Columnists

Whenever the subject of romance comes up, I like to say that I reached my peak of popularity in July 1979.

Notes on the air-conditioning wars.

I say the evidence as to Donald Trump’s criminal intent has been there all along.

An encounter with driveway theft.

Spaghetti-eaters have been scratching their names and initials into the wood paneling at Sam’s Restaurant on Newtown Lane since 1947.

A show for the (restaurant) working stiff.

It’s depressing reading about young people’s apathy when it comes to voting.

A bunch of us had gone clamming off a boat on Sunday, which was the last I had seen the wallet.

I’m in the camp that believes the deer have got to go.

A summertime afternoon with the Hamptons Collegiate Baseball League.

To O’en, when he’s on the move, everything is new — the quotidian becomes all-absorbing. I envy him that.

Deer do not read The Star. As best as I can tell, neither do the rabbits that ate my parsley last summer.

I once read someplace that the popular song most frequently to be found on the jukeboxes of the Empire State was Sinatra’s “Summer Wind.”

Encounters with Loudon Wainwright III.

Let’s hear it for freedom.

Getting away from the week’s distractions would not be as easy as I had expected.

Lawrence Block’s hard-boiled romance of the down-and-out.

Whenever Mark Shields would ask Judy Woodruff during his Friday evening discussions with David Brooks if he could say just one thing, Mary and I would come to the edge of our seats, she on the small couch, I on the recliner, knowing he was about to speak from the heart to our better angels.

A chance conversation last week while I was waiting for my food pickup at La Fondita got me thinking about the way those of us who work for a living on the South Fork talk about summer.

It’s getting hard to keep a grasp on what is and isn’t the right thing to do or to permit, with this teenage girl of mine.

So where, exactly, is the popular will most manifestly expressed?

Close to the day in which we are to celebrate the document that almost 250 years ago asserted our unity in opposition to tyranny, we find ourselves confronting it again.

Cerberus was later getting into the water than I had expected this year.

This column debuted exactly two years ago this week. I’m trying to think of what has changed in those two years.

At last, lyrics you could sink your teeth into.

Things are comfortable here, so much so that one wants to stay put.

A goodbye to Little League and its ball field.

Being by the ocean is not, to me, a frivolous pursuit.

Convenience mart food, and food for thought, at a pit stop in the land of plenty.

I’m intrigued by the fact that I’ve been diagnosed with paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia.