Opinion

As part of their Covid-19 responses, East End towns and villages relaxed rules on outdoor restaurant seating and the sky did not fall.

The novel coronavirus, ever refracting normalcy, casts an eerie glow on the path ahead.

Some people just will not wear masks. This struck me on the Cross Sound Ferry on my way back from Massachusetts.

One of the greatest compensations for losing sleep on squad night is driving home through empty streets and then walking slowly up to my stoop from the driveway in the still of the night.

What to make of the Amazin’s in this weirdly brief and virus-plagued season?

The coronavirus amplifies many of the inequalities in our society. The wealthy can afford to self-isolate; the vulnerable are more so than ever. This extends to far too many children — the most innocent among us.

As the sun goes down, so, too, do the masks — as well as inhibitions about airing anti-mask sentiments.

It has been a relatively long time since a tropical storm or hurricane hit Long Island straight on.

A poll last week released by the Kaiser Family Foundation found that more than half of adults thought the crisis was affecting their mental health.

I texted a neighbor the other day asking how the mosquitoes were over her way. Lucy, who usually has a decent amount to say, responded with just one word: bad.

The median income among Peloton owners is in the high six figures, if the marketing is to be believed. The purchase of one — and the cost of the monthly fees — is a luxury bordering on the inexcusable in these times of trouble.

It is painfully ironic that that the federal agency created to keep the United States safe after the Sept. 11 attacks now targets Americans.

Cribbage? You never know what will bring two strangers together.

My success at underachieving is undoubtedly my extraordinary ability at staying supine on the couch. During these difficult days, what more valuable skill than the ability to put in long-term couch time.

It’s been weeks since the last sustained soaking.

The Far Right found me a month or so ago, and now not a day goes by that I don’t get half a dozen emails from Newt Gingrich, Donald Trump Jr., or worse.

Southampton Town officials had stars in their eyes when they granted permission for a giant pop concert held in Bridgehampton on Saturday, attended by an estimated 3,000 guests.

I don’t believe there are any secret spots anymore. That was certainly the case on Saturday, when the middle child and I went to a normally empty place along the ocean for a late-afternoon swim.

I have an unhealthy relationship with large home appliances.

If there was ever a moment for the myriad school districts on Long Island to cooperate, this is it. By working together across district lines, schools can help reduce the risk of a renewed Covid-19 outbreak.

I’ll be goddamned if all those cassettes I lost to a flooded basement didn’t help catalog a life.

I have a question about the plans for a new park in Wainscott, at the site of the memorable, irreplaceable Club Swamp.

As the Black Lives Matter movement focuses attention on the legacy of slavery and racism in the United States, there is a sense that the assessment is incomplete

It’s gratifying to have memories of a youth ill-spent.

The death of Jeffrey Gantt by apparent drowning in Montauk’s Fort Pond on Sunday is a tragedy for his friends, families, and business acquaintances, and is a reminder how quickly things can go wrong on the water, even in the most seemingly benign places.

Wainscott might be headed toward incorporation for all the wrong reasons. But if in doing so it can avoid the worst of what has happened elsewhere in East Hampton, forming its own village might just be the best thing that could happen to it.

For a long time, this newspaper has called for bike lanes on county, town, and village roads in a general sense. Instead of just keeping to that, we now suggest that several specific roads should be considered for widening to accommodate bicycles.

A trip to the sporting goods store turns into a moment of reflection.

The passing of Carl Reiner reminds us of an era when perhaps 80 percent of leading comics were Jewish. The passing of a style of humor we might call earthy, clever, slapstick, and/or Jewish.

The deer I was prepared for. The rabbits I was not.