Opinion

I don’t quite know how it came to be that my parents’ culinary habits were on the advanced side for the 1970s and its sesame-seed buns and Fresca.

The wisdom of the caretakers at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, who had proactively set about creating firebreaks and irrigating their property before the latest conflagrations began, offers a lesson for the South Fork.

Donald Trump has said he might pardon the nearly 1,600 Jan. 6 defendants on day one of his new administration, which would be yet another bad day for the rule of law in the United States.

How can I give up on my 17-year-old workhorse of a car with 287,000 miles on it? It’s like a member of the family, gamely limping on to its final reward.

Pigeons are among the least-valued birds. But the more you know about them, the more you value them.

Last week, this column described a railroad line that once connected Bridgehampton to Sag Harbor. Part of what I left out was an explanation of why the road that now is the most direct route between the two is to this day called a turnpike.

I wonder if any climate scientists today are tabulating an increase in the number of citizens slipping and falling in the snow and ice and cracking their skulls open now that we so seldom have snow and ice.

What could possibly go wrong when the world’s biggest media company eradicates the fact-checkers?

Obsessive online analysis shows just how bad Stan Lee’s Marvel Comics writing was. Jack Kirby, though, remains “the King.”

The best thing about growing up in the same house in Queens with my grandparents was how Grandpa revealed himself to be a storyteller like no other.

The beauty of Jimmy Carter was that he persisted. He was a man of true convictions.

For those who had high hopes for the Montauketts, this latest veto stings even more than the last five times a New York governor killed the tribe’s recognition.

The East Hampton Village Police Chief put it bluntly the other day when he remarked, “Big Brother is everywhere.”

East Hampton was something of a backwater until nearly the dawn of the 20th century as compared to Sag Harbor, which the Long Island Rail Road linked to the rest of the world starting in 1870.

No one in my house likes change, and I am the Empress of Retrograde.

The state’s campaign to dismantle the Shinnecock Indian Nation’s electronic billboards and seek punitive damages is a waste of time and resources.

A lawsuit over a proposed swimming pool at the Huntting Inn in East Hampton Village is worthy of public attention.

Notes on a new/old favorite, “Homicide: Life on the Street,” now streaming on Peacock.

First I hated driving the Cross Bronx Expressway. Then I discovered many other ways to hate it in “The Power Broker,” Robert Caro’s monumental biography of Robert Moses, the designer of it and so much else affecting our transportation lives.

One tradition that I have always been a sucker for is the tree in Town Pond, of which the best part is seeing the village crew setting it out from their tippy aluminum rowboat.

My son and I have been down for the count with influenza and quickly reached the Very Boring Stage of convalescence. Bring on Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson in “Red One,” the Christmas-themed action movie.

The East Hampton Town Board has a chance at its Jan. 2 organizational meeting to either back away from its decision to remove the chairman of the town planning board, or at least offer the public a reasonable explanation.

The intersection at Cedar and North Main Streets and a bit farther north at the split of Three Mile Harbor and Springs-Fireplace Roads are two areas that desperately need a fresh set of painted lines.

A divine stay at a monastery turned hotel in Pittsburgh.

The Great Chain of Being — a scatological take.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr., a vaccine skeptic and conspiracy theorist, is a Senate vote away from becoming secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services.

A call to give landmark status to about 30 acres in Wainscott recently bought by East Hampton Town should be heeded.

Coming full circle in a job that’s as important as ever.

Boating season came to an end with a whimper, though in my imagination the year was not going to be like this.

The music room in my house is what “the parlor” was to Americans in the mid-20th century: the room that time forgot.