Peter Pavia

  A baby, propped up in a stroller, is touching buttons on an iPhone or some cruder gaming device. Wearing candy-colored eyeglasses that look like a prize in a Cracker Jack box, the baby gazes contentedly at the screen. Stationed at the handles and absently steering along... Read More →

    In this seaside community in Beautiful British Columbia (as their license plates proclaim) where my mother- and father-in-law retired, seventy-five steel steps separate the trail where the staircase begins and the beach that lies below at the foot of a steep... Read More →

  Hollywood’s Golden Age is generally defined as the period between the advent of the “talkies” (with The Jazz Singer in 1927) and the early-to-mid 1960s, when the major studios were producing historical epics, hallucinogenic musicals, and other big-budget extravaganzas that... Read More →

  Somebody once told me that while it was good to be a ladies’ man, it was important to be a man’s man, too. That was a long time ago, and though I took his advice to heart, he had been vague about how to arrive at either state. In the intervening years, I’ve observed men... Read More →

  Combing through the entries of the first race at Aqueduct one Sunday, I lighted on the name of a colt making his second start, an impressive one as it turned out. San Pantaleo shot out of the gate as if he’d been fired from a cannon and won the race going away. It pains me... Read More →

  When I was a little boy in Rochester, my Uncle Vin would often relieve my young stressed-out mother and take me with him on the 25-mile drive to pick up Aunt Florrie, his wife, from her job at the Finger Lakes Racetrack. Before I could read, this guy was showing me how to... Read More →

  Based on the Philip K. Dick novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, the classic science fiction movie Blade Runner features robots so life-like they’re indistinguishable from human beings. Machines Like Me, a more recent work by Ian McEwan, confronts the same... Read More →

  Despite being brought up by generous, loving people, I never felt at home in the suburban tract house where I misspent my youth. My dad was a slick-talking charmer who hadn’t energy for much beyond drinking, gambling, and chasing women, though he was, in his way, generous... Read More →

  Years ago, I made the acquaintance of a man who wrote on occasion. Beyond the ambition of the Big Score that busted-out writers and horse players dream of, he had none. His main occupation at that time was swilling vodka, browbeating his fellow barflies, and bemoaning what... Read More →

  If Pope Celestine V is familiar at all to us today, it’s because his name came up in 2013 during the resignation of Benedict XVI. As one of only a handful of popes who had previously abdicated, the erstwhile Peter of Morrone was perhaps the most hapless selection to the... Read More →