Opinion

Monday, which was a bit of a surprise. The boat mover let me know the evening before that he had a spot in his schedule to take it from behind the office to Three Mile Harbor. What I expected was that there would be space in the boatyard to put it up on stands for a few days or a week before it could be launched.

My friend Antonia once said that she loved riding around with me in the white Chevy van that The Star used to use for newspaper deliveries. I would borrow the van on weekends in the 1990s, when I lived in the city and didn’t own a car of my own, barreling around to late-night beach skinny-dip sessions or afternoon Bargain Box runs with WLNG blaring. These were the days when the newspaper van had a Star logo, “Shines for All,” in mid-blue on either side panel. “In this van,” Antonia said, “I feel like you get to be both super-local but also respected by the city people.

James Larocca’s record as a member of the Sag Harbor Village Board and his previous career suggest to us that he is the right person to pick up the fight for the future of the “unHampton.”

“My, how you’ve aged . . .”

June is L.G.B.T.Q. Pride Month, presenting an opportunity to celebrate and reflect, causing me to ponder if my awkwardness playing team sports was intensified because I was a gay kid.

Usually I can sleep forever, but not lately. There’s an ache in there, around the gluteus medius, that builds until there’s nothing to be done but get up.

If Democratic voters do not bounce the supervisor from the ballot, we can expect months more tension until the general election in November or even until 2022.

It is hard to know how well the point got across Tuesday evening after work, when I tried to explain — in Spanish — East Hampton Village’s leaf blower law to a nice young man using one to tidy up the driveway behind The Star.

Where have all the parties gone?

Tuesday’s flare-up among members of the East Hampton Town Board was unusual only in its intensity; sadly, we have gotten used to a certain level of steam when the group gets together.

Naomi Osaka first said that she’d be absenting herself from media interviews at the French Open, and then promptly passed on the whole shebang. Wringing of hands ensued.

I read the sign’s words out loud: “Grand Army of the Republic Highway,” adding, “I love that about America. You’re never far from our history, and we’re still fighting the Civil War.”

I was telling Mary that I’d dreamed of a former boss dressed in a Santa suit, and she asked if I’d asked for a raise. Dream on, I said.

A confluence of events on the retail scene has many people in and around East Hampton talking about what exactly is the nature of this community.

Lately I have been leaving the house early to get to the office by 6 to write before the distractions of the day begin.

I may have mentioned this before, but I enjoy walking in the middle of the road.

Why do so many men of a certain age suddenly take up gardening?

Patchogue: Good for more than just thrift stores.

Spring was in the air, and so, evidently, was my head, for I had no idea until the middle of the following day that I had left my camera behind at Mashashimuet Park’s diamond.

East Hampton Village officials have been exceedingly busy in sprucing up the business district. But to what end?

I was surprised, when I lived in rural Canada, to discover that not everyone in the Western world owns as much stuff as Americans do.

Of all the dumb things that the newest members of the East Hampton Village Board have thought of so far in their term, reducing Newtown Lane to one lane eastbound, that is, toward Main Street, may be the topper.

Readers of this newspaper may know that we have a thing about signs. The South Fork villages and East Hampton Town have fairly rigorous laws regulating their size, placement, and illumination.

East Hampton Town could once again set an example in banning balloons, but is it going a step too far?

May 17: Maybe that can be another “new normal.” It’d be good to get Tax Day a bit away from a risen Christ and the Easter Bunny.

One summer evening in 1943 I ran to Dad with a big request: It was time for a Daisy air rifle.

I probably should buy “Computers for Dummies,” but, given all the advances, it might be antiquated already.

The second round of dandelions has begun. Their bright yellow heads are close to the ground for the moment, as the seed puffs bob, waiting for a gust of wind.

It’s hard to remember what it felt like to walk around light and airy, believing that the world was getting better every passing year — rather than walking around as I do these days, with the chronic, sciatic understanding that everything is going to hell in a handbasket.

This week, East Hampton Village and the Village of Sag Harbor both implemented a pay-for-parking system that required users to download a smartphone app. This seems a lot to ask of both residents and visitors alike.