columnists

Because I learned to play Monopoly in Atlantic City, and to a lesser degree because I grew up in New Jersey, recent news about the city’s financial crisis and the fight between its mayor and Gov. Chris Christie over what to do about it drew my attention. Bankruptcy looms.
Each morning at the hotel we stayed at in Mexico, a question appears on the daily calendar screen, and, serendipitously, the question the first morning was, “How old is the earth?”
I took down the ancient whale rib from the mantelpiece on Sunday. The housepainter was to arrive the next day, and it, and other cherished objects, most from my family’s past, needed to be put away.
The conversation quickly turned to cats at the East Hampton Library as the winter came to a close.
In the last few weeks, the old house we live in has been crawling with roofers and repairmen. I guess it’s a case of extreme spring housekeeping, but we are finally facing some of the overdue renovations we’ve ignored for too long: The place needs re-shingling, at least on the south side, as well as new roofing over the flat ceiling of the master...
Leo has an Instagram account. He launched it after learning that a pig in Canada had 200,000 followers, and a book deal. Or at least that’s what I’ve been telling people.
One of the myths I’ve entertained over the years is that athletes are somehow immune when it comes to what can drag you down.
Oh man, that was fun. Though it went by in a flash, as I’ve been telling people since Sunday, it was well worth it. Well worth the 57-mile after-work drive to and from the rehearsal studio in Bohemia. Well worth the hours holed up in the tiny and cluttered studio/writing room at home, learning new songs. And well worth all of Saturday’s downtime...
East Hampton has 1,000 tons of compost it can’t get rid of. A couple of weeks back, officials sent out a notice announcing the town had a large amount unscreened compost to unload.