Columnists

There is not so much to do in March, other than plan and perhaps go on walks.

John Irving swings for the fences.

I’m one of those people who has extraordinarily intense dreams and who always wants to talk about them.

What’s it to be? Torpor and dictators? Or an educated, enlivened, engaged populace debating how best to proceed?

One of the things that has struck me about the rash of dead whales on beaches in the Northeast is that it has been going on for years, millenniums, in fact.

This year for Black History Month I have been occupied by preparing for an exhibit at the Sag Harbor Cinema, intended to reach a broad audience.

“Tennis players live nine years longer,” I said to the guys I was playing doubles with the other day.

When, exactly, did Patch­ogue get cool?

Quiescence tends to corrupt and absolute quiescence corrupts absolutely.

All is not death and doom in the new forest clearings. Here and there, new plant communities are taking hold.

The big game on Fox Sports — what could go wrong?

You get me, YouTube, you really do.