Opinion

The sheer number of visitors to our beaches in early August adds to our growing view that beach regulations must be expanded. 

The street-level art of a high-end Tiffany man.

When a good friend crosses the line into the unforgiveable.

Ohio Representative Max Miller is at the red-hot epicenter of an ugly drama with pivotal political implications.

The Star has been hosting a pair of student writers who are taking part in our summer program for high schoolers.   

For your entertainment, here are some everyday things that have disappeared from this world Since I Was a Girl.

A fight is unfolding over just how far self-governing states and towns can go in resisting federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement actions in our home communities.

Wild action at the Riverhead Raceway.

Manning the Hasty Bake: a loving blow-by-blow.

South Fork traffic is so bad that no one bothers to say that this summer is the worst ever.

Two gifts drew me out of the hermit cave of my bedroom on Saturday evening, the hard clams and the opening of the hard clams.

Barlume Beach and Este are high-visibility examples of a big problem.

It’s a cliché to mourn the passing of a prominent citizen by saying that she was the last of her kind, and, in Joan Tulp’s case, we sincerely hope that isn’t true: We need more like her.  

In praise of Betty Gilpin. (And the characters she plays.)

Memories of gridiron glory and mocking nicknames in the aisle of a Target store.

Judging from the number of bright, green lawns, maintaining the right emerald color is considered an absolute necessity, despite the drought we’re in.

Memory is a mystery. Why do certain mundane moments linger?

Local police here are sending young people out onto roads that are, in fact, more dangerous than ever before.

Roll the tape . . .

Coming across a letter my grandmother wrote shortly after my grandfather’s death in 1954 transported me back to a summer day of my childhood in their Southampton yard. 

Under the steady helm of the Montauk Historical Society, the annual benefit, this year featuring Brandi Carlile, has maintained a positive spirit as a true community gathering.

I have been studying East End slavery for close to a decade now, but that has not diminished the shock that accompanies many of the documents that turn up.

Prince Edward Island, the island of my dreams.

Roads throughout East Hampton Town and Village have become an obstacle course.

Adventures with my father, beach-bannering and landing hard at the Foster Farm’s au naturel runway in Sagaponack.

The Star has published my fiction. I’ve contributed reviews, many “Guestwords,” and most recently poems. A peculiarity of my condition is that I have never after all these years met one person at the paper I write for.

Users of A.I. graphic designs risk a subliminal backlash.

What if visitors here were not being entitled jerks but rather were doing the best they could with the cerebral horsepower they had?

My career in the theater was not illustrious.

It has been a summer of weather warnings. Now comes the smoke.