It’s difficult to say yet whether the electric do-dad that was among the highlights of our middle child’s Christmas and Hanukkah haul was total junk or something really cool. What was clear was that when she lost a tiny and critical metal part at bedtime on Monday, crisis ensued.
“OMG, I never heard of that,” a 40-something guy says to a lady friend at Starbucks on Main Street in East Hampton. The coffee in question is labeled New Christmas Blend . . . infused with cinnamon and ginger. New items pop up in the Village of East Hampton as never before. Chestnut Praline, Vanilla Bean Crème, Café Misto.
The combined Rattray and Heilbrunn families are celebrating Hanukkah late this year, so late in fact that the festivities will be the day after Christmas, also known as Boxing Day (at least in Great Britain).
Understanding that men and women may have different sexual orientations and that gender identification is not always known at birth are tenets of the revolutionary changes taking place in American culture. Lesbians and gays are long since out of the closet, and same-sex marriage is now accepted by a majority of Americans.
It was Lisa’s idea on a day that the kids were able to go to school late that I get them up at the usual time and take them out to breakfast someplace. That was fine with me, since feeding them in the morning almost simultaneously with reminding them to put on their shoes and brush their hair and teeth is often a challenge. Thing is, I had no idea...
As I said last week, I immediately dialed up the Roundabout Theatre’s box office when I read a rave review of “The Humans” in The Times — a moment or so before Mary said she’d been wanting to see “Hamilton.”
Five or six years ago I took the time to enter every single name, address, and phone number from my Rolodex into an A-to-Z computer program. (For anyone who doesn’t remember, a Rolodex was a spinning card file, and the more famous and powerful the names in yours, the more important you were supposed to be.)
Back when my reprobate buddies and I were in high school and had our first cars we would nervously drive past a place we called the Mafia House down near Two Mile Hollow Beach. Because there was a heavy metal gate across the twisting driveway we concluded that the residents had something to hide. It was the 1970s, and tales of the Cosa Nostra were...