Columnists

In praise of sortition.

The Asian longhorned tick, which apparently arrived in the United States by hitching a ride on a New Zealand sheep in 2017, has been found on Long Island. 

Read on for the variety of evening amusements that kept East Hampton entertained the week of Dec. 20, 1934, at the height of the Great Depression.

A quite noticeable fashion statement at Saturday’s N.C.A.A. Division III national cross-country championships was worn on the face. The mustache is back.

The classics teacher in “The Holdovers” says it was always thus, that it was no different in ancient times, that there’s always been the horrific and the sublime. Yet thinking about how to get beyond it seems to be the only thing that keeps us sane.

The prevailing narrative on Representative George Santos’s rise and imminent fall has bothered me from the start.

I’ve stood on a ladder pointing a hose through the window of a house ablaze in the boondocks of Nova Scotia, and you can’t take that away from me.

From the comic stage to the world stage.

Money can’t buy you love, no, nor can it buy you peace of mind, engaged as you might well be in the constant pursuit of it.

There are no understory plants any more. No saplings coming up. The Quercus alba acorns I may manage to grow into small trees could help preserve the species.

Don’t name your business Hampton-whatever. It just sounds generic.

L.A. story: eternal gratitude to that West Hollywood art house cinema for an introduction to Krzysztof Kieslowski’s “Dekalog.”

On the Day of the Dead, I think about them, my immediate forebears.

Only about a month remains in the village’s leaf-pickup program, and at this rate there will be nothing much to suck up.

My children definitely don’t feel the sense of excitement we felt as children at the holidays. They’re quite blasé.

The adventures, follies, and disequilibrium of running on a treadmill.

It was a homecoming win all the more memorable for the fact that its attainment was the players’ gift to their coach and a gift to themselves.

Sea water temperature is projected to rise by .05 to .5 degrees Celsius per decade, with warming expected to be amplified in shallow coastal waters like ours.

You know you are a child of the 1970s when . . .

I’d been looking forward to Cormaria’s “Sunday supper” takeout offering for weeks.

I am reminded of an exhibition the Israeli Tennis Centers, just about all of which were said to be located in underprivileged Israeli neighborhoods, gave a half-dozen years ago at the East Hampton Indoor Tennis Club that Scott Rubenstein manages.

Cerberus and I had the crossing to Old Saybrook to ourselves. I could stand a year of Octobers, I thought.

My friend and I are stuck in something of a creative bind at midcareer, looking around and wondering where the community went.

If you’re questioning the sanity of spending time in front of a television watching professional football, read on.

Gubbins is back and I have a pair of bright, shiny new Asics sneakers on to celebrate the sports store’s return.

When was the last time you saw the tail of a white-tailed deer? They no longer seem to care about the human presence at all.

We are either cynical or naive by nature. I believe this to be true.

When a campus visit becomes an urban tasting tour that smacks the complacency out of your mouth.

It says “Forever” on our stamps, and we say we live in the UNITED States, but I wonder. East Hamptoners, though, give me hope.

The Star last week called it Sammy’s Beach, on Three Mile Harbor, when, in fact, the correct name is Sammis, as in the local family that lived there.