Our January issue is out now!
Our writers hold no party line; their only allegiance is to clarity of thought, elegance of expression and independence of opinion.
An act that I have perversely enjoyed for most of my life lost much of its luster a score of years ago
By Bill Kauffman
We took a side trip to Sonny Bono’s hometown en route to a birthday party in Indiana
Our every visit is scored by songs and films and words disgorged by the world’s entertainment factory
This year, to celebrate my wife’s birthday, I showed her a traffic light
The city, not the waterfall, which remains a source of utter befuddlement
Albert Brisbane somehow avoided sharing the wealth with his neighbors
On the Abbeys and the Beats
The Jefferson Memorial still gives off a far better vibe than the Potomac anthills in which the self-important Get Things Done
I guess I’m just two degrees removed from Lime Jell-O fruit salad
Remember the last invigorating spasm before the body of the party achieved corpsehood?
On a March day in 1991, I watched a bittersweet rural New York version of ‘Hoosiers’ play out
Men and women of the working class, Catholic or not, are arraigned by progressive yappers for being socially retrograde
Mark Twain would be hopelessly out of favor with both wings of the modern duopoly
Jimmy Duncan is a man who knows his place, which is one of the highest compliments I can give
It’s hard to believe, but New York was a competitive state then
Books you shouldn’t read in public
What is true in life is true in baseball is true in politics
A eulogy for the Democrats of yore
Thelonious Monk deserves the last note
Hoosiers of New York
Steve Hawley and the case for two New Yorks
Thought-provoking commentary and opinion on politics, books and the arts.