Peter Pavia

  Factionalism and division, partisanship and parties. Sides. Teams. Colors. The conflict reverberating in those words harkens back, like many of the darker expressions of our humanity, to the Roman Empire—and the racetrack. Horse racing was an integral part of Roman culture... Read More →

  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 →