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.

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

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

An encounter with driveway theft.

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

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.

A show for the (restaurant) working stiff.

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.

A summertime afternoon with the Hamptons Collegiate Baseball League.