Columnists

Having fallen kersplat on a particularly unforgiving sidewalk near Starbucks the other day, I knew it was time to trade in my sneakers.

Birds’ cries are full of mystery.

A tough row to hoe for the college bound.

We sat rapt last night, beyond our bedtime, through a chilling “Frontline” report on those who think their freedom’s infringed if they cannot infringe upon the freedom of others.

Few things are as satisfying as a well-done home repair.

A litany of localism test questions

From Atlanticville to Hog Neck, what happened to the great place names of yore?

Sports here got off to a stuttery start last year at this time, and I’m hoping this dreary virus doesn’t eat again into one of my life’s chief joys, which is rooting animatedly for the home, sweet home team.

While the pandemic has created havoc in so many aspects of life, Covid-19 has turned out to be the one thing that could finally save the Department of Motor Vehicles.

We find ourselves in the perverse position of wishing for raw, freezing weather.

Togetherness through cards.

Hobbled and fearing the worst, I jumped at a chance to see my knee doctor in Great Neck on the Tuesday before Christmas.

The first-ever issue of this paper read in a gothic font, “The Easthampton Star.” Seeing the name of the town as one word has raised the question of when East Hampton became two words and if it ever properly was just one.

It’s Tuesday morning at 10 minutes to 10, and I have somehow neglected to come up with a subject for this week’s column, which needs to be turned in by 2:20 this afternoon.

It's Spidey to the rescue — of cinemas. And just in time, before the hacking, feverish world backslides into another lockdown.

It's always easier to destroy than to build, Mary keeps telling me. Perhaps that's why we're at each other's throats, on the Internet and elsewhere — it's easier.

It seems everyone took up at least one new thing during the pandemic. What with few or no social obligations and nowhere to go, we have tried to learn a fresh skill or do better at a familiar chore. Cleaning the kitchen has never been so interesting!

Radio seems to be surviving the advent of the internet, doesn’t it? Reading suffers, print media staggers, but listening goes on. I’m a radio person. You are or you aren’t.

Stephen Sondheim on the good, the bad, and the unheard.

Yes, “play looser” is good advice, good advice in general, I’d say.

Two hundred sixteen years ago today, a woman enslaved by Samuel L’Hommedieu in Sag Harbor gave birth to a boy.

The best part of Christmas is the run-up.

Thoughts on a 13-year-old mouth liberated from braces.

When the Cuban missile crisis had everyone on tenterhooks, I, a collegian then, was pretty much oblivious.

Cerberus’s sailing season came to a formal end this week when the crew at Three Mile Harbor Marina lifted the sloop from the water and placed it on the boat-mover’s trailer for the short trip into town.

The older I get, the less happy I am about the dark afternoons. Sunset brings us down. We have to fight, fight against the dying of the light.

Funny that it took my daughter heading up and over to college in western New York for me to at last appreciate the state I grew up in.

There were 18 here the other night, and now, as is the case most of the year, just the two of us and O’en.

Eighty years ago this month, the mayor of the Village of East Hampton issued an urgent plea: An important piece of early American history was in danger of being lost.

Every morning is a double espresso kind of morning around this ranch — the Double-Bar-E Crazy Ranch on Edwards Lane.