I have had the sad task of telling the New York Observer that I can no longer continue my column there, since 2007 is shaping up as a perfect storm of work.

It was a great gig, lasting over nineteen years. My first piece, in September 1987, was about Jack Kemp. I wrote about gross political farce and 9/11; about Philip Reiff, and a crappy Bruce Willis movie I saw on a hotel TV; about the disappearence of Sidney Blumenthal’s soul.

My views were hardly those of the paper–solid liberal, with a few Republican noises. But I was able to write about anything I wanted, any way I wanted. This free-for-all spirit was the creed of founder Arthur Carter. When I met him, all I knew of him was that he was publisher of the Nation. I began my introductory spiel, which he cut short, saying that of course he knew my writing from National Review. Why, he added, he had once given NR a thousand dollars. And why was that? I asked. Because NR does a good job, he said, and magazines that do a good job should be encouraged. I saw at once that in his perfect world he would publish all the journals of opinion. Since that couldn’t be, he had the functional equivalent in the New York Observer–plus gossip, media, fashion and George Gurley. Jared Kushner, the current publisher, has carried on this spirit.

I’m grateful to my editors, John Sicher, Graydon Carter, Susan Morrison and Peter Kaplan, and to my readers, especially the one who asked me to define pistarckle.