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  • Posts and beams, roughly hewn some 500 years ago and showing adze strikes still, have a suitable new home, an unpretentious second home resembling a hunting lodge, what with its ample wood paneling, stuffed game birds, paintings of foxes and hounds and fly-fishing streams, fireplace just right for a curled-up English spaniel, and suggestive of cigars, snifters of brandy, long guns propped in a corner.
  • When Brandon Kennedy-Gay executed a beautiful head fake on his Amityville defender and slashed to the hoop for a layup late in the second quarter of Monday’s game here, three things happened: The Bonac faithful erupted, the loudest they’d be all night, the boys pulled to within 2 points, at 35-33, entering halftime, and expectations were defied, as they say, against a ball-hawking Warrior team ranked eighth in the state going into this young season.

    The game was on.

  • On Saturday when a ribbon is cut in Sag Harbor to mark the opening of a hamlet-to-hamlet trail system on the South Fork, it will be the realization of a waking dream.
  • “The Social Climber’s Bible”
    Dirk Wittenborn and Jazz Johnson
    Penguin, $20


    John Updike insisted on writing his own jacket copy. A curious fact that can pop up when you least expect it. If you happen to be reading jacket copy.

  • It’s not every day that a single four-bedroom house will reflect the history of a village, especially not a village with as multifarious a background as Sag Harbor’s.

    Yet consider the Hampton Street residence of Carl Hribar and Ki Hackney. For starters, there’s the best-guess date of its construction, 1790, when Sag Harbor was a bustling port and an important New York, well, almost-city.

  • If Ben Bradlee was the archetypal American newspaper editor — brash, gravelly voiced, profane, barrel-chested — he also happened to preside over his paper, The Washington Post, during a golden age of journalism, 1968 to 1991, when reporters’ work never mattered more.

  • Here’s a cat story that won’t make you groan. First of all, Rupert, in Jules Feiffer’s latest book for children, “Rupert Can Dance” (Michael di Capua, $17.95), isn’t what you’d call cute, more like an orange Yoda on all fours. And he doesn’t just lie around, he’s got a passion for strutting and prancing while his owner, little Mandy, sleeps. He even uses her dancing shoes.

  • All in the family, sort of, the Springs and Pushcart Press families: Linda Coleman, whose memoir, “Radical Descent,” is newly published by Pushcart, and Bill Henderson, the press’s founder, both of whom live in the hamlet, will join up for a two-for-one reading and book chat on Saturday at 1 p.m. at the East Hampton Library.

  • Collectors usually start small before letting loose their acquisitiveness. In an extreme example, one might begin with brick-size viewing stones — Japanese suiseki — that can look like tiny mountain ranges, perhaps paired with bonsai to make miniature landscapes, before moving on to larger stones, big enough to sit on, amid raked sand.

  • “Where Nobody
    Knows Your Name”
    John Feinstein
    Doubleday, $26.95