But When It Comes to Food, The Real Thing is Better By Tobye S. Stein If you grew up in the Detroit area as I did, there were certain foods and beverages that were in nearly every home, including mine. We drank Faygo pop and Vernors Ginger Ale (it’s “deliciously different”) and we ate Sanders Hot Fudge sundaes, Velvet Peanut Butter, and in my home Krun-Chee Potato Chips because Grandma, Sarah Eskow, worked at Krun-Chee on Livernois in Detroit. Beyond these tasty yet unhealthy items was the iconic Maurice Salad, found only at Hudson’s department stores. The Maurice Salad was more famous for its dressing than anything else. Today’s foodies would likely exclaim that the dressing is “umami.” It’s a little sweet, a little savory, it’s a unique taste that is very hard to duplicate. From time to time, someone posts a recipe for the salad including the dressing, so I recently did my best to recreate it so I could add something new to our pandemic repertoire. I’m not what one would call a salad person, I’m more of a soup person, but my husband Neal loves salad and over the years, at least since I returned to the Detroit area, I’ve become fond of Hudson’s Maurice Salad as well. The basic ingredients for this salad are Iceberg lettuce, ham, turkey, Swiss cheese, gherkins, and green olives. I’m not fond of ham or Swiss cheese so I made some substitutions. For the second time since the pandemic began, we had corned beef in the house, and since we were out of Swiss and Jarlsberg cheese, I substituted Havarti cheese. The truth is, it almost doesn’t matter what goes in the bowl other than the dressing. The dressing is mayonnaise-based. We’re really more of a Miracle Whip than a mayo household, but I purchased a small jar of light mayonnaise. To make the dressing, you need the following: 2 tsp. white vinegar 1 1/2 tsp. lemon juice 1 1/2 tsp. onion juice 1 1/2 tsp. sugar 1 1/2 tsp. Dijon mustard 1/4 tsp. dry mustard 1 cup mayonnaise 2 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley 1 hard cooked egg, diced salt to taste I made the full recipe for the dressing because I almost always follow a recipe the first time. But I could not find onion juice, and while I knew that I could pulverize an onion in my food processor or Vitamix Blender, I wasn’t sure how critical it would be to the dressing. Since the dressing tasted very close to the original when it was blended together without the onion juice, I think it was a reasonable decision. Next time, if my search for onion juice is fruitless, I’ll crush the heck out of an onion. I served the dressing on the side so we could each use as much or as little as we liked on our salads. In more recent years, the restaurant at the department store formerly known as Hudson’s, now Macy’s, has been serving it that way for years. Actually, when Marshall Field’s acquired the Hudson’s department stores and restaurants, they added chopped egg on top of the salad. Chef’s choice. I stayed with the original, no chopped egg on top of the salad. The salad serves 6-8 people and includes the following ingredients: 14 oz. ham, cut into strips 14 oz. cooked turkey breast, cut into strips 14 oz. Swiss cheese, cut into strips 1/2 c. slivered, sweet gherkin pickles 1 head Iceberg lettuce, shredded 12-16 pimento-stuffed green olives Combine the first 6 dressing ingredients and stir to dissolve the sugar. Add remaining dressing ingredients and mix well. Combine the ham, turkey, cheese and pickles together in a large bowl. Toss together with the dressing. Divide the lettuce among plates, top with salad and garnish each plate with 2 green olives stuffed with pimentos. Since there are only two of us. I used about a half head of Iceberg lettuce and what I thought was a reasonable amount of sliced turkey, 4-5 slices, corned beef about the same, and 2 slices of cheese. I cut the amount of gherkins in half as well. But remember: the salad ingredients aren’t nearly as critical as the dressing. Neal and I each give the salad and the dressing a thumbs up. So if you’re a former Detroiter trying to recreate a little bit of the Motor City, go for it. Even if you’re not, try it, you’ll like it. Tobye S. Stein retired as Chief Human Resources Officer from a California-based financial services organization. She once landed a job by replying to the age old question, “Why should I hire you instead of the other two candidates” by simply stating “I’m funnier than most people.” It worked.

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."

By Andy Borowitz February 2, 2021 WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene has blamed the blizzard currently battering the East Coast on “orbiting Jewish space snow machines” controlled by the Hungarian-born billionaire George Soros. In a series of tweets, Greene claimed that the snow machines had manufactured the blizzard to make it impossible for her to get out of her driveway and reach her office at the U.S. Capitol. “I will not be silenced by Jewish snow,” she defiantly tweeted. Expanding on her theory, Greene wrote, “ ‘Snow’ and ‘Soros’ both begin with the letter ‘S,’ and also prominently feature the letter ‘O.’ Only an idiot would miss this connection.” At the Capitol, the House Minority Leader, Kevin McCarthy, said that he had responded “swiftly and decisively” to Greene’s Jewish-snow-machine theory by giving her a seat on the House Committee on Science, Space, and Technology. 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.

February 5, 2021 Dear Editor, OMG, do I envy you, Editor, for having received your first Covid vaccination. I thought that we would be the next group in our county, Douglas County, Neb., at 75 years old or older, but lo and behold it was changed to the 80 years old or older.  (I am 77 years old, as is my husband Jim.) Now, another wait.  Jim and I have signed up everywhere and all I know is that we, along with thousands of others in our county, will receive an email directing us to call a number to get an appointment.  I feel that we will be calling all day just to reach a person or robot!  We feel totally discouraged at this point.  All we can do is continue to hope! I think what is making me somewhat angry is hearing of people who are younger than we are who have already been vaccinated. How, you might ask? These people have children or spouses who are in the health professions and they piggyback on for their vaccines. Although it’s probably not against the law, this does seem somewhat unethical. And then there’s the very wealthy Omahan I know of who went round-trip by air to Phoenix to get his first shot. He will return there for his second one. His lady friend is flying round-trip to Denver this week for her first shot. They are truly the 1 percenters! We just heard from my husband’s alma mater, Creighton University, that they will be giving out shots but, again, it is through the county website that you sign up. I doubt that our lives will change once we do get the vaccine, but our emotions certainly will! We will continue to wear our masks and not go to restaurants, but maybe, just maybe, we will feel comfortable enough to visit with our children (with our masks on). Here’s hoping! Breaking news--Jim and I were able to sign up this morning for our first Covid shots this Saturday! We will be going downtown to Creighton University with a 60% chance of snow and temperatures around 18 degrees. Would never leave our house for ANYTHING except for the blessing of a Covid shot! Susie Silverman/Omaha, Nebraska Although born in Chicago, Susie has lived in Omaha since the age of one. She and her husband Jim have two children and two absolutely adored grandchildren, 19 and 21, whom they have not been able to see during this pandemic. Jim is an attorney and Susie been his legal assistant for the pass 20 years; their commute is quite easy, as their offices are upstairs in their house. Although Nebraska is a deeply Red state, Susie feels fortunate to live in District II, Douglas County, which this year gave President Biden one electoral vote. Dear Editor, I’ve been uneasy the past few days. I want to blame it on the weather (some parts of Phoenix and North Scottsdale actually got snow), but I think it’s mostly because of the “end” of the pandemic. It seems like the vaccine is all my friends and family can talk about. “What will you do after you’re vaccinated?” “Who will you see after the vaccine?” “When do you think it’ll be available?” I’m not trying to burst anyone’s bubble, but I don’t think the vaccine guarantees 100% immunity to Covid-19. I also don’t think it stops us from being carriers of the virus. I haven’t come across any articles with definite answers. I believe it is still recommended to wear masks and wash hands regularly after being vaccinated. But no one wants to hear that. It’s shocking how aggressive some people get about my reminder. It has opened my eyes to see that most people prefer a narrative that permits them to do what they want rather than being “inconvenienced” for the greater good. All I’m saying is in our attempt for normalcy, we shouldn’t be so quick to reject recommendations of continuing our efforts until herd immunity is achieved. We made it this far—surely we can hang in there a little while longer? Let’s address the three schools of thought surrounding the vaccine: Vaccinate, not to vaccinate, and waiting. All three options come with their own social shaming. In Arizona, the vaccination rollout is sectioned by groups. There are state-run vaccination sites like the State Farm Stadium in Glendale and the Phoenix Municipal Stadium. Then there are county specific sites, like local pharmacies, clinics, and healthcare centers. There have been discrepancies in the current phase. In some counties, people who are 65 and older (Prioritized Phase 1B) are allowed to be vaccinated, while some local sites or pharmacies only allow people who are 75 and older to be vaccinated. If someone tries to register through the state website (azdhs.gov), the process can be riddled with inefficiencies, confusion, and frustration. While helping an older family member navigate the site, I noticed the appointment slots were marked as full (the website did not populate the next available date). According to my research, we were supposed to click through each day on the calendar, and with a stroke of luck, an appointment might appear. It has been rumored that this technical bug will be fixed, so people registering for the vaccine won’t have to waste time clicking through each day. Currently, appointments for the two stadiums are booked solid through February. My loved ones, who are in Prioritized Phase 1B, wait eagerly for the March availability announcements. There are some who have been fortunate in getting the first dose (both Moderna and Pfizer have a two-dose vaccination process). I, unknowingly, walked into a minefield when I asked if they had any side effects. Again, it was a simple question. It’s possible that because I messaged the question, the receiver assigned an unintentional tone to my words. Some of my loved ones had answers prepared for me that included: “Based on my doctor’s suggestion, I can still breastfeed during the vaccination process.” “The side effects aren’t as bad as people are making them out to be.” “There isn’t evidence that the Florida doctor died from the vaccine.” The list goes on. I really was caught off guard by some of the responses. I truly just wanted to know what they were personally experiencing to help me manage my expectations of getting the vaccine. Not once had I asked about deaths or breastfeeding. I can only assume that my loved ones were accused of making a terrible decision to get the vaccine, because they were so guarded in their responses. As for the people who don’t want to be vaccinated immediately, I think there are two types of people in that group: the ones who absolutely refuse to be vaccinated, and the ones who want to wait and see. Some of the people in this crowd have been hesitant to voice their opinions (typically the wait-and-see people), while others have been extremely rude: “Get the microchip, you sheep.” “You must not want kids because you’re so willing to get the vaccine...Who knows what’s in there?” “This is going to be a class-action lawsuit…You’re going to regret this.” For the rude individuals, there is no point in having a conversation with them. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. As for the wait-and-see crowd, I think they’re within their rights to not immediately sign up for the vaccine. If it isn’t a requirement for their jobs or school, they shouldn’t be shamed or criticized for waiting. Nothing changes for them for the time being. They should continue to wear masks, social distance, and sanitize. Being cautious is a survival tactic. As for me, I’m eager to get the vaccine. I’ve asked my friends and family members about their individual experiences and trust the science. It is my personal decision, motivated by my own worldview and philosophies. I’m hopeful that when the general public is allowed to be vaccinated in Arizona, the process will be effortless and the side effects will be bearable. Optimistically yours, Anita Saesing/Scottsdale, Ariz. Anita Saesing has always been nomadic. She was born in California, but spent her teenage years in Maryland and Pennsylvania. Before she graduated from high school, an elderly couple from her previous apartment complex invited her to live with them in Arizona. Four days after her high school graduation, she packed her bags and joined them on their cross-country road trip. She spent her college years working at various places including a childcare center and hospital HR office. She was the first in her family to graduate debt-free from college. Anita graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Business Management from Grand Canyon University. One day, she desires to live in Italy and “do as the Romans do.”

One film journalist’s stream-of-consciousness cinematic journey through the pandemic, Part 27 By Laurence Lerman At the risk of being accused of false advertising, this week’s column does not contain a trio of write-ups on wintry, snow-filled films. No, the three reviews represent the movies I checked out last Monday night after finishing dinner and settling into the couch, the snow continuing to fall as it had all day, with the prospect of shoveling our stoop, driveway and sidewalk the next morning looming menacingly in front of me. Quickly, though, if I had to choose a couple of snowy pictures off the top of my head, I’d first go with Dead Snow, Tommy Wirkola’s 2009 Norwegian horror comedy about a bunch of thawed-out Nazi zombies stalking a bunch of hikers in Northern Norway. Second would be Renny Harlin’s 1993 Cliffhanger, a mostly undistinguished Sylvester Stallone action vehicle save for a truly terrifying opening where Sly fails to save a novice mountain climber whose safety harness breaks, and he watches her plunge to her death in a snow-capped Rockies valley. So, three movies three, in the order I watched them as the snowy night settled in... Originally slated for release in early 2014, Joe Carnahan’s comedy crime adventure Stretch got derailed in some sort of studio hullaballoo and quietly snuck into the marketplace as a VOD title later that year, and onto disc only last month. Not that it’s a lost gem or anything. Patrick Wilson’s titular Hollywood limo driver is our guide in an L.A. odyssey that kicks off when our boozing, coke-snorting hero has to come up with some quick cash to pay back his debts to a notorious gangster. Taking on a shady job for a billionaire client (an inspiringly wacky Chris Pine) in hopes of a big, immediate payday, Stretch is quickly lured into a night of chases, nightclubs, drug dealers, sexual roleplaying, Feds, gunfights, blind dates, David Hasselhoff and the ghost of a legendary nice-guy limo driver who killed himself (Ed Helms). The loooooong night is accented with some dark humor and regular check-ins with Stretch’s lively limo dispatcher, Charlie (Jessica Alba). Writer/director Carnahan’s overflowing, put-in-everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach and style is reminiscent of his 2006 Vegas-set Smokin’ Aces, with shout-outs to such L.A.-centric films as Collateral and Into the Night, as well as Stanley Kubrick’s Manhattan-based Eyes Wide Shut. It’s all episodic, colorful and distracting enough, for a while, until it goes over the top, and you’re only left with the performances of a game cast that also includes Ray Liotta, Brooklyn Decker and James Badge Dale. I moved on—or backwards—to the 1970 drama Puzzle of a Downfall Child, which marked the directorial debut of Jerry Schatzberg, who would later go on to helm such notable Seventies entries as The Panic in Needle Park and Scarecrow. Fashion photographer-turned-director Schatzberg’s handsomely mounted film takes us into the life of a disturbed former model, Lou Andreas Sand (Faye Dunaway), and her downward spiral into drugs and depression, resulting in suicidal tendencies and a nervous breakdown. Living alone in a beach cottage, Lou recounts her sad story to photog Aaron Reinhardt (Barry Primus), who records their conversations in the hopes of developing them into a feature film. Puzzle’s splintered chronology bounces between Lou and Aaron and then various episodes in Lou’s life—fashion shoots gone wrong, romances gone wrong (one with Roy Scheider), business dealings gone wrong, and so on. The real puzzle of Puzzle is how Lou made it as far as she did to begin with! Schatzberg receives a co-story credit on Puzzle, along with screenwriter Carole Eastman, basing their screenplay on real recordings of Schatzberg’s model friend Anne St. Marie (with the part of Aaron inspired by Schatzberg himself). The fragmented confessions and self-destructive tendencies of the beautiful people, presented in a consciously arty and jagged style, was more innovative and provocative a half-century ago than it is now, though the performances here keep it more interesting than not. And at the center is Lady Dunaway herself, giving audiences a preview of the drama and histrionics she would shift toward a decade later after a quick stop in Chinatown and Network. As the witching hour approached and the snow continued to fall, I switched off the lights, caffeinated once again and popped in 1945’s Leave Her to Heaven, long championed by Martin Scorsese and a platoon of cinephiles as one of the great film noirs, luxuriously garbed as an A-list Twentieth Century Fox melodrama. Gene Tierney has never looked more stunning as the alluring but erratic Ellen, a knock-out obsessed with her late father. She falls madly in love with Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde), a novelist who strongly resembles and apparently behaves like Ellen’s dear old dad. Rushing him into marriage after she breaks off her romance with a rising D.A. (Vincent Price), the elegant Ellen soon begins to display intense feelings of jealousy and obsession, which doesn’t make things any easier—or safer—for her new husband, his disabled younger brother (Darryl Hickman), or her sweet half-sister (Jeanne Crain). Based on Ben Ames Williams’ bestselling novel, Leave Her to Heaven is a forerunner to Fatal Attraction and other women-on-the-edge flicks of later years. And it’s a really juicy one, led by Tierney’s elegantly simmering performance, Leon Shamroy’s Oscar-winning cinematography and director John Stahl’s precisely composed set-ups. The film’s general story, natural settings and lustrous Technicolor give it the initial feel of a straight melodrama, but its overall mood and leading lady’s dangerous obsession (which remain potent until the final frame) land it squarely in noir territory. It was creeping up to 2:00 am when I powered down. One last look out the window revealed a still steady snowfall, prompting a sigh before I headed up the stairs to bed. Leave Her to Heaven’s sly noir posture disguised as melodrama might work on a windy, wintry night like this, but there’s nothing all that stylish about a morning-after session with a shovel, 18 inches of snow and nary a femme fatale in sight. 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.

The Road to Wellness Only 6 in 10 Americans say they will “definitely” or “probably” get a Covid-19 vaccine when it becomes available to them. What I want to know is where those other 4 Americans live. It’s definitely not here in Manhattan, where everyone is in a frenzy to get vaccinated. New Yorkers are pounding on their computers, and hitting the keys on their iPhones, trying to find a doctor’s office or pharmacy with a stash. But mirabile dictu, in the midst of this urban insanity, I got a vaccine last week. I triumphed in the Darwinian struggle now taking place in the United States, even though Lord knows it wasn’t the survival of the fittest. In fact, it was the survival of the luckiest. It’s therefore not surprising that I’ve developed a case of survivor’s guilt. A psychological condition, survivor’s guilt is a malady that sometimes afflicts people who have escaped death when others haven’t been that fortunate. It occurs among survivors of natural disasters like hurricanes and floods, as well as man-made disasters like wars. I have the pandemic strain: a severe case of vaccine guilt. Everyone who has escaped contracting Covid knows they’re damn lucky compared to the 400,000 Americans who have not made it. But my current discomfort is coming from the shame of having received a vaccine when millions of people are still scrambling to get one. Why me? Did I deserve it more? The truth is that I just lucked out. That is especially true because I dd not try as hard as many people. I had received texts from N.Y.U. and Mount Sinai hospitals, where two of my doctors are affiliated, saying that they had the vaccine and would be giving it out when the law allowed. Lord knows, I am as sick of being locked inside as the next person. But I assumed it would happen when it happened. So I was passive about the matter, religiously wearing my mask and socially distancing, but sure that my name would advance on the hospital lists. Then my niece Lisa, a fellow Upper West Sider, got into the act, and began to text me. Lisa has a generosity of spirit that is rare. Despite the fact that she is busy working full-time as a professor and raising three girls under the age of eight, she still has a strong impulse to help others. She also is aware that I’ve been barricaded at home most of the pandemic, because of an underlying medical condition and my senior status. Lisa started a text campaign at the beginning of January: “Wish we could have gotten you a vaccine for your birthday!!“ I thanked her, grateful for her concern, but paid little attention. But Lisa was just getting started. Last week, after a few other mentions, she inquired again whether I was trying to get a vaccine. I repeated by rote the names of the two hospitals whose vaccine lists I was on. But that wasn’t enough of an answer for my activist niece: Is anyone pushing for you at these places? And have you tried the sites you can look for openings yourself? May I can send you the links and/or keep checking for you? Unfortunately, many of the places are not in our neighborhood- only a few are. Apparently the 69th street urgent care will be getting vaccines but doesn’t have them yet. But that’s a site I’d keep checking! I robotically reiterated that I was confident, based on my communications with the two medical centers, that I am a serious contender . But I started to wonder—am I? Lisa popped up by text a day later: There are tons of appointments opening at places that one can sign up for online. Just wanted to make sure you knew— You could sign up for a slot easily without waiting for your docs. Let me know if you want me to send you links. Links would be great, I told her. It couldn’t hurt. Immediately, with professorial precision, she shot back another text: If you make a short profile at https://vaccinepod.nyc.gov/ it shows you lots of places with availability At that point, I gave in. Who could turn away such determined niecely enterprise? It was time to take the reins and shake off my complacent attitude. But as it turned out, I didn’t have time. Minutes later, I got an urgent email from my across-the-hall neighbor, Stephanie, a busy author. New York City apartment dwellers usually get low marks when it comes to concern about their neighbors; people live down the hall for decades from people whose names they don’t bother to learn. But Stefanie is the exception to the rule, as is my next-door neighbor Amy, who has run errands for me during the pandemic, knowing I wasn’t venturing outside. Stefanie’s rushed email read: Not sure if you qualify for the next group allowed to receive the vaccine in NY — and your own drs may be getting and have their own appt system — but wanted to share info we got from Craig’s mother. She spent yesterday making dozens of calls to all their drs and all area pharmacies, and the majority wouldn’t take their name or make any promises … but she was able to put their names on an appt list at both Wellness and Joseph’s Pharmacy on W. 72nd St for when they have vaccine in stock (hopefully next week). So just FYI, in case that’s useful to you. Had there been a front-page story in the New York Times about my inertia? Clearly, my relaxed attitude was out of sync with that of Type-A Upper West Siders. I decided to get my sorry ass into gear and do something. I took a baby step, and called the Wellness Pharmacy, just a few doors down from me. The pharmacist answered on the first ring and I gave him a spiel why I was a great candidate for one of his scarce vaccines. He put me on the store list. I called Joseph’s too, but the line was constantly busy. Two days later, I got a call from Wellness. Would I be available to come in for a vaccine the next day at 4 pm? Knock me over with a feather. You bet! The Geezer Brigade In his classic video “Andy,” my man Randy Rainbow swears his undying love for Andrew Cuomo, the charismatic governor of New York. Randy, never one for understatement, declares himself a “Cuomosexual.” Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far, but I too am sort of sweet on the Love Guv. After all, he deserves the ultimate vote of gratitude for me and some of my Boomer friends getting vaccines last week. On January 12, Cuomo expanded distribution of the already hard-to-find Covid-19 vaccines to people 65 and over. At his daily briefing, the Governor blamed the severe vaccine shortage in New York on the incompetent response by the Trump Administration: “Now we have 7 million people eligible, and we still have a drip, drip, drip from the faucet of federal dosage availability at 300,000.” I was soon to discover two days later, on January 14, what that short supply looked like on the ground. While my appointment at the Wellness Pharmacy was for 4 p.m., I started preparing for my half-block trip to the drugstore hours early. There was no way I was going to be late; it would be as unthinkable as leaving the Queen of England cooling her heels at Windsor Castle for 15 minutes while you took your sweet time getting there for tea. (Oh, President Trump did that in 2018? No offense meant.) Doug Dworkin, a stalwart Insider columnist and a fellow Upper West Sider, agreed to accompany me to the pharmacy and serve as the Insider photographer for the occasion. I nervously asked him a hundred times to meet me early to walk the half block for my appointment. During our walk over, I went bonkers. I was in a state that Jews describe in Yiddish as fertootsed—discombobulated to the max. As we walked down West 72nd Street, I almost came unglued, It wasn’t because of worry about the safety of the vaccine—I’m far more concerned about getting Covid than taking the shot itself. I was panicked by fear that the vaccines would run out just as we reached the doorway of the store. By then, having had the misfortune of witnessing my meltdown, Doug was undoubtedly wishing that he wrote for a different publication. When we approached Wellness Pharmacy, to our surprise, there was a line snaking out the door and down the street. Obviously, these would-be vaccinees had failed to make advance arrangements. I confidently strolled right in, assuming that my 4 p.m. appointment entitled me to roll up my sleeve at 3:59 p.m. Fuggedaboutit. It took 30 seconds for a cranky customer in the store to put me in my place. Blocking my way, he pointed defiantly at a woman sitting on a nearby bridge chair. “She’s 92. “I have a 4 pm appointment.” I replied politely, “So does she,” he answered sourly. “I’m 94.” Clearly, this was a country for old men. It turned out that everyone in the line had been told by the pharmacy that they had a 4 p.m. appointment! And even those with appointments in hand were being told to join the lengthening line outside. Oh, no, this was going to be another epic Manhattan competition. Calling Woody Allen! I meekly took my place outside. What followed was a quick descent into Geezer Hell. It was immediately evident that I wasn’t the only one coming apart at the seams. In front of us, there was an unruly rabble of neurotic New Yorkers, all 65 years and older, all sure that the person standing next to them was trying to steal their place in line. Although I have lived in New York City for 39 years, I’m still unnerved by hardcore native New Yorkers. By now, I’m probably as rude as they are, but my midwestern roots don’t provide me with as much protective covering as they have. My cowgirl nerves are still a little raw. So when bystanders started peppering us with resentful questions about why we were in line, I got even more uptight. A 50-something woman with a Yankee Stadium-size New York accent was particularly aggressive. “What’s the line for?” she demanded, looking accusingly right at me. I answered that we were getting vaccines by appointment. She reared back, as if to say “well, excuuuuuuse me,” like comedian Steve Martin. “I know that!,” she snarled and walked away in a huff. Don’t take it personally, lady, I muttered under my breath. And I hope you never get an appointment. Meanwhile, Doug, ever the conscientious photojournalist, was snapping pictures with his iPhone. “I would rather be standing on line at Pastrami Queen,” he quipped, referring to a popular new deli down the block where the locals lined up for overpriced $20 hot-pastrami-on-rye sandwiches. Well, Doug could afford to be more relaxed, since he literally had no skin in the game. I was the one in a battle-to-the-death with these pushy New Yorkers. Making matters worse, the pharmacy proceeded to hand out eight-page New York Government questionnaires to the unfortunates in the line. Clearly, they should have emailed them to us. I borrowed a pen from poor Doug, and awkwardly filled out the ungainly document against a store window. There were page after page of intrusive questions, many of them stupid and irrelevant to getting a Covid vaccine. The first question: “What sex were you assigned at birth? Male. Female. Intersex. Chose not to respond. Sexual orientation not listed (write-in).” I looked around to see whether there were any octogenarian transgenders in line. To be fair, everyone here was being subjected to the same unnecessary national vaccine rollout chaos. Plus, New Yorkers in congregate setting are famously prickly. And on top of it (with the exception of me, of course), this was a group of decrepit oldsters. Finally, we advanced inside, near the cash register, to the inner sanctum. It was hard to avoid the thought that this crowd represented a goldmine for the pharmacy. Ka-ching! As we listened to the clanking cash register, a man started talking about all of the money that the government had given to big Pharma to develop these vaccines. I casually chimed in that Donald Trump had given it to them, thinking of the substandard performance of Operation Warp Speed. The man cut me off, thinking that I had meant my remark as a compliment for our now-deposed president. It’s a hanging offense to compliment Trump anywhere in the United Socialist Republic of the Upper West Side. I quickly made amends and gave the obligatory anti-Trump sneer to clear things up,. The man relaxed, reassured that I also thought Trump was a monster. Landsmen again. He smiled. A Visitation by an Angel Two roads diverged in Wellness Pharmacy, and I was waved to the vaccine station on the left. A bridge chair had been set up for vaccinees in an aisle packed with Tide and Lysol. I had no time to think about the fact that I was sitting in a germ-filled store--a masked young woman was approaching me with a syringe full of Moderna in her right hand. Before she plunged the needle into my arm, I asked the nurse (the counter clerk?) what her name was. “Engy,” she replied. “It’s Arabic for angel.” I rolled up my sleeve and received the least dramatic shot of my life. The needle popped in effortlessly. I didn’t even feel a pinch. My Angel of Health! Engy handed me a card that said that my second dose would be administered on February 11. The line for February was probably already halfway down Broadway. Crazy thoughts filled my mind. What if there were a national shortage of Moderna vaccines by then? What if the owner of the pharmacy had snatched his millions from the cash register and gone to Boca Raton? What if Trump had stolen all of the vaccines on his way out the door? Meanwhile, Doug was furiously snapping photos on his iPhone. Unlike me, he had the presence of mind to ask Engy whether I should wait a little while before leaving, just in case I felt sick. “No,” she said firmly. “If you feel fine in a minute, you can leave.” A New York minute, instead of the prescribed 20 minutes. So that’s how the pharmacy managed to process a hundred curmudgeons a day. As we walked out the door, it occurred to me that no one had asked to see my Medicare card. Back on the street, I was overcome with a sense of relief. I was positively floaty. Mission accomplished! To celebrate, Doug and I stopped along the way at the outdoor annex of the ungrammatical Friedmans Restaurant (As a former copy editor, the lack of an apostrophe on their sign drives me nuts.) Since there is no inside dining now in New York City, restaurants have hastily constructed extensions for outside dining. This makeshift one reminded me of a sukkah for Sukkot, but it was airy and therefore healthier. Doug dug into a plate of vegetarian potstickers as I sat there with a cup of untouched coffee in a happy trance. When we left and crossed West 72nd Street, the 1-800-Popcorn.com truck shimmered like a mirage on the next corner. The vendor had prices like Pastrami Queen down the block, with a large box of popcorn running $6. I hesitated, but the beneficent owner of the truck, David Blackstone, gave me a large box of unbuttered popcorn at a reduced price. Another West 72nd Street angel! New York City was still magical, despite the pandemic. I wanted to throw my hat in the air like Mary Tyler Moore. I said goodbye to Doug, and went back to my apartment to shelter in place. That evening, I felt both giddy, and a little guilty that I had somehow mysteriously moved to the front of the line. That feeling would grow over the next few days, when I realized that I had no side effects whatsoever from the vaccine, not even a sore arm. But this was VE Day, and I was in a heightened state of Vaccination Elation. For the moment, I decided to enjoy my good fortune. I had a tasty box of popcorn for dinner and fell asleep, dreaming of my next dose.

By Michael McQuillan | January 25, 2021 | Harlem World Magazine “Life is a spark between two identical voids,” psychotherapist Irvin D. Yalom writes in Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death, “the darkness before birth and the identical one after death.” I side with him from adulthood, having paced among gravestones in Brooklyn’s Greenwood Cemetery where silence embraces what were once 570,000 vibrant lives. They compel us to live with foresight and compassion in our fleeting earthly time. No book or ballad, Senate bill, or people’s protest alone pierces the inertia of a political establishment that in the face of dire needs enshrines the status quo. Prosecution for the Capitol attackers plus forceful Biden action in FDR’s tradition of the “first one hundred days” is the least we must demand. In my twenties, I chafed at “Senatorial courtesy” shown to segregationist Mississippians John Stennis and James Eastland when I worked on Capitol Hill in the Seventies but it seemed the tide was turning. President Nixon had been forced from office for obstructing justice and abusing power before I reached Washington. Democrats controlled Congress after Watergate. Ford and Carter were decent men. It was but a honeymoon. Reagan’s military expansion and trickle-down tax laws tripled the deficit. He slashed social services and espoused “states’ rights” at the site of civil rights killings to court conservative southern Democrats. The National Conservative Political Action Committee ousted Senate liberals with two-year attack ad bombardments immune from campaign finance rules. We can’t bank on healing and bipartisan comity when materialism, militarism, and racism live with our pandemic and the accelerating climate change that Notre Dame Environmental Studies Professor Roy Scranton’s January 25th New York Times piece points out. Last year’s worst-ever wildfires and record-setting hurricane season make joining the Paris Accords of little import, he claims, since nations made voluntary agreements. The “radical action” Scranton calls vital clashes with Democrats’ calls for “healing” after the Trump insurrection; will President Biden and Senator Schumer soften measures for across-the-aisle aid (a flaw in Obama’s approach)? Passivity would seal our fate. Strong moral stands might save us. Seventeen years await me at 67, I trust, both parents having lived to their eighties. Mom broke hips in late-night falls as dementia set in, erasing her Italian and French culture interests but excising her rage at a hostile divorce, toward a soul-calming peace. Crohn’s Disease plagued Dad’s digestive tract, physically draining the once sturdy seaman who excelled at a career writing ad copy. He created the original “Winston Tastes Good Like a Cigarette Should” and “To be crisp a beer must be icily light, lively and golden, precisely right” Ballantine Beer campaigns, a disturbing legacy that valued products over people, he confessed in elder days. Eighteen months ago felt my time to retire from a nineteen-year career teaching history after a baker’s dozen in government. In classrooms, I’d grown in my craft discarding textbooks for primary sources, sowed academic rigor in a spirit of community, practiced what I preached about confronting injustice for two thousand students whom I taught from a bottom-up outlook. In a Zen Buddhist sense part of life’s process, I was not indispensable. I stepped aside to make sense of the world, writing stories – keyboard tapping, topsoil turning to excavate life experience for insight, forgiveness, resilience to share with searching readers. I explore the racism I at seventeen swore my generation would solve. Good and evil have always gone back and forth on a seesaw, I surmise. That injustice abounds confounds my old age. Police brutality against people of color seems more brazen, open, often. The New York Times reveals “the stock market is now tipping into outright euphoria despite a pandemic that has killed more than 300,000 people, put millions out of work and shuttered businesses around the country.” A record 20,210 homeless single adults plus 18,653 homeless children slept in New York City shelters in October 2020 according to the Coalition for the Homeless as the world’s richest nation squanders wealth and human life in Afghanistan and Iraq where George W. Bush and Dick Cheney’s endless War on Terror, allegedly to “export democracy.” Public parlance has a social impact. Commercial slogans like T-Mobile by Verizon’s “Rule your day!” and Etsy’s “Win your gifting!” feed primal needs for dominance. Note the imagery as soldiers “fight for freedom,” candidates “fight for the middle class.” My Congressional Representative, Jerry Nadler, is “on the front lines,” a “relentless defender,” “fierce advocate” and “fierce promoter,” his House website proclaims. Self-aggrandizing language is normal in politics. It implies that we are allies or enemies. It manifests the arrogance of power that would rather “build a brand” than bring people together. Even President-elect Biden, who speaks of bipartisanship and healing, in his election triumph speech cited “the battle to restore decency, defend democracy and give everyone in this country a fair shot.” How can we affirm the Declaration’s assertion of “unalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” toward the Constitution’s vision of “a more perfect union” when leaders speak of life itself as war? Michael McQuillan, former US Senate aide, and Peace Corps Volunteer taught history, coordinated the Crown Heights Coalition, and chaired the NYPD Training Advisory Council’s Race Subcommittee. He writes for Harlem World, History News Network, and The Write Launch (https://mcquillan-unity-forum.squarespace.com).

One film journalist’s stream-of-consciousness cinematic journey through the pandemic, Part 26 By Laurence Lerman If you haunted Manhattan's arthouse movie theaters back in the Seventies—I use the term haunted because they’re all ghosts now—then you probably caught a film by Alberto Grimaldi. The prolific Italian movie producer died of natural causes on Saturday, January 23, in Miami, at the age of 96. All in, Grimaldi produced more than 80 movies, the bulk of them in the late Sixties and Seventies, when many of the great bold-faced European filmmakers were making their most idiosyncratic work. Notably, the arrival of Grimaldi's films in America often marked the first exposure a new generation of homegrown cinephiles had to such undisputed Italian masters as Federico Fellini, Bernardo Bertolucci, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Gillo Pontecorvo, Sergio Leone, Phillippe de Broca and Sergio Citti. Another masterful Italian filmmaker, an American named Martin Scorsese, probably saw many of Grimaldi’s productions on New York’s arthouse screens decades before he would also find himself working with him. Grimaldi’s films were first screened in New York at a time when seeing the name of a foreign director on a movie marquee floating above a busy city sidewalk elicited a quiet but potent thrill. Back then, popping into such long-gone Upper West Side theaters as the Regency, the New Yorker, the Cinema Studio or the Embassy 72 St. Twin (among others) dangled the promise of something fresh and unconventional. Something exciting, sexy. Or maybe even scary. I was a young teenager in Jersey during those years but, even then, I got a charge out of reading the exotic titles fanning out across New York among the movie ads in the Village Voice that my dad used to bring home from the city. There was Fellini Satyricon (1969) and Casanova (1976); Bertolucci’s 1900; Citti’s Bawdy Tales (1973); De Brocca’s The Devil By The Tail (1970); and Pasolini’s titillating literary trilogy of The Decameron (1971), Canterbury Tales (1972) and Arabian Nights (1978), alongside Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975), his unnerving Fascist-era update of the Marquis de Sade’s 18th Century tome of the same name. All are Grimaldi productions, along with dozens of other sexed-up comedies, thrillers, documentaries, giallos, arthouse staples like Pontocorvo’s Burn! (1969) with Marlon Brando and curios like Dan Curtis’s lousy haunted mansion flick Burnt Offerings (1976), which was produced in America (when it probably never should have been made at all). My first encounter with Mr. Grimaldi probably came during the memorable opening credits sequences of a pair of his most unforgettable films. First off was the greatest Spaghetti Western ever produced, Leone’s transcendent The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, a 1966 masterwork that may have featured three American stars, but one that bled marinara through and through. Like other Italian oaters of the era, this one made it to Saturday afternoon TV relatively quickly back in the early Seventies, which is when I first saw it. I can actually remember first seeing “A Film Produced by Alberto Grimaldi” etched out in large black letters over a blood-red background during the film’s animated titles as Ennio Morricone’s landmark theme howled behind them. (Grimaldi also produced 1965’s excellent For a Few Dollars More, the second entry in Leone’s “Dollars Trilogy,” following 1964’s A Fistful of Dollars.) I also have a vivid memory of Grimaldi’s name on the opening crawl of what may have been his best known or, at least, most notorious film. “Alberto Grimaldi Presents” was in white lettering on a black background this time, at right center screen next to one half of Francis Bacon’s blazing 1964 “Double Portrait of Lucian Freud Frank Auerbach.” Set to Gato Barbieri’s slinky score, that was the startling opening image of Bertolucci’s 1972 Last Tango in Paris. It’s a movie that really got New York talking—albeit more about its content and director than its producer. It is worth noting that, immediately following that milestone, Grimaldi’s next production, though a bigger, costlier one, was the infinitely less controversial USA-Italian co-production Man of La Mancha (1972), a critical and commercial failure. The last feature Grimaldi produced before retiring was Scorsese’s 2002 Gangs of New York, the epic historical drama loosely adapted from Herbert Ashbury’s 1927 nonfiction book. The film’s credits list 16 producers, including big-time Hollywood players Graham King and Michael Ovitz, not to mention Harvey Weinstein, whose brusque interference in the film’s production has been frequently noted over the years. There’s no way of knowing what Grimaldi specifically brought to the lavish film, but I’d like to think he had a lot to do with the production’s large-scale sets, colorful costumes and extravagant design, which smack of his brand of sumptuous Italian cinema of the Seventies. Nearly 20 years later, those remain the best parts of the film. At a cost of $100 million, Gangs of New York was one of the most expensive films Grimaldi ever produced, a far cry from his first-ever production 40 years prior, the 1962 Spanish Western (or “Paella Western,” which is how were they were commonly referred to back then, if you can believe it) Shades of Zorro. But somewhere in between that long-forgotten zero-budgeter and his bank-busting final one, Alberto Grimaldi made a whole lot of films worth remembering. 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.

The GOP Knows How to Wield Its Power. Will Democrats Know How to Wield Theirs? By Jessie Seigel / Washington, D.C. Regardless of whether Republicans in the upper chamber are in the majority or minority, their leader, Senator Mitch McConnell, takes advantage of every opportunity to obstruct his opponents and advance his own goals. Bipartisanship is unknown to him, and consistency is of no importance—only pragmatism. McConnell’s bait-and-switch on Donald Trump’s impeachment trial—refusing to try Trump before he left office, and now maintaining it’s too late to do so because Trump is no longer President—is but the latest example of his perfidy. It is well known that McConnell, as Senate Majority Leader during the last year of Barack Obama’s presidency, prevented any consideration of Merrick Garland, Obama’s pick for the Supreme Court. Less remembered, perhaps, is that McConnell, as Minority Leader during the earlier years of Obama’s administration, also used his party’s power—the filibuster—to delay and block Obama’s appointments and legislative agenda. But when his party took power under the Trump Administration, McConnell changed the rules to make a key aspect of that same filibuster ineffective—permitting the Republicans to install Neil Gorsuch as a Supreme Court justice with a simple majority vote rather than the 60 votes generally required to overcome filibuster. Yet now, when Republicans are again in the minority, McConnell has tried to hold organization of the new Senate hostage to his bid for a guarantee that Democrats won’t eliminate the filibuster altogether. This would ensure it remains an available tool for Republican obstruction. McConnell even threatened to use the still-existing filibuster to delay a vote on the new Senate’s operating rules if he doesn’t get his way. Without passage of those rules, the newly constituted Senate couldn’t even pick new committee chairs. Because of this standoff, many new senators have not been added to committees; there have been gaps in the majority on some committees; and Republicans have still headed some of them. This lost time is crucial, hampering the Senate’s ability to move forward to address countless national crises. In addition, it has barely been three weeks since members of the Republican party backed a coup. But rather than hide their heads in shame, these members are brazenly trying to use procedural machinations to prevent Trump’s impeachment trial and sweep their complicity under the rug. Furthermore, adding insult to injury, the Republicans are already marshaling their public relations machine to twist President Biden’s call for unity to their advantage. They’ve complained that the Democrats are not making any “gestures” toward the minority or offering them concessions—as if that is how unity should be defined and they were the injured ones who should be appeased. Whatever else one might say of the Republican Party, it is never in short supply of chutzpah. And it certainly understands how to practice realpolitik. How are the Democrats responding to these tactics? Under Speaker Nancy Pelosi, the House of Representatives has taken a lead in everything from passing needed legislation to investigations of the Trump Administration’s malfeasance, and a second impeachment. So, the House will be left to one side in this consideration. To his credit, Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer has stood his ground concerning filibusters, refusing to give in to McConnell’s attempted extortion. On January 25, Schumer told Rachel Maddow that there were different things the Democrats could do to get around McConnell’s obstruction. When pressed for particulars, Schumer would only smile coyly, and repeat, “Stay tuned.” While Maddow and Schumer were mid-interview, word came that McConnell had announced he would drop his demand for his filibuster guarantee and accept Schumer’s proposal for Senate organization. But despite this victory, Schumer’s proposal gives McConnell too large an opening for continued mischief. Without even requiring McConnell to bargain for it, Schumer proposed adoption of the power-sharing agreement used in 2001, the last time the Senate was composed of 50 members from each party. Under that agreement, both party leaders would “seek to attain an equal balance of the interests of the two parties” in scheduling and considering Senate legislative business. Committees would have equal numbers of members from both parties. And members of either party could serve as presiding officers of the Senate. Usually, only senators from the majority party serve in that capacity. Such power sharing is fine if both sides come to it in with an honest intent to cooperate. But the partisan polarization, particularly on the Republican side, is far greater than it was in 2001. And given McConnell’s opening gambit, more of his obstruction can be expected. If a committee has an equal number of Democrats and Republicans, and there is a tie vote, could Republicans use the tie to block legislation from proceeding out of committee? Could a Republican use his or her turn as presiding officer to engage in political sabotage? Given these considerations, Schumer’s proposal gives away too much Democratic control. Schumer should take a lesson from McConnell and wield his power to the same degree McConnell would if their positions were reversed. As for the Republican whining that the Democrats have called for unity but are not providing it, the GOP interpretation of unity is as far from any dictionary definition as its claim about who won the election was from fact. Unity means being united, one in spirit, and acting together for a common purpose—as, for example: we need unity to fight COVID-19. Joe Biden pledged to be a president for all Americans, and to fight as hard for those who did not support him as for those who did. He has advocated that we talk with one another and listen to each other. His call for unity has been a radically welcome change from the abusive societal divisions cultivated by his predecessor. But appealing to all American citizens to work together in overcoming our many crises is quite different from pledging to find unity with a minority party by adopting its priorities or acceding to its demands. That is especially true if the minority party is riddled with obstructionists, insurrectionists, and silent fellow travelers whose goal, based on past and current performance, is not to govern but to climb back into power and keep it—whether by hook, by crook, by voter suppression or even by violence. Biden needs Democrats to respond loudly to the twisting of his message lest his meaning be redefined as the Republicans are now trying to do. And the President needs to be prepared to pass his program without Republicans on board. One must hope that though Biden, a decent man, is speaking softly, he is also carrying the proverbial big stick. We need Chuck Schumer to be the tough Democratic leader who will use his power to the same degree as McConnell has done. This includes having his Majority Whip, Dick Durbin, mobilize Democratic unity on important issues, getting those who would stray to fall in line. It also necessitates that Democrats stop being so diplomatic and speak the plain, harsh truth about their opponents—who have no scruples against lying about them. In a January 21 interview on MSNBC’s “Morning Joe,” journalist Anand Giridharadas said, “I actually think there is a huge problem in this country of only the bad guys having fight in them. You don’t want a society where only the people who want to do harm understand themselves to be in a battle.” On his blog, The Ink, Giridharadas argued that to win that battle, “We have to be willing to fight those people tooth and nail, and we have to fight to win.” Joe Scarborough, a former hardline Republican who served in Congress, knows how his former party operates. On his January 21 “Morning Joe” program, Scarborough said that Republicans have a fighting mindset; that they see themselves in a battle for the soul of America and they live that battle 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Scarborough said that was how he thought when he ran for Congress and that’s how Democrats have to start thinking. Scarborough is right. Democrats—from President Biden to Majority Senate Leader Schumer to every Democrat in the Senate—need to toughen up. They don’t need to fight dirty like many Republicans do, but they do need to start thinking like them. Because we need more than prudent, judicious statesmanship. Democrats must stand their ground and fight this battle for the soul of America with every nonviolent weapon at their disposal. Survival of our democracy depends upon it. Jessie Seigel is a fiction writer, 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. She has twice received an Artist’s Fellowship from the DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities for her work. But, Seigel also had a long career as a government attorney, in which she honed her analytic skills. Of this double career, Seigel would say, “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 Alan Resnick Competence is soothing. It’s disciplined and controlled, rather than unbridled and chaotic. It is calming and reassuring, rather than distressing and petrifying. And while not necessarily entertaining, competence can be very refreshing, depending on what has preceded it. But competence can also be boring, and I’m feeling a little bit bored after President Biden’s first week in office. He certainly has done nothing wrong in my eyes, and the political pundits that I follow seem to feel that his administration has “hit the ground running.” But it’s been done without the tumult and bombast that we’ve experienced if not come to accept as normal over the last four years. Compassion isn’t flamboyant. It demonstrates empathy and caring rather than indifference and callousness. It is other-directed rather than inner-directed. And it is perceptive and sensitive rather than emotionally tone deaf. On the eve of their inauguration, President Biden and Vice President Harris led the nation in a brief service of national mourning for the more than 400,000 of our fellow citizens who have lost their lives to COVID-19. It was restrained, respectful, and elegant, and I found myself far more moved than I anticipated, given that I have not lost a friend or loved one to this horrific disease. This small, dignified ceremony communicated more sympathy for the grieving families in 20 minutes than had been demonstrated in the ten months since the time the pandemic was first identified. Treating others as responsible adults is a sign of respect. It involves being honest, rather than lying or offering alternative facts. It involves sharing uncomfortable truths rather than shielding your constituency from reality or engaging in magical thinking. And it involves taking ownership for formidable situations rather than sloughing the blame off on others. President Biden has devoted a significant amount of his first week in office to the pandemic raging around the world. He has not sugar-coated the fact that it is likely more than half a million Americans will die from coronavirus by the end of February. He has stated a clear objective that there will be more 150 million doses of vaccine available in the first 100 days of his administration. And on January 21, his office published “The National Strategy for the COVID-19 Response and Pandemic Preparedness,” a 200-page document that lists seven goals and plans for how they will be achieved. The first goal? “Restore Trust with the American People.” Science isn’t terribly riveting. It involves data and formulas and probabilities and false positives and false negatives and double-blind testing and placebos, rather than much simpler ideas like ingesting hydroxychloroquine, punching back a gallon of Clorox, or cracking a glow-stick and using it as a suppository. And listening to a scientist explain a bar graph or pie chart can be pretty dull, compared to the prattle of a politician or former reality TV host. As part of the strategy outlined for restoring trust with the American people, the President’s new Covid-19 report states: “The federal government will conduct regular, expert-led, science-based public briefings and release regular reports on the state of the pandemic.” Dr. Anthony Fauci has re-emerged, and can now be seen standing at the podium sharing information and fielding questions from reporters. Neither President Biden nor Vice President Harris are in the background hovering over him. White House press briefings are intended to keep citizens abreast of key happenings in the federal government, or at least they were prior January 20, 2017. The White House Press Secretary’s Office provides daily briefings for the media on the president’s actions and agenda. The press, in turn, is expected to disseminate this information to the American public. Kayleigh McEnany, President Trump’s fourth press secretary, held her first press conference on the afternoon of May 1, 2020, a mere 417 days after the last formal press briefing. During her introduction to the media, an AP reporter inquired: “Will you pledge to never lie to us from that podium?” McEnany replied: “I will never lie. You have my word on that.” And so the lying began, continuing in the grand tradition established by her predecessors, Sean Spicer, Sarah Sanders, and Stephanie Grisham. Under the previous administration, what were traditionally civil events morphed into World Wrestling Federation cage matches, with the mutual distrust and contempt that each party held for the other palpable. Jen Paski is President Biden’s new press secretary. She held her first press briefing on January 20, the day that the President was sworn in, and has held one each weekday since. “I have deep respect for the role of a free and independent press,” she announced. “We have a common goal, which is sharing accurate information with the American people.” In covering this briefing, the New York Times commented: “Ms. Psaki dodged questions she didn’t want to answer and engaged on the ones she did. The takeaway: A calm, boring press briefing wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.” Staffing decisions for the Executive Office of the President and for the Cabinet, while tedious and time-consuming, are essential to any administration success. They involve identifying individuals with past experience and expertise, rather than opting for family members, individuals who have made large campaign donations, or people who “look the part” such as former Secretary of State Rex Tillerson. They require choosing individuals whose primary allegiance is to the Constitution, rather than to their father, father-in-law, or boss. They demand selecting individuals who will respectfully challenge your thinking, rather than merely agreeing with you or parroting back what you want to hear. And they necessitate finding people who view loyalty as reciprocal, rather than something that is given but is not returned. Some of these positions are appointed, like the White House Chief of Staff, Ron Klain, who previously served as chief of staff to Vice President Al Gore during the Clinton administration and to Biden during his tenure as Vice President. Other positions, like those comprising the Cabinet, require Senate confirmation, a process currently in progress. All nominees appear to be well-qualified for their roles as well as people with whom Biden trusts based on personal experience. Perhaps this is just a continuation of the “swamp,” or of Washington insiders selecting other Washington insiders for key government positions. But if these nominees and appointees are swamp creatures, they strike me as more akin to those found in a petting zoo on a rustic farm, rather than the previous menagerie of miscreants, mutants, and misfits typically found in a chicken-wire exhibition pen behind an off-brand gas station off an Interstate exit ramp in Florida. It’s far too early to predict how successful President Biden will be, but competence, compassion, truthfulness, science, civil pressers, and an experienced and capable Oval Office staff strike me as a fine set of building blocks. It hasn’t been flashy, but I’m good with what I’ve seen after one week. Alan Resnick is an industrial psychologist with over 40 years of professional experience. He and his wife are sheltering at home in Farmington Hills, Michigan. He is passing the time by cooking, exercising, catching up on friends’ recommendations of must-see TV and writing.