’t want to go to Rikers, do you?”) Now, before you get too excited and think the visit involved me breaking the law and getting hauled off to the big house in a blaze of glory, I was actually there to run the annual Rikers Island 5K, put on by the New York Department of Correction. For a picture of the route, check out a fellow runner’s blog. It warrants mention here because, well, wow. It’s a prison. Not particularly glamorous, but a trip nonetheless.

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