In early December, a curious thing happened: after months of booming business on our opinion page, the letters to the editor suddenly dried up.
If you’re a fan of fine art, you’ll know how impressionist paintings work: the artist uses tiny dots or streaks of paint to suggest a scene, rather than using the traditional method painting literal lines or sheets of color.
When I first took this job four years ago, about this same time of year, I got thrown into the heat of wild election season. Most of the major offices on the ballot had challengers, some of them fairly significant.
When our local cartoonist Roberto Tinoco and I were chatting recently about what he should include in one of his cartoons, he suggested the closing of Vallerga’s, which has struck a sad chord with many in Napa.
One of the joys of highly local journalism is getting to know people I like to call our “Faithful Readers” or our “Faithful Correspondents.”I’ve written about some of them before: people who call regularly to offer praise or criticism, to call attention to our errors, to offer tips or to tel…
The California Newspaper Publishers Association is gathering stories from its members on how newspapers cover disasters. They asked me to reflect on our experience with last year’s firestorms.
I’ve been reading an interesting book that takes a look at how ordinary Germans lived during World War II and how they thought about the events they were experiencing.
I loved watching boxing as a kid. I enjoyed the entertaining ferocity that was Muhammad Ali late in his career. I remember watching Sugar Ray Leonard methodically and coolly slice through some of the best boxers in the world to win Olympic gold in the summer of 1976.
Sometime in my early 40s, I went in for my first eye exam in far too many years.“You’re over 40 now; experiencing any difficulty reading?” the optometrist inquired.Nope, not a bit. Reading just fine, I answered.
I had an editor once who had a simple message to his reporters: Readers will be interested in any story you write so long as you tell them up front what it means to them: What it will do to their property values, their schools, their roads, or their commutes.
I have always hated filling up my gas tank. It is one of those mundane domestic chores, like laundry, that can be finessed for a while but eventually becomes unavoidable lest your regular life come to a grinding halt.
I first heard the name “Monica Lewinsky” some time in my first week working as a reporter covering Congress. It was impossible then to imagine how much that moment would dominate the rest of the three years I spent on the beat, and to a large degree the politics of the next two decades.
A reader wrote from the Midwest this week to complain about a column we ran by author Francis Wilkinson, saying that Democrats would eventually have to grapple with the sexual misconduct allegations against President Clinton from the 1990s.
Let your friends and family know that Napa County, although bruised, is not destroyed. Let them know it’s OK to come back. And for those if you who live here, remember to shop locally wherever you can.
At the height of the fire disaster, I got an email from a teacher elsewhere in the Bay Area. Her students had written letters of love and support to the people of Napa County and she wanted to know where to send them.
Being evacuated in the recent emergency situation has taught me all the usual lessons: Keep your gas tank filled; keep a ready bag handy in case you’re told to leave quickly; know where your vital records and small valuables are so you can pack in a hurry; if police tell you to evacuate, don…
In his classic essay “The Paranoid Style in American Politics,” historian Richard Hofstadter has a phrase that brings me up short every time I read it: “the paranoid mind is far more coherent than the real world.”
Of all the bylines you’ll see in the Napa Valley Register, perhaps the most mysterious appears on the Opinion page: “Napa Valley Register Editorial Board.”
Sometime late in 2002, I was in a doctor’s office in Los Angeles and on the stack of old magazines was a copy of Time magazine, where I was working as a freelancer at the time.
I’ve talked here on occasion about letters to the editor and how we handle them, but I continue to get questions and some confusion about how they work. So let’s review.
On my first day of college in 1985, my father drove me to the dorm, helped me unload my suitcase, shook my hand in a properly adult fashion, and drove away.
I get a lot of complaints about our letters and commentaries on our opinion pages. Too liberal, too conservative. Too favorable to development, too biased against development. Too pro-wine, too anti-wine.
I got invited this week to sit down with Harris Nussbaum for his “Faces of the Valley” TV show on cable channel 28. Ostensibly the show was supposed to be a sort of personality profile, about me and my background, but in the course of the show, Harris hit me with a really important question.
When people hear that I worked on Capitol Hill for a number of years, they sometimes say something like “That must have been awful – aren’t the politicians just terrible people?”
It has become fashionable lately to talk about how artificial intelligence (or “AI” for the technologically hip among us) is threatening to overtake humans in many key categories. There has been a glut of studies, reports, news stories, and commentaries (including one in on our website just …
National Public Radio has been doing an interesting series lately called “Been There,” where they bring together someone who is just starting off on a new life experience – someone headed for college, someone facing a divorce, even someone facing a gender transition – and someone who has alr…
A guy from Sonoma County who I know mostly through Facebook posted an item last year about a modestly famous relative from the Revolutionary War era. I was surprised, because this also happens to be a relative of mine.
This week will mark my third anniversary as editor here at the Register. If you’d showed me then the job I’m doing today, I’d have hardly believed it. It’s like we’ve compressed a decade or more of change into just a couple of years.
My older son found out this week that he got into the college he wanted to attend, a college he has been eyeing and considering and talking about since at least ninth grade. Fair to say, the level of anticipation and tension in our house had been rising for several days before we got the good news on Friday.