Columnists

Research does not support the idea that marijuana is performance-diminishing.

Sharks have arrived here, and not just the sort able to think that parking among the dead is okay.

I believe nothing is more depressing than the “festival” of “fun” that goes on at Hershey’s Chocolatetown in Pennsylvania.

If I were sermonizing, I’d write one on the folly of self-abasement, self-doubt, self-mortification, self-flagellation, and self-loathing.

Shortly after Lyman Beecher’s wife, Roxana, bore their first child, Drusilla Crook was brought to the household to take care of the baby — she was 5 years old, “a colored girl,” Beecher wrote in his autobiography.

Here in Noyac, for some reason I’ve been overlooking nearby Long Beach, and was surprised it took me till the second weekend in July to appreciate it in a way I haven’t since the days of the Oasis.

The goose that lays the golden egg is on life support.

Decades ago, a movement to build a bypass skirting the hamlets and villages on Montauk Highway was beaten back. I wonder what the naysayers would think if they could see 2021.

Never mind the backups, jam-ups, and clogged (traffic) arteries, the quality of driving itself has taken a nosedive.

Did you see the New York Times piece this weekend about a pro-laziness movement led by a factory dropout from Zhejiang Province, China?

A good time was had by all at Pierson High School's graduation ceremony — Fred Thiele in particular. 

It’s been a year since I began writing “The Shipwreck Rose.” This column is number 52. Only 49 more years — not columns, years! — to go before I match the record set by my grandmother Jeannette, from whom I seem to have inherited my typographical verbosity.