Columnists

Can we talk? About, oh, the pointlessness of Supreme Court confirmation hearings?

One of the many things that struck me on my recent and ongoing sail from Marblehead, Mass., to East Hampton is how accommodating the communities on the other side of the water are to passing boaters, especially as compared to Long Island.

Last week, a production crew from a PBS show called “Legacy List” landed on Edwards Lane to film an episode — starring my house, my family, and the contents of my attic, basement, and barn.

Streaming television is supposed to be sleek and high-tech, but its nether reaches remind me of the old UHF channels.

I know my social media apps and Google search history are tracked, but now I am starting to think that Duolingo is spying on me, too.

This column is being written toward sunset from the harbor at Plymouth, Mass. Alone time, something so many of us say we want, is elusive, but I have had time to think this week.

“Cancel” is the word of the year, and not just in the social-shunning sense.

What exactly does it mean when you can’t finish a book — not once, but over and over again?

Since we are all still feeling our way around remote work and online meetings, I thought that I would ask my high school junior for a few tips.

A creeping dread — of finding ourselves homebound again, wearing fuzzy slippers and harassed expressions around the kitchen table, bickering about who ate the last Klondike Bar — has driven me to wallow in as much outdoor time as I possibly can before the temperature falls.

The airline industry may be on the verge of collapse, but once upon a time pilots were celebrities, dating movie stars, driving fancy cars — hold the autopilot, thank you very much.

This is a column about poop trucks.