By Andy Borowitz July 21, 2021 NEW YORK (The Borowitz Report)—Millions of Americans were shocked to learn of the existence of a Trump adviser who had not already been arrested. In interviews across the country, Americans who had been certain that there were no unindicted Trump advisers left said that the arrest of Tom Barrack had caused them to rethink things. “After Manafort, Stone, Flynn, Bannon, Cohen, Papadopoulos, and the rest, I really thought they’d gotten them all,” Tracy Klugian, who lives in Phoenix, said. “I guess I spoke too soon.” “Trump sure had a lot of advisers charged with crimes,” Harland Dorrinson, who lives in Chattanooga, said. “Whoever hired advisers for him did a terrible job.” Carol Foyler, who lives in Akron, saw a silver lining in the Trump adviser being arrested so late. “Since Giuliani already lost his law license, Barrack doesn’t have to worry about being represented by him,” she said. Davis Logsdon, who lives in Minneapolis, had previously thought that there were no more Trump advisers remaining to be arrested but is no longer sure. “Jared and Don, Jr., haven’t been arrested yet,” he said. “Or have they? It’s so hard to keep track.” Andy Borowitz is a Times best-selling author and a comedian who has written for The New Yorker since 1998. He writes The Borowitz Report, a satirical column on the news.

One film journalist’s stream-of-consciousness cinematic journey through the pandemic, Part 43 By Laurence Lerman “20th Century Fox Wants You To...Go Ape!” teased a 1974 ad campaign promoting the five films in the studio’s just-completed film series inspired by French novelist Pierre Boulle’s 1963 satirical sci-fi fantasia La Planète des singes, better known on stateside shores as Planet of the Apes. I was 11 years old when the film festival was mounted, with posters and marquees adorning malls and film houses, and local TV commercials enticing audiences to spend nearly ten hours engaged with a saga of “Two Great Civilizations in an Epic Confrontation for Possession of a Universe Gone Wild!” I never made it to the cinema for the festival—my dad had taken me to see the fourth movie in the Apes series a year prior and loved it, and taking in additional quartet of them was never going to be part of his plan. I ended up seeing the other films the next couple of years through a combination of TV premieres and a revival of the original that my father and I happily attended. but the opportunity to spend an entire day with the screen simians never materialized. That all changed this month, when streamer HBO Max launched its own “Go Ape!” retrospective featuring the first five films in the media franchise that over the past half-century has yielded nine films, two televisions series (one animated), several comic books and novels and a galaxy of merchandising tie-ins. I myself was once the young, smiling owner of a 1975 Planet of the Apes lunchbox (and accompanying thermos). So, this past July 4th weekend, I spent a couple of days sinking into the series (not all five films in a row, but close enough to each other that my wife raised an eyebrow). Not having seen any of them in decades, my return to Ape City was alternately grand and disappointing. All of them provided some great moments and overall entertainment, yes, but the diminishing returns of the series over their relatively short five-year release were, as in many Hollywood franchises, also very apparent. Still, each of the five Apes films, the Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings and Star Wars of their day, achieved some kind of standing that differentiated one from another, beginning with the original, which remains far and away the best of the bunch. Here’s a quick examination of the Planet of the Apes movies in all their allegorical, political and metaphorical glory. The Best: Planet of the Apes (1968) One of Hollywood’s most perfectly realized science fiction adventures stars Charlton Heston as a time-tripping space traveler who lands on some far-flung future world where intelligent apes are the ruling class and mute humans have slipped backward on the evolutionary scale. Planet of the Apes’ credits are superlative across the board: robust direction by journeyman Franklin J. Schaffner; a carefully reconfigured adaptation of the novel by screenwriters Michael Wilson and Rod Serling; Oscar-winning makeup and prosthetics by John Chambers (the craftsman who was also responsible for Spock’s ears on TV’s Star Trek); strong acting, even in the form of Ape performers Roddy McDowell and Kim Hunter as the articulate chimps Cornelius and Zira); an evocative score by the great Jerry Goldsmith—it goes on and on. Planet is rightfully considered a cornerstone in the post-apocalyptic sci-fi-thriller cycle of the era that includes such faves as THX-1138 (1971), Silent Running (1972), Zardoz (1974), A Boy and His Dog (1975), Rollerball (1975) and Logan’s Run (1976). It also reinvented Heston as a dystopian, “last man on Earth” sci-fi star, an image he ran with in the popular The Ωmega Man (1971) and Soylent Green (1973. It also elevated him back to the top of the box office, which he hadn’t visited since he rode his chariot to victory in Ben-Hur (1959) nearly a decade earlier. And Planet’s climax is still one of the best endings ever. No spoilers here, but if you’ve never seen or heard about the film’s final seconds, go tell it to the Statue of Liberty. The Weirdest: Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970) Planet’s first sequel arrived a scant two years later, filled with so many different story strands that it’s not surprising this film’s wayward stranded space man (James Farentino) thinks he’s losing his mind. Most intriguing is Ape City’s social strata, with its police and military (gorillas); conservative leanings, religion and law (orangutans); and liberal thought, science and education (chimpanzees). Equally cool is the race of scarred human mutants who live beneath the surface of the desolated planet and worship a giant atomic bomb. Serviceably directed by Ted Post, Beneath’s relatively short running time doesn’t allow it the opportunity to get comfortable, so most of the interesting ideas receive short shrift. And if you're looking for a nutty ending, the film's final minutes see dozens of mutants and humans shot down by an army of machine gun-toting gorillas Farentino meets a particularly bloody end and Heston does his bit for the suffering human race by activating the doomsday device and nuking the whole planet. A hundred bucks says the newly formed Motion Picture Association of American (MPAA) slapped a ‘G’ on this unexpectedly bleak and violent film in 1970, sight unseen, probably assuming it was simply more of what they’d seen in the original, which also garnered a surprisingly lenient ‘G’ rating. They must have thought the kids were going to love Chambers’ makeup. And rightfully so. The Funnest: Escape from the Planet of the Apes (1971) In a Hollywood of diminishing budgets and lack of franchise maintenance, thank God for time travel and a story highlighting only three apes. With Escape, Cornelius and Zira manage to escape their exploding planet and travel back in time to early Seventies Los Angeles to enjoy SoCal’s trappings of “The Me Decade.” (The story actually served as an inspiration for 1986’s Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, where the crew of the Enterprise is doing much of the same in Eighties San Francisco.) The apes’ adventures find them enjoying a modern fashion upgrade, charity luncheons with L.A. power wives, boxing matches, the Los Angeles Zoo and lots of red wine (or “Grape Juice Plus,” as Zira refers to it). The most pleasure and kindness they experience comes courtesy of a traveling circus owner (Ricardo Montalban), who manages to secretly save their infant chimp Caesar when everything begins to go wrong. Oh, and if you’re unhappy with my use of the superlative adjective “funnest,” talk to my editor and try to remember that I’m talking about the Planet of the Apes films! The Angriest: Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (1973) Incorporating none-too-subtle references to the incendiary racial conflicts of the time (have they ever really subsided?), Conquest follows Roddy McDowell’s adult Caesar (that’s right, he plays his own son!) inciting an ape revolution in a police state that sees dark-faced gorillas and chimps serving as virtual slaves to a city of well-coiffed white humans. The film’s climactic insurrection contains the best simian thesping in the series when McDowell’s adult Caesar throws fuel on the fire as he declares the future of apekind to his defeated former masters: “Where there is fire, there is smoke. And in that smoke, from this day forward, my people will crouch and consider and plot and plan for the inevitable day of man’s downfall,” he growls. “And then, I will lead my people from their captivity…and that day is upon you now!” Burn, baby, burn! The Worst: Battle for the Planet of the Apes (1973) Simply awful. This unimaginatively scripted tale of a victorious Caesar attempting to create a land where apes and humans can live alongside each other in peace was doomed from the moment its budget was cut to even less than that of the previous inexpensive Apes outing (a reported $1.7 million versus Conquest’s $1.8 million). Filmed primarily on the Fox Movie Ranch with very little in the way of set dressing and production values (a couple of treehouses, a nuked-out city backdrop, subgrade Mad Max-ish marauders and weaponry and a lot of bad mass-produced ape masks for the supporting cast and extras), the story never really gets going and is sidelined by a tragedy befalling Caesar’s young son. The best Battle has to offer is a wraparound featuring John Huston as “The Lawgiver.” Huston’s trademark thick drawl has gravitas to spare—even if the man himself is cosmeticized and costumed as an outsized orangutan. Battle for the Planet of the Apes was one of the last projects produced by Apes visionary Arthur P. Jacobs, producer of all five films, who died suddenly of a heart attack in 1973 at the age of 51, less than two weeks after the final entry was released to a poor critical and commercial reception. But the end of the first Apes cycle marked the birth of another one—TV’s first Planet of the Apes series in 1974. A handful of adaptations over the past 30 years have led to the latest incarnation, a trio of big-budget box office hits from the past decade that include Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011), Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014) and War for the Planet of the Apes (2017). And the word is that a fourth entry is on the way and due in 2022, bringing the number of films in the Apes franchise up to ten. Count me in for a binge festival when the quartet appears en masse on HBO Max or another streamer. Bananas, right? Laurence Lerman is a film journalist, former editor of Video Business--Variety's DVD trade publication--and husband to The Insider's own Gwen Cooper. Over the course of his career he has conducted one-on-one interviews with just about every major director working today, including Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, Clint Eastwood, Kathryn Bigelow, Ridley Scott, Walter Hill, Spike Lee, and Werner Herzog, among numerous others. Once James Cameron specifically requested an interview with Laurence by name, which his wife still likes to brag about. Most recently, he is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of the online review site DiscDish.com.

By Naomi Serviss It was a dagger to a foodie’s’ gut when NY Governor Cuomo officially banned indoor dining in December, 2020. Not to mention the industry's bottom line. More than 1,000 restaurants permanently closed, including the historic 21 Club. Esca, Uncle Boons, and the famed Gem Spa shuttered. Untitled at the Whitney is history. NYC Restaurants Felled by the Pandemic Midtown eateries got slammed in the wake of Broadway's shutdown. Necessity being the mother of invention, some places constructed outdoor extensions. Some were shacky and unappetizing. Others glammed it up. Winter weather stalwarts braved freezing temps to eat a quiche and support struggling neighborhood businesses. Jonesing for an outside-of-our-cocoon meal, we acclimated to dining in makeshift vinyl pods on city streets and sidewalks. Diehards came out gloved and winter-hatted. What's a little bad weather after living through a 100-year pandemic? Miraculously, there's a silver lining. After 18 months without indoor dining, New York City’s Restaurant Week has returned and is ready for your reservations! This summer’s event runs from July 19th through August 22nd. It’s a titch more than a week. The timing couldn’t have been more fortuitous. We’re chomping on the proverbial bit to savor delicious food served by caring waitstaff. Even one of my Nervous Nellie friends is ready for indoor dining. Tracy Nieporent, who represents the Myriad Restaurant Group (which includes Tribeca Grill and Nobu Downtown), is also chairman of NYC & Co., which runs the event. He explained the significance of this long-awaited moment: “Since its beginning in the summer of 1992, NYC Restaurant Week has been a celebration of dining. It brings the beautiful mosaic of New Yorkers together for a shared experience of inspired food, drink and camaraderie. Diners from all over America and the world travel to New York City to be part of something special and unique. Over this past year, Covid-19 prevented us from congregating in restaurants for a shared experience. At a time when we really needed a hospitality hug, it was unavailable. But now, at last, the dining experiences we valued are coming back again. The aromas, the vibrant flavors, the ingenuity of dozens of ethnic cuisines are here again to enjoy. We know what we all missed so greatly, and now we have a chance to recapture the great collective experience to share with our families, friends, and colleagues. It’s time to enjoy the quality, variety, and hospitality that makes New York City a Restaurant capital of the world.” More than 500 restaurants will be happy to serve you, with 46 cuisines in 72 neighborhoods. Happiness comes in small gestures. What better gesture than to break bread with a good friend? Especially when neither of you had to bake it! We’re not exactly celebrating but grateful to be in this moment. We’ll strive to be extra gracious and patient with inexperienced waitstaff. We’ll do our best not to make anyone cry. Like we almost did recently during a comedy of errors brunch with friends. One of us four made a reservation at an Upper West Side restaurant. It was me. However, once we arrived at the restaurant, the host couldn’t find my reservation. All of the placeholders were for other people. We mulled over our very few options. It was Gay Pride weekend and restaurants were booked. We hightailed it two blocks away to a spacious cafe on Amsterdam Avenue. Eureka! Found a table indoors with windows facing the sidewalk. It was not even crowded! Our young waiter was a little flummoxed with our drink orders. She eventually returned with two out of four drinks. Missing was Lew’s coffee and my water. Coffee was at last delivered, no water. What seemed like days later, I approached the manager and relayed my unquenched predicament. Koji stopped at our table and declared himself our new waiter. He brought me water posthaste. Unfortunately, he hadn’t noticed that the glass was cracked. So it goes. The four of us ordered, bonding over normal topics unrelated to, you know. It was fun! It took another 15 minutes for three out of four meals to arrive. Guess whose was missing? Koji apologized for the glass, the delay, the previous waiter. His manner was friendly and unassuming. He had twinkling eyes and a wide smile. Had this been our initial waiter’s first day? Koji laughed and said it had. Most of the employees were students and nervous. Some were painfully not ready for prime time. New Yorkers have been inundating the eateries with bad manners. I silently vowed to be kinder, more patient and understanding. As a way of life! Turned out Koji was also finishing up medical school while making pocket change. Many patrons had been rude and impatient, sometimes yelling at the young staff. The shouting couple nearby was an example. We’re living in a fluid teachable moment. Our behavior reflects our character. If you partake of New York’s Restaurant Week, and I highly recommend you do, Use your inside voice and bring your own water. Naomi Serviss is a New York-based award-winning journalist whose work has been published in The New York Times, Newsday, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Highroads (AAA magazine), in-flight publications, spa and travel magazines and websites, including BroadwayWorld.com

By Victoria Rolfe It’s here at last! In midsummer, a garden explodes with its lush offerings. What a joy to behold! Everywhere you look things are budding, flowering, growing and ripening. This is the garden you were dreaming of back in the winter months when you were perusing the seed catalogs, eyes wide with the glory of all those photos of vibrant flowers and luscious fruits and vegetables. Now you can start to fill your baskets with all that goodness. You might think there is nothing to learn. Harvesting is harvesting, right? You just go out and pick. Well, believe it or not, there are a few tricks of the trade to pass on to you that will give you optimum success with your harvest. It is often tempting, especially for new gardeners, to leave their crops on the plant to grow as big as possible before finally giving in to harvesting them, in the belief that they are getting more vegetable for their money this way. Believe it or not, exactly the opposite is true. The more you keep picking those tender young veggies, the more the plant will keep producing. When all is said and done, by the end of the season, your total yield for that crop will actually be more, pound for pound. And another bonus of picking small is that you get nice clean fruits with no big seeds to deal with when preparing and eating. The biological explanation for this is that your plant is trying to fulfill its reproductive destiny. It wants to produce seeds to carry on its legacy to the next generation. When you let the fruit get too big it starts to produce its seeds and this actually sends a signal back to the plant to start shutting down production, as it has achieved its life goal. So, you will keep your plant producing more by picking those veggies before they get to their ultimate seed production size. This obviously works with plants that produce multiple fruits on one plant such as squash, cucumbers, beans, peas, etc. and not on single crop plants such as beets, carrots and onions, which produce their seeds via a flower at a later phase of development. As for when and how to pick your other crops: Green leafy plants can be harvested at any time. You can pick off the individual leaves (take the outer bigger leaves, leaving the inner plant to continue to grow and produce more) but if you do, be sure to also pluck the entire stalk (which will take energy from the plant and rot if you leave it on there). In the case of lettuce especially you can even cut the entire plant off one inch from the ground and it will grow back. Other plants will signal to you when they are ready. Carrots will begin to show you their orange “shoulders” above the ground, as if to say, “Come and get me.” Garlic leaves will begin to brown to let you know the bulb is ready beneath the ground. The green tops of onions will also turn brown and even fall over to signal their readiness. And beets are the best of all. They will literally pick themselves by coming up out of the ground. The other good news about beets is that you do not have to pick them as soon as they are ready. They will continue to grow and be just fine even at baseball size or larger. Don’t forget to pick your flowers as well. The same dynamic goes for them, especially annuals. The more you pick, preventing them from producing seeds, the more they will continue to frantically produce flowers. So bring in plenty of bouquets of zinnias and other flowers to enjoy! Your plants will make more. Now I bid you goodbye for this month, wishing you a lovely, scrumptious, abundant crop as you quite literally enjoy the fruits of your labor. Happy, healthy gardening and eating! Victoria Rolfe has had a love of gardening all her life, from the time she was a tiny child coveting the daffodils growing in her neighbor’s yard (and wondering why she couldn’t have them in her own), to her teenage years when she took her pot experimentation in a different direction by growing the seeds she extracted from the bag into a beautiful marijuana plant on her bedroom windowsill. She went on in her adult years to feed her family by growing a huge and bountiful vegetable garden, as well as beautifying her three-acre property with an array of ornamental trees, bushes and flowers in the magnificent Hudson Valley region of New York. Victoria learned a great deal in the process of all this plant experimentation. She then added to that knowledge by taking courses with the Cornell Cooperative Extension to become a Master Gardener Volunteer. In her volunteer capacity, she helps to educate the public on gardening through classes and information booths, most notably at the Dutchess County N.Y. Fair each August. Throughout the summer months, Victoria is most likely to be found among the weeds, either in her own garden or those of others who actually pay her to play in their dirt and do the thing she loves best, delight in the magical world of gardening. Victoria is not only a gardening aficionado; she is also passionate about helping people live a better life on less money. Visit her website and blog at brightfuture2budget4.weebly.com, or email her at brightfuture2budget4@gmail.com.

By Bonnie Fishman This was my 16th time driving 2,450 miles from Detroit to California. And my last! My husband, Bob, and I finally have committed to living full time on the West Coast after years of spending winters there in a more temperate climate. The pandemic helped us make that decision by default. We came out to the San Francisco Bay Area to visit my sisters in December of 2019. Boom! Covid-19 hit and we ended up staying for 15 months, until it was safe to travel back to Michigan. During that time, we reevaluated our situation and decided to stay in sunny California, where our whole family has now migrated. After selling our home in suburban Detroit last week, we made our final journey across this expansive country. Many people wouldn’t have the stomach for the long drive. I rather enjoy it, crazy as it sounds. We have it down to a science. In the earlier years when we would “snowbird” out west, we would pick up Route 66 (I-40) in St. Louis. (We had to take the southern route during potential snowstorm season). We would drive straight through to St. Louis for the first night. Approaching the city, we would call ahead to our favorite Indian restaurant in the country, Ra Soi, to place a carry-out order. The samosas and aloo gobi parathas are killer. They barely made it the hotel room, the car filled with Indian spice aromas. In general, I think Route 66 seems more glamorous than it is. Quite frankly, once leaving the rocky Ozarks in Missouri, the land flattens out, becomes dry and colorless. If you’re into tumbleweed, you’re in luck; northern Texas has plenty. Try to avoid them at all costs because when crossing the freeway at high speed, the tumblers scratch your car! I’ve probably been to every Starbucks along Route 66 at some time or another. I even recognize the baristas! Last week when we made our final journey, Bob and I took I-80 because it was a more direct route to northern California. Change is good, they say. The inedible breakfast food in most of the roadside hotels has not changed. It was a repeat performance at our first stop in Des Moines, Iowa. Your first clue is the infamous styrofoam cup. I have a long-standing position about this. No matter how caffeine-deprived I am, I refuse to drink out of said cup. Two reasons: styrofoam is bad for the environment and any coffee served in it will be equally bad. I travel with Starbucks Via Instants. A godsend. The waffles were from a mix, the hard-boiled eggs probably not boiled within 100 miles of the hotel. The oatmeal was instant. That’s a tough one to mess up, but alas, it was like glue. Lousy coffee in styrofoam. Gluey oatmeal. We were hauling at a fast clip, reaching Laramie, Wyo. for the second night. The motels were getting seedier by the day. We were traveling during the 4th of July holiday and most of the restaurants were closed. We made do with a “charcuterie” dinner in the room, brought from home in a cooler. I am usually prepared for eating well when possible. Before leaving on our trip, I had made a fruit salad and brought along some Greek yogurt so that mornings began on a high note. By the third night, we found a terrific Italian restaurant nearby for carryout. Calamari, crab cakes, handmade pasta in sleepy Elko, Nev. The chef was schooled in Paris and trained in California. Things were looking up! By day four, it was “California Dreamin.’” We were on our way home, at long last. Besides the usual snacks for any road trip - nuts, cut up veggies, grapes, clementines, potato chips - I always bake a batch of Mondelbred. For those unfamiliar with this cookie-like delicacy, it is the Jewish biscotti. There are many variations and an ongoing debate as to how to make them–crispy or not, thin or not, and so on. I use my mom’s recipe. The variety is in what you add to the basic dough. Any combination of nuts, chocolate chips, dried fruits will do. If you want to make your road trip that much sweeter, pull out a couple of pieces of Mondelbred the next time you stop for coffee. It certainly got me from Starbucks to Starbucks across this expansive country. Mondelbred Yield: 36 servings 4 eggs 1/2 c. sugar 1/2 c. vegetable oil 2 tsp. vanilla 3 1/2 c. flour 1 tsp. baking powder 1/2-2/3 c. ground walnuts 1/2-2/3 c. mini chocolate chips cinnamon sugar for dusting Preheat oven to 350°. In a large bowl, blend together the eggs and sugar. Whisk in the oil and vanilla. Using a wooden spoon, blend in the flour and baking powder. Gather dough together. Divide the mixture into 2 bowls. Fold the nuts into one bowl and the chocolate chips into the other. Or you can add both into the whole batch. Form each portion of dough into a 16” log x 2” wide. Place on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Flatten slightly to a 3” width. Sprinkle liberally with cinnamon sugar. Bake until set, about 25 minutes. Slice each log into 18 pieces. Separate the pieces a bit so air can circulate. Bake until dried out a little, about 15 minutes more. Bonnie Fishman attended the Cordon Bleu Cookery School in London. Later, she owned and operated Bonnie’s Patisserie in Southfield, Mich. and Bonnie’s Kitchen and Catering in Bloomfield Hills, Mich. She has taught cooking for over 35 years and created hundreds of recipes. She is now living in Northern California.

July 15, 2021 Jeffrey D. Sachs, Isabelle Massa | Project Syndicate As recent disasters have shown, the world’s small island developing states are acutely vulnerable to the ravages of climate change, a problem created almost entirely by rich countries. If the international community is serious about sustainable development that leaves no one behind, rich countries must do three things. ROME – Hurricane Elsa’s appearance in the Caribbean this month, far before the usual onset of the Atlantic hurricane season, reminds us of what awaits the world’s small island developing states (SIDS) in the years ahead. These states are already suffering the devastating effects of climate change, and will now need to spend heavily on repairs and measures to build resilience. Rich countries and their fossil-fuel companies contributed overwhelmingly to the problem, so they should help cover the SIDS’ soaring climate costs. Owing to their unique circumstances, the world’s 58 SIDS – 38 of which are United Nations members – have belonged to a special group within the UN since 1992. In a new study of this cohort for the UN, we identified three overarching structural vulnerabilities facing the SIDS today. First, because most SIDS have small populations (below one million), their exports are concentrated in just a few activities. When COVID-19 struck, SIDS dependent on tourism were hit much harder than most other countries, particularly the developed economies. In 2020, the GDP of Barbados, Fiji, and the Maldives declined by 17.6%, 19%, and 32.2%, respectively, compared to 3.5% in the United States. Many SIDS also experienced a sharp drop in international remittances – another key source of sustenance. Second, many SIDS tend to incur higher shipping costs, because they are far away from the world’s main shipping routes and must purchase in smaller volumes than larger economies can. The island states in the Pacific Ocean are the most remote. In the Indian Ocean, the Maldives and the Seychelles are far from shipping routes and main markets. And in the Caribbean, the ranges differ, with some islands located much closer than others to US ports. Lastly, because of their physical geography, SIDS have extraordinary environmental vulnerabilities and face special risks, including food insecurity. In a large country, a disaster like a hurricane or a drought usually affects only one region directly; but in a small island nation, the disaster often hits most or all of the country simultaneously, straining both the emergency response and the costs of economic recovery. Moreover, acute dependence on food imports has left many SIDS with epidemics of diabetes and obesity – a problem that should be regarded as an indictment of the global food industry, and as a geographical vulnerability of these countries. Elsa was hardly a one-off event. Human-induced climate change is already leading to rising sea levels and more intense hurricanes, floods, droughts, forest fires, heat waves, and crop failures. The land areas of several Pacific Island countries have already shrunk, pointing to the possibility that their populations eventually will need to migrate elsewhere. In the Maldives, where fresh water has always been scarce, groundwater sources are under continual threat from rising sea levels and changing rainfall patterns. And in the Caribbean, high-intensity hurricanes, such as the three that hit in 2017, not only cause death and destruction but also leave countries with massive recovery bills and heavy debts. By strengthening the physical infrastructure, these countries can become far more resilient. Such resiliency has a very high social return, but also high up-front capital costs. In a recent International Monetary Fund report measuring the extra costs facing small developing states (SDS) in meeting the Sustainable Development Goals, all but two of the 25 countries studied are part of the SIDS group. Placing special emphasis on the extra costs of building sustainable infrastructure in these countries, the IMF concludes that the 25 SDS cannot fund the SDGs on their own. The international community’s pledge to “leave no one behind” in achieving sustainable development can be fulfilled only by providing extra development financing for the SIDS. Yet despite their urgent and rapidly growing needs, many SIDS are ineligible to borrow on favorable terms from official development banks and newly created special climate funds. They are being told that they are too rich, even as they suffer one devastating environmental disaster after another, and even as the pandemic continues to cripple their economies and endanger their populations. There are three main ways that rich countries can – and should – help offset the damage they have wrought. First, they should put more capital into the multilateral development banks (including the Inter-American Bank, the Caribbean Development Bank, the Asian Development Bank, and the African Development Bank). By borrowing at low interest rates on world markets, the multilateral development banks can turn an extra $1 of paid-in capital into an additional $5 or more of new lending to countries in urgent need. Second, rich countries should tax their fossil-fuel industries to help cover the rising global costs stemming from their fossil-fuel production. The oil and gas industry retains substantial market value, even though its hydrocarbon products need to be largely phased out by mid-century. Rather than paying out huge dividends to their shareholders, the oil and gas companies should be taxed to raise revenues to transfer to the SIDS and other vulnerable countries to cover the costs of climate damages and resiliency. Third, rich countries should tax their billionaire class, especially now that its wealth has soared to unimaginable proportions. The world’s 2,755 billionaires now command $13.1 trillion, an increase of roughly $5 trillion since the start of the pandemic. As recently leaked tax returns have shown, billionaires in the US often pay disproportionately low or even no taxes. They need to start paying their fair share, rather than just taking tourist rides into space. The added revenues should be directed toward urgent sustainable development needs, including those of the SIDS. The world is reaching a breaking point. The rich are vaccinated; the poor are not. The rich pour out greenhouse-gas emissions; the poor suffer the consequences. The rich enjoy soaring capital gains; the poor lose their jobs and livelihoods. Yet our fates are intertwined in the end. Pandemics and global environmental crises do not respect national borders. The rich world’s own future interests require justice, decency, and a global financial strategy that recognizes and addresses the pressing needs of vulnerable states and peoples. https://www.project-syndicate.org/commentary/climate-threat-to-small-island-developing-states-by-jeffrey-d-sachs-and-isabella-massa-2021-07 Jeffrey D. Sachs, University Professor at Columbia University, is Director of the Center for Sustainable Development at Columbia University and President of the UN Sustainable Development Solutions Network. He has served as adviser to three UN Secretaries-General, and currently serves as an SDG Advocate under Secretary-General António Guterres. His books include The End of Poverty, Common Wealth, The Age of Sustainable Development, Building the New American Economy, A New Foreign Policy: Beyond American Exceptionalism, and, most recently, The Ages of Globalization. Isabella Massa is Senior Economist at the UN Sustainable Development Solutions Network.

By Bonnie Fishman There is nothing like a once-in-a-hundred-year pandemic to pull people together. Wait, together, when you’re in isolation? How is that possible? As a rule, we humans don’t do very well being alone. We group together for all kinds of activities, such as sports, playing cards, educational study groups, book clubs, dog walking, games and dinner clubs. Most of these activities weren’t possible during lockdown. Some people continued with their book clubs and mahjong on Zoom. But with some other pursuits, it just wasn’t going to happen. So we walked the dog, swam, jogged, lifted weights, played solitaire and cooked alone. Somehow, missing the community in these pastimes was a real downer. Merriam-Webster’s definition of community is “a group of people with a common characteristic or interest.” So what was that interest during the pandemic? Was it the unity we all felt when our world came to a screeching halt? Didn’t it feel good to talk with like-minded people experiencing what we were experiencing? We were having a collective crisis of mega proportion. Many families and friends stayed connected by having weekly Zoom gatherings. Now, thanks to science and vaccines, we can finally gather. It seems people are assembling in droves. The book clubs are resuming, people are playing group sports, dinner clubs are back in action around tables with dishes brought by each guest. One major upside of the pandemic has been the growth of more community. People need each other, they want to be together. They appreciate this new connection emerging from a long period of isolation. The smallest get-together, which we may have taken for granted a couple of years ago, are now cherished events. Personally, I have noticed that in recent outings to local restaurants, where we might have lingered around the table for half an hour after eating, now turns into two more hours of visiting. (Sorry restauranteur, you’re not turning my table just yet!) Last week I went to dinner with close friends and before we knew it, almost four hours had passed. I also had a meal recently with some lady friends. We clocked in for a three-hour breakfast. Just eggs but lots of conversation and sharing. Feeling so grateful. I have had the experience of creating a new community when we wintered in Ventura, Calif., for many years. My close friends have asked me, “How do you do it? How do you make new friends?” Shared interests is a key ingredient in developing community. Sharing food is another. People are ripe for that connection post-pandemic, so this is a good time to try that out. In Ventura, my husband and I didn’t know anyone. That was unacceptable to me. I needed that companionship, we all do. I’m a swimmer, so I targeted other swimmers. Boom! I met Didi in the next lane. We became fast friends in swimming, going for coffee, walking our dogs, and, of course, dining together. Through Didi, I met her group of friends. More dog walking, coffee, cooking and eating. Invite someone over for a home cooked meal and that will seal the deal. We have remained friends even though I now live four hours away from them. Another group I met on the Ventura beach was through beach combing. Hanging out, looking for sea glass, having coffee. Simple pleasures but deep relationships. We are still friends. What we are all really after is a sense of belonging. Through seeking out communities, we find the framework to make that connection, enjoy like pastimes, share ideas, feel supported, and develop true friendships. I highly recommend it! Today’s recipe is a great one for communal sharing. Maybe you will be attending a potluck barbecue or picnic. Maybe you are hosting your new group over for brunch, lunch or dinner. This Edamame Succotash ticks all the boxes. It is super easy to make, lasts for days in the fridge, best served at room temperature. The succotash is healthy, low fat, vegan, and very colorful. A real winner as a lovely accompaniment to any table. Edamame Succotash Yield: 6 servings 2 Tbs. olive oil 1/2 lg. red onion, diced small 1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper 1 red pepper, diced small 3 lg. ears of corn, kernels removed from the cob 1 1/4 lb. shelled frozen edamame, defrosted and drained 2 Tbs. chopped parsley 1 tsp. salt 1/4 tsp. fresh ground black pepper 1/3 c. dried cranberries In a large skillet, heat the oil over moderately high heat. Sauté the onions and cayenne until the onions are translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the red pepper. Turn heat down to moderate. Continue to cook until the peppers begin to soften, about 5 minutes. Add the corn; cook 5 minutes more. Add the edamame and parsley. Season with salt and pepper. Add the cranberries. Adjust the seasoning. Serve hot or at room temperature. Bonnie Fishman attended the Cordon Bleu Cookery School in London. Later, she owned and operated Bonnie’s Patisserie in Southfield, Mich. and Bonnie’s Kitchen and Catering in Bloomfield Hills, Mich. She has taught cooking for over 35 years and created hundreds of recipes. She is now living in Northern California.

By John Rolfe In my increasingly precarious state at the venerable age of 63, I find it helps to keep things in one place where I’m reasonably sure they will be when I need them — assuming I remember where that place is located. So a website like Gracefully Greying is a boon. Please allow me to explain: From my vantage point beyond the crest of life’s hill, I can see that many stiff (pardon the pun) challenges await me on the remaining road to dissolution, so it doesn’t help that my bones groan whenever I bend down and attempt to stand up. My beard is gray, my physique is no longer fast (it is bulbous), and I have the reflexes of a morphine addict. Wheezing, running to the bathroom, and shrieking at the kids on the school bus I drive are about all the aerobic exercise I can comfortably handle these days. It’s not the best shape to be in when life is about to get much more challenging. Blessedly, if something is germane to the minefield of our golden years, Gracefully Greying addresses it with useful information on health, the pandemic, financial planning, legal issues, work, lifestyle and more. A case in point: The article “Starting a Home Business — 5 Tips for Seniors” by life coach Lori Eber comes in handy since I’ve taken a 75% pay cut after being downsized from my longtime corporate gig. And now that my mind has developed a sieve-like quality, the website’s podcast segment “Staying Active” in which brain fitness expert Dr. Andrea Wilkinson and geriatrician Dr. Angela Catic discuss how to exercise “in realistic and sustainable ways” is definitely for me. What makes Gracefully Greying truly impressive, and reassuring, is that its founder, Henry Gornbein, is 78 and he started the site just three years ago. A year later, graphic designer Laurie Blume joined the project, perfecting the look and feel of the website. She is now Gornbein’s partner. An attorney from Bloomfield Hills, Mich., who specializes in family law, Gornbein had been blogging, writing for magazines, and interviewing lawyers, judges, prosecutors, and psychologists for a video series called “Practical Law” when he decided to talk to people about issues we all face as we get older. “There’s always something that happens,” he told The Insider. “No one goes through life totally unscarred.” So Gornbein shot more than 100 segments on medical, spiritual and economic subjects with the heads of hospices, rabbis, and other walks of life. “The topics were endless,” he says. “That’s what intrigues me.” Gracefully Graying immediately intrigued other people, too, attracting nearly 18,000 page views in six months. Gornbein’s newsletter “Senior Musings” now has thousands of subscribers. Sponsors and content providers have come on board, and another contingent of dedicated followers dwell on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and LinkedIn. No doubt, part of Gracefully Graying’s appeal is its convenient one-stop shopping. “There are so many sites that focus on medical and legal issues,” Gornbein says. “I just thought, ‘Why not do everything?’” There are now more than 250 articles, videos and podcasts of all kinds on the site, many about navigating the perils of life in old age. “There are so many scams out there,” he says. “It’s just a very dangerous world and that’s going to get worse, not better.” Well, that sounds familiar. It’s not a scam (though it can feel like one), but my wife and I recently got our first taste of the wonderful world of Medicare, an utterly baffling place where you have Part A, Part B, Part D, assorted out-of-pocket costs, and coverage holes through which you can easily sail a battleship. Those holes must be plugged by a seemingly endless supply of “supplemental” plans with fancy names like Medicare Advantage, MediGap, and MediChasm. As my wife lamented, “You go through life thinking Medicare will be this great thing because it’s free and has all this great coverage and then you find it’s just a hodgepodge of crap.” After scratching our heads for a week, we finally found an insurance broker who explained it all to us, but it would have helped to have known about Gornbein’s site if only to get started in a less bewildering fashion. His video “Medicare Coverage: Issues and Options” with Mary Schmitt Smith, Michigan’s first elder law attorney, is a great primer that offers some helpful resources. Gornbein is now looking to expand further into the human interest realm. “I would love to interview people near the end of life,” he says. “Everyone has a story.” I must confess that Gornbein’s age, energy and website (its slogan is “Living Life Fully!”) have me thinking I can be reasonably useful for a while longer even if I am, as is obvious to me and anyone else around me, getting a bit, shall we say, creaky and sketchy. “I don’t want to retire” he says. “As long as I can do this, why not? You can be creative at any age.” Gracefully said. Henry Gornbein, Co-founder Henry has practiced family law in the Metro Detroit area for over 50 years. He is of counsel at Lipson Neilson PC. Henry is a former chair of the family law section of the State Bar of Michigan, former president of the Michigan chapter of the American Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers, and a former chair of the long-range planning committee of the National American Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers. He is known as an expert in understanding social media’s role in divorces and has authored several books including Divorce Demystified-Everything You Need to Know Before You File for Divorce and Child Custody-A Complete Guide for Parents. Henry is a graduate of Wayne State University and has his law degree from the University of Michigan. Laurie Blume, Co-founder, Marketing and Strategy Director Laurie is the owner of Blume Design, a marketing, strategy, and design firm. She has worked with clients on comprehensive marketing solutions, creating distinctive brands through a set of marketing and communication methods and asset development, helping to distinguish themselves from competitors and create lasting impressions. She is the co-chair of Inforum Michigan Art & Culture Affinity Group in Southeast Michigan and an Ambassador for the Birmingham Bloomfield Chamber of Commerce. Laurie is a graduate of the School of Art and Design at the University of Michigan.

By Jessie Seigel / Washington, D.C. There is a theory that our brains are either right-side or left-side dominant. If right-brained, you are more creative and artistic. If left-brained, you are more verbal and analytical. I’m a layman when it comes to such theories, but the creative and analytic sides of my brain seem to share rather than dominate, sometimes taking turns and, often, collaborating. That said, I sometimes feel like the humorist Stephen Leacock’s horseman who rode off in all directions at once. I am a dilettante of infinite interests. For nearly 30 years, I practiced law for the federal government, mostly at FERC (the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission), analyzing legal and environmental arguments and writing decisions on whether hydroelectric projects should be licensed or relicensed, supervising the written work of other attorneys, and occasionally making presentations to Commissioners or conducting a public hearing. But that whole time, I was also drawing and painting, studying languages because of a curiosity about how language and culture affect one another, and writing fiction and poetry. An unaccountably long love affair with all aspects of Irish culture—its literature, politics, Celtic design, languages (both Irish Gaelic and Hiberno-English), and dance—resulted not only in my performing in St. Patrick’s Day parades with the Black Thorn Stick Ceili dancers, but in my first novel, Tinker’s Damn. (The novel as a whole is still as yet unpublished, but an excerpt appeared in Ontario Review, Joyce Carol Oates and Ray Smith’s literary journal.) Ironically, Insider readers know me as a political columnist, although the one thing I never considered becoming was a journalist. Coming to this work was entirely serendipitous. While employed by the federal government, the Hatch Act limited my participation in politics. However, for much of my work life, I indulged a fantasy of haranguing crowds from a soapbox. Now, free of governmental restrictions, Washington Whispers is my soapbox. While the left side of my brain writes articles addressing politics as the core of what affects whether we live and how we live (as opposed to a sport that politicians play), the right side of my brain has produced political cartoons that I’ve posted on a Daily Kos diary. A sampling of Jessie Seigel's political cartoons Where did this dichotomy between the analytic and the creative come from? I believe the credit goes to those who raised me. Reading, discussing literature, and writing were in the air all around me while I was growing up. My father, who worked in a factory, my stay-at-home mother, and my brother (who is nine years older than I am) all read to me. I listened to the three of them discuss literature, philosophy, and politics around the kitchen table. There were always books—history, philosophy, mathematics, art, dance, mythology, poetry, fiction—above all, fiction—read to me, handed to me, suggested to me. Though I don’t think they ever tried to publish anything, they all wrote. And the family attitude toward writing was that you should have a sense of play. Experiment with styles, with words, and with ideas. Take in the technique of this or that writer and feel free to try it out for yourself. And that’s how I started. I wrote a story in the style of Lewis Carroll. I wrote a dialogue in the style of Tom Stoppard, in which two actors argue about whether they should take bows for acting in his play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. I wrote a story in which Oscar Wilde’s entrance into heaven depended upon the literary assessment of his works by a jury of fellow writers. I continued this creative writing while getting a BA at Wayne State University with a major in philosophy (logic and linguistics). Then two things happened. I taught myself to draw. And I became a lawyer. The latter can be blamed on my father, who handed me Irving Stone’s Clarence Darrow for the Defense when I was twelve. After reading that, I wanted to be Clarence Darrow—to do the kind of work he had done. But even at the University of Michigan Law School, I used the artistic side of my mind as well as the analytic side needed for legal studies. I was too far from the top of my class to work on the school’s law review. (I became a much better lawyer than I was a law student.) But I was the illustrator for the school’s newsletter, Res Gestae (Latin for “things done.”). Once I was practicing law, after working all day writing legal decisions, it was much easier in the evenings to draw or paint than to shift gears and try to write creatively. When I eventually went back to writing, my themes tended to be social, political, or philosophical. For two years, my poetry (a sample here), billed as a verse treatment of Jewish current affairs, was featured biweekly in the Boston Jewish Times. That ended when the editor-owner sold the publication, but by that time I was ready to move on to broader subjects. Still working full days as an attorney, I got an MA in writing fiction in the Johns Hopkins University’s evening program, located in D.C. After Hopkins, I briefly taught an evening creative writing class, Playing with Style, in Georgetown University’s continuing education program. I’m currently a fiction editor at the Potomac Review. Unlike many of my contemporaries, I do not write autobiographical fiction. I am not drawn to the familiar, but am forever fascinated by worlds and people outside myself. I do not believe in that hackneyed adage, “write what you know,” but rather in the approach, “know what you write.” (I believe Louis Carroll would say, could he speak from beyond the grave, that they are not the same thing.) I believe the most fun, and the most interesting fiction, come from making what I call the empathetic leap—living in someone else’s skin for a while. Yet, if you read my work as a whole, you’d know me and my many sides: the whimsical, the sardonic, the passionate, the righteous, the romantic and—the most important part of who I am—how I see the world. In writing The Apologia of a Demagogue (below), I made an empathetic leap to a deposed, narcissistic dictator who articulately rationalizes his actions and, along the way, morally indicts all who have enabled him. And yes, Donald Trump was a model. Ultimately, though, the narrator is not meant merely to be Donald Trump, but the quintessential corrupt leader to be found in many nations in many eras. History, unfortunately, does repeat itself. The Apologia of a Demagogue By Jessie Seigel My enemies said I did not know how to govern. They said that I don’t read; questioned whether I could read—whether I could even speak coherently. They said that I lie constantly, and contradict myself within the same sentence—when I actually finish sentences—which, half the time, I do not. But, no true genius is understood in his own time. I owe no explanation—especially now, sitting in this prison’s intolerable solitary confinement. But, for posterity, I will stoop to explain to minds more pedestrian than my own. Their charge of incompetence was based on a false premise: that my goals for governance were the same as theirs. But my goal was chaos to usher in one-man rule and consolidation of the nation’s wealth in the hands of myself and my associates. I knew enough to do what I wanted to do, and no one can say that I did not move steadily toward my goal. There were, of course, competitors and opponents. That is why I am sitting in this isolated cell. But, look at what I achieved: pliable judges placed on courts; captains of industry installed to head agencies meant to regulate them; the emptying of the Treasury into our bank accounts, the replacement of military leaders with others loyal to me, and the jailing of enemies. I did not hide my agenda. In fact, I took action so openly that only a fool could miss it. This in itself was brilliance since conspiracies, by definition, involve secret plans. Thus, the openness of my actions negated such charge. And reading? Of course I read. Clearly, my critics did not, or they would have seen my influences: Orwell; Goebbels (the Big Lie); McCarthy (Joseph, not Eugene); and his acolyte, Cohen (Roy, not Michael); the Caesars’ bread and circuses. (I may not have provided the bread but, certainly, I provided the circus.) And Machiavelli: if you would be king, stir the people; keep them on your side. And Louis XIV: Létat, c’est moi. As for my lies, contradictions, and half-finished sentences— When I failed to complete a sentence, it was not because I could not articulate. Rather, I gave my audience the first half of a declaration, knowing it would lead them to complete the sentence themselves, and knowing with what they would complete it. When I told a crowd, “I’m not saying you should beat so-and-so—some dissenter in the throng—and toss him out of here—,” I knew it would rouse them to action. But since I had said I was not saying it, I had plausible deniability. Likewise, when I made some bizarre claim, I added, “I don’t know, but it could be,” so I was not stating a lie. I had merely planted an idea in the listeners’ minds. Surely, this linguistic sophistication, along with its strategic simplicity, must be acknowledged. When I contradicted myself within the same sentence, it kept the public—and our media—running in circles. With two opposing statements, they couldn’t pin down the lie, but ran themselves ragged trying to parse my meaning. But truly, in all my contradictions, there was no contradiction, no inconsistency. For, like the universe, I contain all things: the good, the bad, the sane, the mad, the lies and the truth. I am like the sun, its gases boiling and overflowing, its solar storms erupting. I am a force of nature. My enemies call me a narcissist, but does the sun pay any mind to the planets? After all, who revolves around whom? I am only in this prison cell now as the victim of a great hypocrisy. Everything I have done has been merely business: value given for value. If I want to do business in a foreign country, I give them influence here in exchange. If foreign officials want to curry favor here, they will patronize my business. You wish to head a government agency? Or obtain a government contract? Then you give me something in exchange. And the competition? You crush them. That’s how the world works, how it has always worked. Who would not take whatever business advantage is available to them? After all, as Calvin Coolidge said, “The business of America is business.” Our country has a longstanding tradition: in through the doors of government from industry, and out again through those doors back to industry, after an illustrious career in public service to industry. Presidents and vice-presidents—and not too long ago either—have been known to start wars and give private contracts for supplies and mercenaries to companies they came from and will return to. It is a quietly understood principle that anyone—certainly anyone with a head for business—will come out of office richer than when he went in. Given these principles, how can anyone doubt that I was singled out for persecution? It is because my enemies come from a line of “civilized gentlemen,” while I am bold and brash and—yes, I will say it—loud. The “gentlemen” were afraid of me, but when I finally fell, they scurried like the rats they are. My enemies think they have won, that in the end, sitting in this prison, I am a failure. But Napoleon met his Waterloo. Hitler ended in a bunker. The Borgias and Medici rose and fell. As did Caligula and Nero. Nothing lasts forever. The brighter the star burns, the faster it burns out. You who have labeled me a narcissist declare that, in my amorality, my obsession with self, I am an empty vessel, a container with nothing inside of it. A void. But you are wrong. You enabled me by your weakness and craven lack of spine—from the competitors who shrank from my attacks, to the media that refused to call a lie a lie, to my die-hard followers. I am not an empty vessel. In all that I am, in all that I have done, I am, rather, a mirror. A mirror that reflects all of you. Political columnist Jessie Seigel had a long career as a government attorney in which she honed her analytic skills. She has also twice received an Artist’s Fellowship from the Washington, D.C. Commission on the Arts and Humanities for her fiction, and has been a finalist for a number of literary awards. In addition, Seigel is an associate editor at the Potomac Review, a reviewer for The Washington Independent Review of Books, and a dabbler in political cartoons at Daily Kos. Of this balance in her work between the analytic and the imaginative, Seigel jokes, “I guess my right and left brains are well-balanced.” More on and from Seigel can be found at The Adventurous Writer, https://www.jessieseigel.com.

By Naomi Serviss Polka dots are a thing. No longer relegated to itsy bitsy yellow bikinis. I spot them on everything. Socks, shower curtains, office chair covers and furniture. And that’s even before I leave my apartment. I blame Yayoi Kusama. You’ve probably seen her art. Kusama is the 92-year-old internationally acclaimed Japanese artist who’s still creating. Despite her suicide attempts. And residence in a mental institution. Her story is complex, fascinating and ultimately hopeful. A neon red, chin length wig is finished with severe bangs. Her gaze is neutral, cheeks rouged, and lips reddened. An A-line red and white polka dot dress covers her frame. Kusama’s been into polka dots nearly all her life. She’s woven personal tragedy and trauma into her paintings, sculptures and installations. She was a feminist before the word was coined. Her brilliance thwarted by the white art establishment’s inherent sexism and racism. Anguish transformed into expansive, otherworldly botanicals. Worldwide exhibitions have drawn millions. It’s New York’s turn. Remember when King Tut came to the Met? That was entertainment! I expected the installations to be swarmed by Kusama aficionados. I reserved my New York Botanical Garden ticket months in advance. It was worth the wait. Even if it meant being out of my Manhattan comfort zone. And into Da Bronx. Wary with pandemic worry, other attendees were masked as well. My first cultural outing! Yayoi! I had spent hours poring over Kusama’s memoir. Once was not enough for her Netflix documentary. The lush grounds were backdrop to Kusama’s fantastical botanical creations. It felt like a waking dream. The weather was temperate. Maybe a half dozen other people poking around. Sumptuous, landscaped gardens played second banana to a Disney-on-acid-inspired orb or a shiny pumpkin writ large. Majestic, stunning, whimsical and existential, barely describes the awe I felt. Kusama’s singular fashion-forward appeal was echoed by a fancifully garbed couple And maybe a lone visitor or two who wore polka dots in homage. This past year has given us pause. The lives lost. Isolation. Fatigue from being cooped up. Friends unhugged. Children missed. I’m still unfolding from the cramped origami figure I mentally twisted into. Tense months spent feeling unhinged and crazed are finally quieted. Like I’m waiting for Guffman to review my actions over the year. Kusama brought me great joy and hope. Her exotic wonderland transported me. Soon my son Ben will be wed. Katherine, his mate of soul, encouraged him to visit his New York City parentals. Ben has been eating his weight in good pizza since arriving from Mississippi. And showing his dad some Akido moves in the living room. I’m grateful for the beauty in this world, man-made or natural. Kusama sparked early summer joy in my life. Ben sparked mid-summer joy in my heart. Naomi Serviss is a New York-based award-winning journalist whose work has been published in The New York Times, Newsday, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Highroads (AAA magazine), in-flight publications, spa and travel magazines and websites, including BroadwayWorld.com

One film journalist’s stream-of-consciousness cinematic journey through the pandemic, Part 42 By Laurence Lerman I’ve seen the three-hour-plus Avengers: Endgame multiple times since its premiere in 2019 and it’s probably my favorite film in the Marvel Comics Universe canon. But during the lockdown, I wasn’t as interested at sinking into it in toto again as much as wanting to check out a few of my favorite moments. (Most of them can be found on YouTube, as like-minded hopscotchers are well aware). The scene to which I most regularly return comes near the end, when Earth’s vanished population has returned and the titular super squad engages in a climactic showdown against Thanos and his hordes. It is during this scrape that Wanda Maximoff, aka The Scarlett Witch, confronts Thanos on the battlefield. Having lost both her brother (Quicksilver) and her lover (Vision) at the hands of the interstellar warlord during an earlier skirmish, Wanda, her eyes turning a murderous crimson as she trembles with suppressed rage, balefully eyes the alien tyrant. “You took everything from me,” she seethes—right before ripping the gargantuan invader a new one. That glower, that glare. Elizabeth Olsen’s Wanda, she had a look, a stare—a staredown of her hated enemy that grabbed my attention and didn’t let go. It even blew away anything I’d seen Olsen do on Disney+’s WandaVision, and that includes her face-off with Kathryn Hahn’s Agatha Harkness. I’ve watched that moment more than a dozen times since and, for me, it’s the highlight of Endgame’s extended final battle, maybe the whole movie. So, here’s to staredowns—those fleeting instances when a performer turns his gaze on another performer (usually out of frame) and creates a provocative and memorable and empowering moment with not much more than the eyes alone. The story, the lighting, the costumes and the environment play second fiddle at these times—truly, it’s all about the eyes. Oh, it’s not that it doesn’t happen frequently; this is what actors do, and good actors do it well. But when the moment sticks, it’s worth watching for, well, more than a dozen times. Here are ten of those moments that I’ve found particularly effective during the past year of random streaming of movies that you’ve all heard of. They’re in no particular order because they don’t have to be! A Droog named Alex (Malcolm McDowell) sets the tone in the spectacularly confrontational opening shot of Stanley Kubrick’s masterful 1972 adaptation of Anthony Burgess’s dark and violent satire A Clockwork Orange. Even the simple act of checking into a Hampton Inn provides an opportunity for a confrontation (with a desk clerk, in this case) for Charlize Theron’s emotionally stunted YA author in Jason Reitman’s Young Adult (2011), written by the dynamic Diabo Cody. “I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next,” vows Russell Crowe’s titular combatant following his unmasking in front of the evil Emperor Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) in 2000’s Gladiator, Ridley Scott’s magnificent sword-and-sandal saga. Uma Thurman is at her murderous best when she raises a samurai sword against one-eyed assassin Daryl Hannah in Quentin Tarantino’s 2004 Kill Bill 2, the second part of his martial arts revenge epic Kill Bill (2003). The first part found Uma taking down more than 100 elite henchmen with said saber. When his island is invaded by a fortune-hunting Hercules in the beloved Greek mythological fantasy Jason and the Argonauts (1963), the giant bronze statue Talos comes to life to take a terrifying stare at the intruder, courtesy of stop motion effects master Ray Harryhausen. Sigourney Weaver. The Alien Queen. “Get away from her, you bitch!” “Cooler King” Steve McQueen is at his coolest when he returns to a P.O.W. camp following his latest capture and stares down his latest commandant to let him know just what he’s in store for in the 1962 WWII spectacular The Great Escape. Directed by Jonathan Demme to play straight into the camera, Jodie Foster’s FBI agent Clarice Starling and Anthony Hopkins’ genius cannibalistic murderer Hannibal Lecter offers numerous piercing glances (at each other and at us!) in Demme’s 1991 serial killer classic The Silence of the Lambs. The look of countless thwarted Hollywood dreams and the encroaching darkness and darkness that follow can all be seen in the eyes of failed actress Naomi Watts in Mulholland Dr.., David Lynch’s surreal 2001 Tinsel Town takedown. In the hands of Stanley Kubrick (again!) and the U.S. Marine Corps, soft, slow recruit Vincent D’Onofrio is transformed into a psychotic and suicidal killing machine who talks to his rifle in the 1987 Vietnam tale Full Metal Jacket. Looking ahead, the latest installments in the long-running Mission: Impossible and James Bond franchises, starring Tom Cruise and Daniel Craig, respectively, are teeing up for release this fall. Also arriving next season is another wave of Marvel Comics Universe entries, including Eternals, featuring Angelina Jolie and Salma Hayek as two of a group of immortal heroes forced out of the shadows to reunite against mankind’s oldest enemy, known as The Deviants. The trailers for the film are circulating and the countdown buzz for potential critical and box office success are beginning. Are we looking at the possibility of a quartet of superstar staredowns that could generate some substantial heat during the chill of autumn? Laurence Lerman is a film journalist, former editor of Video Business--Variety's DVD trade publication--and husband to The Insider's own Gwen Cooper. Over the course of his career he has conducted one-on-one interviews with just about every major director working today, including Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, Clint Eastwood, Kathryn Bigelow, Ridley Scott, Walter Hill, Spike Lee, and Werner Herzog, among numerous others. Once James Cameron specifically requested an interview with Laurence by name, which his wife still likes to brag about. Most recently, he is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of the online review site DiscDish.com.

FRED PLOTKIN is one of America’s foremost experts on opera and has distinguished himself in many fields as a writer, speaker, consultant and as a compelling teacher. He is an expert on everything Italian, the person other so-called Italy experts turn to for definitive information.  Fred discovered the concept of "The Renaissance Man" as a small child and has devoted himself to pursuing that ideal as the central role of his life. In a “Public Lives” profile in The New York Times on August 30, 2002, Plotkin was described as "one of those New York word-of-mouth legends, known by the cognoscenti for his renaissance mastery of two seemingly separate disciplines: music and the food of Italy." In the same publication, on May 11, 2006, it was written that "Fred is a New Yorker, but has the soul of an Italian."