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By Judi Markowitz / Huntington Woods, Mich. Forty-seven years ago, when I was pregnant with my first child, I bought a Jenny Lind highchair. This is no ordinary, run of the mill highchair. The legs, back and sides are distinctive. They are fashioned in the shape of turned spindle posts, better known as spools. The solid, warm oak finish was also a selling point. The moment I laid my eyes on this fine piece of furniture in 1979, I knew it would be a keeper. My four children and nine grandchildren have all enjoyed a hearty meal or snack in this beloved chair. It was my one and only. When I purchased it, I didn’t have a clue about the history of this product. I only knew that it was different from the other highchairs I had perused in various stores. Throughout the years, I became curious about  its distinctive style, and I began to do some research. I soon learned where the name came from. You might say that Jenny Lind was the Taylor Swift of her day. A Swedish soprano opera singer, Lind was one of the first international celebrities. In 1850, initially under the wing of showman P.T. Barnum, Lind began a 93-concert tour of America and created a sensation. Her name and likeness appeared on everything from razors, combs, and colognes to paper dolls, sausages, cigars and hats…and even highchairs. It was reported that President Lincoln slept on a Jenny Lind bed. (Never mind that this style of furniture had been crafted since the 16th century — first by hand and then by steam power.) To this day Jenny Lind continues to be a popular name for cribs, changing tables, dressers, bed frames, and other models that are in demand. Well-built pieces can take on a life of their own and endure the punishment doled out by children. My three rambunctious sons were known to bang on the tray of the highchair tirelessly with their spoons and bowls. They would also stand up and climb out of the highchair when they were less than two years old — much to my chagrin. Lindsay, my oldest, was the first in a long line to enjoy the prestigious highchair. Lindsay has special needs and I was simply elated that she could sit upright and manage to daintily pick up small food items. At times I had to place an extra rolled up towel in the chair to ensure she didn’t lean to one side. However, the boys used the highchair as their base of operation. Todd relentlessly pounded on the tray with his cars and trucks. A large model of Cookie Monster also had to adorn the highchair. Todd’s meals were secondary to play, so he ate quickly and then was on to other endeavors. Chad was the notorious green bean thrower. They were his preferred tool, along with other vegetables. He would toss his food across the kitchen table and take perfect aim at our faces. Chad was quickly relegated to a corner, a few feet away from the table, where his food couldn’t hit us. However, as Chad grew, his aim became better — practice makes perfect. Eventually, Chad stopped this annoying behavior. When it was Eli’s turn to take up residence in the beloved highchair, he immediately began to rock the chair from side to side. I thought he was going to hit the floor, chair and all. Eli loved his meals. He would surround his food with matchbox cars and make sounds like he was revving the engine. Smashing the cars into each other and then pounding them into the tray was his favorite form of entertainment. After each child’s time was up in the highchair, and they were ready to join us at the kitchen table, I would then refinish the wooden tray for the next round. I sanded, stained and brushed on polyurethane in order to bring the chair back to life. After Eli outgrew the highchair, I placed it in our basement and covered it up. It sat waiting for new customers for 18 years when our first granddaughter, Shoshana Leiba, was born in 2008. As more grandchildren joined the family, a long line of occupants continued to keep the highchair in action. Interestingly, there are no safety features other than a removable strap connecting the tray to the seat of the highchair. It easily snaps in place. This simple method was used to ensure that a child did not slip through the chair onto the floor. Only one of my grandchildren performed this feat, fortunately with no visible damage to him. By today’s standards this highchair would have been an outcast. There are so many bells and whistles on the latest models that an instructional manual is needed to help with securing and then removing various straps. Before grandchild No. 8 was born, my daughter-in-law, Alex, was gifted a lovely, modern-style highchair by her parents. It had a harness type strap system that appeared to be user friendly — that is until I was watching Ezra, our grandson. I placed Ezra in the chair, secured the straps and pushed in the clasps. However, when it was time to take him out, the process eluded me. After numerous frustrating attempts to locate the clasps and release them, I had to call Alex for instructions — definitely not my finest moment. My trusty highchair is currently being used by Eden, grandchild No. 9. She eats her food with precise fine motor skills and isn’t bent on destroying the tray. However, she has a good time while crumbling crackers and rice cakes. The grand finale of Eden’s meals is when she sweeps the deck of the tray onto the floor. I might not have to refinish the tray after this child, but my floor cleaning skills have greatly improved! I truly look forward to more occupants gracing the Jenny Lind highchair. If it continues on its present journey, one day it will evolve from a vintage piece of furniture to an antique. However, more years have to pass for that to come to fruition. I hope to be around to see my great grandchildren sitting in the highchair. I will certainly be an antique by then as well! Judi Markowitz is a retired high school English teacher of 34 years. She primarily taught twelfth grade and had the pleasure of having her three sons grace her classes. In addition, she taught debate, forensics, and Detroit film. Judi has four adult children and nine wonderful and energetic grandchildren. She is married to Jeffrey Markowitz, whom she met in high school. They now spend much of their time running around with their grandkids.  The View from Four Foot Two  is Judi’s first book.

By Susan Senator / Boston Autistic Barbie has a certain degree of grace as well as a dreamy look Autistic Barbie? At first, I thought it was a joke. After all, on Facebook, I had recently come across a fake, an AI rendition of Menopausal Barbie, which had been hacked together by my new friend Elizabeth Bennett of West Sussex, England. Menopausal Barbie came complete with doughy belly, estrogen pills and wine—and seven fingers. “I adored Barbie as a kid, Still got them!” Bennett wrote back to me. But Autistic Barbie is a real thing. Mattel, Inc. had already provided us with decades of specialized Barbies, from the 1960’s Julia, a Black Barbie careerwoman (dressed as a nurse), to Doctor Barbie, Pregnant Barbie, and Teacher Barbie. Now, in the age of inclusion and identity politics, Autistic Barbie is the latest in the Barbie “Fashionista” line, comprised of Barbies with every kind of challenge imaginable: Down Syndrome Barbie, Type I Diabetes Barbie, Prosthetic Leg Barbie. Barbie has certainly come a long way since 1959, when she was born a fully formed woman doll, the brainchild (brainwoman?) of Ruth Handler, a co-founder of toy giant Mattel, Inc. Handler apparently wanted a different kind of doll for her daughter Barbara than the usual baby doll, a toy that could help little girls imagine and fantasize about what it would be like to be grown up. But what sort of grown-up was Barbie? The doll has  been long reviled by some who feared her message was that the good life had nothing to do with who you were inside or how good a person you were;  rather, the important thing was to look a certain way in order to have the life of your dreams. And not many of us could actually look that way—that tiny waist, the voluptuous bosom, the bright blue eyes and long legs? Might as well have seven fingers. With all the pushback, Mattel wised up and began creating different sorts of Barbies, so that they could now sell the idea that not everyone was white and ball-gown bound, and that was okay. We could be studious, have a disability and still wear fabulous clothes, drive hot pink sports cars and go on dates with Ken, the male-ish version of Barbie. People used to laugh at Ken because of his smooth, penis-free crotch. Back when Ken came on the scene in the 1960s, no one even said “penis,” let alone had a doll with one. But now we try to avoid body-shaming—and that should include Ken. Mattel was truly thinking outside the pink plastic box when they came up with the Fashionista dolls in 2009. They consulted with major advocacy organizations to garner just the right features and accessories to make them identifiable to children with differences. The Autistic Self Advocacy Network, ASAN, advised Mattel on Autistic Barbie, suggesting she have accessories like an assistive communication device, a fidget toy to calm restless fingers, and headphones so that Barbie could block out disturbing sounds, and even flexible wrists and elbows so that she could “stim”—the term for the hand-flapping behavior common to autistic people. The author and her autistic son Nat bake together on Saturdays I have to confess that I was annoyed when I first saw Autistic Barbie. My oldest son Nat is profoundly autistic, meaning that he has significant cognitive challenges, difficult behaviors, and requires support and oversight 24/7. When I saw the headphones and the fidget toy I grumbled, “Nat is nothing like that.” But that is a very old feeling, resentment of a world that was clueless about someone like Nat; as usual people who are profoundly autistic like Nat have once again been sidelined in favor of the more public face of autism, the “high-functioning” charming and quirky people you see in shows like The Good Doctor and Extraordinary Attorney Woo . My sweet Nat would have simply chewed on Autistic Barbie’s feet before discarding her and playing with the box she came in. But I took a closer look. And I realized, as always, there are more commonalities between autistics like Nat and the autistic characters like the Extraordinary Attorney Woo than differences. I reminded myself that the term “high functioning” is not actually valid or helpful, because even though it implies an ability to work, talk to people, and outwardly function independently, this more “normal” appearing autism can still come with very difficult behaviors, language challenges, and deep mental health issues. Furthermore, anyone on the spectrum may benefit from assistive technology communication support, including people with profound autism. Perhaps Mattel is onto something important here. An elaborate Barbie cake baked by the author Autistic Barbie wears headphones, and needs support with communicating, as do most of Nat’s profoundly autistic peers. Autistic Barbie, presumably sensory-challenged with highly sensitive skin, wears plain, no-nonsense clothes and eschews the iconic high stiletto heels of her predecessors for comfy flats. And just like Autistic Barbie would do, many autistic people I know cannot tolerate labels on their clothing or certain material against their skin. Nat rips the labels off all of his clothes the moment he gets them—most of his shirts have holes in the back from his sensory-defensive zeal. And of course, Autistic Barbie’s flexible stim-possible arms are pure genius and universal to the spectrum. Someone like Nat might not play with Autistic Barbie. But others will. And as long as there are some children who light up when they recognize themselves in the doll, it's a win. I asked my 88-year-old father, a long-time educator, what he thinks of it and he pointed out that playing with Autistic Barbie could even teach non-autistic kids empathy. If nothing else, she helps put autism on the map, and she makes the atypical familiar. Autistic Barbie will certainly help some children feel seen and validated. And that is a lot of good for just 12 bucks. Now, Mattel: How about that Menopausal Barbie? Susan Senator is an author, blogger and journalist living in the Boston area with her husband Ned Batchelder. They have three sons, the oldest of whom is 36 and has profound autism.  Ms. Senator is the author of Making Peace With Autism as well as The Autism Mom’s Survival Guide and Autism Adulthood: Insights and Creative Strategies for a Fulfilling Life . A journalist since 1997, she has a column in Psychology Today , and she has published many pieces on parenting, autism, and living happily, in journals like the New York Times , Time magazine, the Washington Post , the Boston Globe , and NPR. Senator has appeared as a guest on “The Today Show,” MSNBC, ABC News, PBS, NPR and CNN. She has been a Barbie fan her entire life.

By Laurence Lerman / New York City His aim is true: Glen Powell ups the ante in How to Make a Killing SCREEN TIME How to Make a Killing arrives with the quiet confidence of a filmmaker who knows exactly what kind of trouble he wants to stir up. Written and directed by John Patton Ford—who broke through with 2022’s nervy, morally unnerving Emily the Criminal —the film is a blackcomedy thriller that wears its inspirations lightly and its cynicism like a tailored coat. A modern, satirical reimagining of Robert Hamer’s 1949 British comedy classic, Kind Hearts and Coronets , Ford here reframes the original film’s more genteel approach to murder for the current cultural moment in which civility is increasingly transactional—and often strategic. Glen Powell stars as Becket Redfellow, an intelligent-enough working-class man who learns that he was disowned at birth by his obscenely wealthy familyto make sure that he remains invisible over the decades. Following the death of his mother, Becket becomes obsessed with the belief that his rightful place is among the elite and that the Redfellow family's $28 billion fortune belongs to him. After learning the Byzantine rules that govern the inheritance, Becket realizes that only a long line of distant relatives stands between him and a life he feels he was denied. What begins as idle fantasy—mentally rearranging the family tree—slowly hardens into a murderous design. Dennis Price and Alex Guiness in Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949) Ford structures the film as a meticulous descent. Becket ingratiates himself into the orbit of his unsuspecting relatives, learning their habits, their secrets, and the structural blind spots created by privilege and power. One death, framed as an accident, opens the door to another—each one cleaner, colder, and more carefully justified than the last. The tension doesn’t come from the question whether Becket will get caught, but from how easily the world appears to accommodate his crimes. Authority figures accept his explanations. Money smooths the edges. Violence becomes administrative. Powell’s performance is the film’s sharpest instrument. This is easily his most challenging role to date, a deliberate pivot away from the heroic swagger and rom-com affability that have defined the bulk of his work. He plays the character as someone who understands exactly how he’s perceived—and knows how to weaponize that perception, even as his feelings begin to shift as the body count rises. There’s no catharsis here, no easy likability. Powell plays the role as a man discovering, to his own surprise, that he’s quite good at this—each success cultivating the character’s edge and turning the sheer audacity of the enterprise into something wickedly satirical. Margaret Qualley puts her best legs forward He’s surrounded by a supporting cast that deepens the film’s sense of moral rot. Bill Camp brings his usual gravitas to a role that suggests institutional complicity without ever spelling it out; Ed Harris looms with a quiet authority that hints at old power structures refusing to die gracefully. The ubiquitous Margaret Qualley injects volatility, emotional ambiguity and suggestiveness as Becket’s childhood friend who spurs on his actions. Topher Grace, meanwhile, proves once again that he’s at his best when playing characters whose friendliness masks something far less benign. Ford’s direction is precise and unsentimental. He avoids overly stylistic flourishes in favor of a clean, observational approach that allows the humor to emerge from contrast: polite conversation against brutal outcomes, professional decorum and language used to justify deeply personal vendettas. The laughs, when they come, are uncomfortable—recognition laughs, not release laughs. Glen Powell settles in That discomfort places How to Make a Killing squarely within the context of our contemporary era saturated with conspiracy theories, institutional distrust, and rising anxieties about authoritarianism. Dark comedy has become a preferred lens for examining power and resentment, with films like The Roses , Bugonia , Sam Raimi’s survival thriller Send Help , and even recent horror-tinged entries like Barbarian and Weapons suggesting a collective fascination with systems breaking down. Ford’s film fits neatly into that lineage, zeroing in on people willing to exploit that breakdown for personal gain. There’s something fitting about How to Make a Killing emerging just after the January theatrical release doldrums, as winter drags on and awards season gears up for its mid-March Oscars crescendo. It feels like a clearing of the throat—a reminder that prestige doesn’t have to be solemn, and that satire can be as incisive as drama when it’s aimed correctly. Glen Powell and co-star Jessica Henwick make a funereal gesture   At heart, Ford hasn’t made a film about murder so much as one about permission—who’s allowed to break the rules, and who finally decides to stop caring about them. As in the successful Knives Out series, there’s a gleeful “eat the rich” streak running through How to Make a Killing as we watch an outsider dismantle a closed ecosystem one impeccably timed move at a time. That this fantasy is carried out by someone who looks like Glen Powell only deepens the satire, turning charm itself into a kind of weapon. And the film doesn’t ask for sympathy; it offers recognition—and the guilty pleasure of watching the knife twist. Laurence Lerman is a film journalist and a former editor of Video Business -- Variety's digital media trade publication. Over the course of his four-decade career, he has conducted one-on-one interviews with just about every major filmmaker working today, from Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino and Clint Eastwood to Kathryn Bigelow, Bernardo Bertolucci, and Werner Herzog. Most recently, he is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of the online review site  DiscDish.com , the founder and curator of  FilmShul.com , a multi-part presentation on the history of Hollywood and Jewish America, and a commentator on various 4K UHD and Blu-ray home entertainment releases.

By Bonnie Fishman / San Francisco Bay Area Bonnie zhuzhing the top of a chocolate cheesecake to give it some flare I first heard the word “zhuzh” back in 2003 on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy , a TV program on which five gay men who specialized in fashion, home decor, food, grooming and culture offered advice for heterosexual men. It was a most entertaining series, watching the experts zhuzh this and zhuzh that. Zhuzh (rhymes with “whoosh.”) means “to make something more interesting or attractive by changing it slightly or adding something to it,” according to the Cambridge Dictionary. Less formally, it means to make something peppier, brighter or more balanced. The word had its origin in the British gay community in the 1970s. Unbeknownst to me, I’ve been zhuzhing my whole culinary career. I just never had a word for it. My first exposure to zhuzhing food happened at the Cordon Bleu Cooking School in London in 1975. The instructors were going around the room that day, sampling everyone’s minestrone. When they stopped and tasted mine, they said it had an excellent touch of salt and pepper. I had zhuzhed the flavors perfectly! Salt and pepper can make all the difference in the world when cooking. Just because I emphasize these doesn’t mean I’m looking to make a dish salty or spicy . Salt in particular brings out the inherent flavors of food. I really notice this in a salad or the dressing for that matter. Without the proper harmony, the taste can fall flat.  I make salad for lunch almost every day. When I’m finishing the preparation, I add an extra squeeze of lemon or a sprinkle of sea salt or a grind of pepper to get the right equilibrium of flavors.  I often mix in arugula with the lettuce to achieve that bitter taste. Lastly, I’ll add fruit–oranges, strawberries, apples, or raisins–to give it sweetness. I just love watching judges on Top Chef comment on, say, a fish sauce and declare that “the dish needs more brightness (zhuzh), like citrus.” They’re looking for balance of the five basic tastes: sweet, sour, salt, bitter and umami. According to the Cordon Bleu website: "Umami can be hard to pin down, but it’s the inherent savory notes in soy sauce, mushrooms, oysters and many cheeses.” Think of umami as “earthy,” These five flavors can appear in a single meal. The ultimate zhuzh for food, in my opinion, would have to be edible gold leaf, something I never really explored before I had the good fortune to meet Lynn Neuberg of Los Angeles. She is one of the largest wholesalers of edible gold in North America. In fact, Lynn has been credited with bringing it into the 21st century. Sur la Table was her first retailer, Wolfgang Puck used her gold at the Academy Awards Governor’s Ball in 2003, and she was featured in House & Garden magazine. Her business took off from there. You can see Lynn’s products at easyleafproductsfood.nnigroup.com . Gold leaf sheets with tweezers for application Gold was very popular during the Renaissance when presented in a meal. It was a sign of respect to guests and, of course, wealth. Lynn tells me that the gold now is used to enhance the appearance of cocktails as much as it is to garnish food. It comes in sheets, leaves, or dusting powder. Gold can only be consumed if it’s 23 or 24 carats. This grade passes through your digestive system without any harm. Lesser carats have other alloys which may be detrimental to the body. A cocktail rimmed with gold dust Without gold leaf––– and with gold leaf added I personally zhuzh on a more pedestrian level. For dessert or some fruit tray, I might garnish with fanned strawberries. For savory dishes, a sprinkle of chopped parsley on a bowl of soup or pasta brings the visuals to life. Flavor-wise, tasting is the best way to know what’s missing, if anything. Does it need more acid, or heat, or salt? The slightest tweak can make all the difference in the world. “Tweezer” foods create the ultimate zhuzh. These are fancier dishes where tweezers are used for delicate garnish or ingredient applications. Pre-zhuzhing After zhuzhing with raspberries and fresh mint The recipe for today, Orange and Beet Salad with Pickled Fennel, is a great example of zhuzhing both visually and taste-wise. The dish has sweet, sour, salt, and heat. The sweet comes from the beets and oranges. The sour comes from an acidic dressing and pickled fennel. The heat comes from peppery arugula and fresh ground black pepper. We get salt from both the goat cheese and proper seasoning. Decoratively, the food is arranged in a pretty pattern with tossed arugula in the center. The top is garnished with the fennel and crumbled goat cheese on top. Let’s “gild the lily” here and add pomegranate seeds. This cheerful salad is great served on a brunch or lunch buffet or as a starter salad at dinner when plated on individual plates. Zhuzh away! Beet Orange Salad with Pickled Fennel      Yield:  6-8 servings Salad: 4 medium beets, (@ 1 1/2 lbs.) 6 Cara Cara or navel oranges 4 cups 1/2” thick sliced romaine lettuce (crosswise) 2 c. finely shredded arugula 3-4 oz. goat or feta cheese 1/3 c. pomegranate seed Pickled Fennel: 1 fennel bulb, stalks and core removed, cut in half top to bottom, slice thin 1/2 c. rice vinegar 1/2 c. water 1/2 c. sugar 1 garlic clove, peeled and sliced 1/4 tsp. fennel seeds 1/8 tsp. black peppercorns 1/8 tsp. yellow mustard seeds Citrus Dressing: 2 Tbsp. grated orange zest 2 Tbsp. grated lemon zest 1/4 c. fresh lemon juice 1/2 c. extra virgin olive oil 1 tsp. coarse ground black pepper 1/2 tsp. salt Make dressing: Put all ingredients in a clean jar. Shake well before mixing with the salad greens. Moisten the lettuce. Save the rest for another use. Pickle fennel: Put the pickling ingredients in a 2-quart saucepan. Boil for 3 minutes. Remove from heat. Mix in fennel until completely submerged. Cool completely, about 30 minutes. Store in a clean glass jar in the fridge. Beets: Cover with salted water in a saucepan. Boil until tender, about 45 minutes. When cool, cut the stem and root ends off, then peel. Slice beets into 1/8” circles. Oranges: Remove the rind and pith from the oranges. Slice into 1/4” circles. Assemble: On a large flat platter or individual salad plates, line the dishes with lettuce. Arrange the beets and oranges around in concentric circles, overlapping evenly.  Scatter some fennel on top of the beets and oranges. Put some fennel in the middle of the plate. Crumble the cheese and distribute on the fennel. Sprinkle with pomegranate seeds. Pickled fennel stored in a jar.             Remove the orange peel using a sharp knife working away from you.   Slice romaine lettuce crosswise in 1/2” pieces.             Finely shred arugula. Arrange the beets and oranges in concentric circle atop the lettuce. Embellish the salad with scattered fennel and goat cheese. 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 Jessie Seigel / Washington, D.C. Originally appeared in My Washington Whispers on Feburary 12, 2026 Pro-democracy leaders and mainstream media need to stop being so afraid to use language that plainly states the nation’s situation as it is. They simply must stop using euphemisms that suggest the Trump regime’s positions could have any legitimacy to be debated. Accordingly, I issue the following directives: Calling ICE “Federal agents?” –NO! Stop saying that “ICE federal agents” are “untrained,” or “badly trained”—as if proper training would cure their lawlessness. Stop calling their actions “bush league policing”—as if they were incompetent rather than deliberately malevolent. Stop giving them the dignity of equating them with police. They are not.  In fact, stop calling ICE operatives federal agents. Have they ever presented any identification—any proof that they have taken an oath of office? They certainly have not abided by any oath to the Constitution, which they violate at every opportunity. Also stop saying that ICE has used “excessive force.”  “Excessive” suggests they have the legal right to use force but just used too much. ICE’s use of force is illegitimate; illegal; criminal. Those are the words that properly describe their actions. They are thugs who have simply been given the title “federal agent” by the Trump regime.  They have been chosen to do exactly what they are doing: kidnap, imprison, beat and kill observers. And they do so while hiding their faces so they cannot be identified and prosecuted for their crimes. They are not legitimate federal law enforcement. They are Trump’s Brown Shirts, sent to wreak havoc and destruction. For commentators to speak of poor training is to pretend that there is an intent on the part of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) to have its ICE operatives do a legal job in a legal manner. To pretend that  is to aid and abet the Trump regime’s lie about their illegal purpose.    “Overreach?” –Wrong Word. According to the Cambridge dictionary, to “overreach” is to fail by trying to do more than you can manage, or to do more than your authority allows. But in the context of our nation’s current politics, to say the Trump regime has overreached is to suggest it will fail or be stopped—by the Congress, or the courts—and will correct its inappropriate misstep. But Trump’s administration is not merely overstepping its authority. The Republicans who control Congress have refused to use their power to stop so-called overreach. And though some courts have handed down decisions against the Trump regime’s actions, it is going forward regardless of any court determinations to the contrary, legal authority be damned. In the current situation, “overreach” is too mild a term. Instead, state plainly that Trump and his crew are breaking the law. Crushing the law. Stomping on the Constitution as if it did not exist.   “Accountability?” –No. Investigation. Prosecution. Punishment. What does accountability look like? Who decides? The word is too general. Instead, use the specific terms appropriate to the actions one is addressing. For example, if a lawyer’s ethical violations are in question, reference investigation for disbarment—not just “holding him or her accountable.” If someone may have committed a crime, don’t call for them to be “held accountable.” Call for them to be investigated, prosecuted and, if found guilty, punished for the crime.   Miscellaneous Misnomers One would hope, by now, that no pro-democracy speaker would be referring to lies as “alternative facts,” or disinformation as “misinformation” but I have heard some commentators use those terms. THINK. STOP. PLEASE. Commentators also tend to wring their hands over the creation of “distrust in institutions.” But the problem is not the distrust  in institutions. The problem is the destruction  of institutions. Under such circumstances we should not trust our institutions. We need to correct the destruction so that they will again be trustworthy. And as for the effect of events on the coming 2026 election… Stop handicapping the horse-race. Stop weighing whether what Trump has ICE doing is “politically disastrous” or whether the “optics” are very bad—as if the important thing were not the evil actions, but how they look. The survival of democracy is not a sport. Stop treating it as if it were one.   Jessie Seigel’s journalistic career began with the political Washington Whispers column, written for The Insider . Since The Insider ended its run in 2023, Seigel has continued the column as My Washington Whispers, www.mywashingtonwhispers.com . In addition, Seigel has had a long career as a government attorney, has received two Artist’s Fellowships from the Washington, D.C. Commission on the Arts and Humanities for her fiction, has been a finalist for several literary awards, and has had professional staged readings of her plays, Tinker's Damn , and The Three Jessies . More on Seigel can be found at  www.jessieseigel.com .

By Andy Borowitz  February 10, 2026 Dan Mullan/Getty Images MILAN ( The Borowitz Report )— Donald J. Trump celebrated at the Winter Olympics on Tuesday after winning the gold medal in the downhill presidency. Trump beamed as he stood on the winners’ podium, boasting, “Obama never won this.” Notching a historic win, Trump set a new speed record for driving the world’s strongest economy into a ditch. Despite his victory, he remained bitter about the Super Bowl halftime show, telling reporters that “Bad Bunny took a job away from an American bunny.”

From Common Dreams , February 16, 2026 Women march with a sign depicting US President Donald Trump with bloodied hands in Tehran on February 11, 2026, during a rally marking the 47th anniversary of the 1979 Islamic revolution. (Getty Images) The current threat of an attack by the US did not begin with any failure by Iran to negotiate. On the contrary, it began with the United States’ repudiation of negotiations that had already succeeded. Distinguished Members of the Security Council, The President of the United States is issuing grave threats of force against the Islamic Republic of Iran if it does not accede to US demands. His actions risk a major regional war that would be devastating. Asked if he wanted regime change, he responded that it “ seems like that would be the best thing that could happen .” When asked why a second US aircraft carrier has been sent to the region, President Trump answered “ in case we don’t make a deal, we’ll need it ... if we need it, we’ll have it ready .” These threats are in violation of Article 2(4) of the UN Charter, which declares that “ All Members shall refrain in their international relations from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state, or in any other manner inconsistent with the Purposes of the United Nations .” These threats come in the context of Iran’s repeated calls for negotiations. Moreover, on February 7, Iran’s Foreign Minister delivered a speech in Doha proposing comprehensive negotiations for regional peace, following a round of talks in Oman supported by the diplomacy of the Arab states and Türkiye. Even as a second round of negotiations has been announced, the US is resorting to escalating threats of force. The issue facing the UN Security Council in these perilous days is whether any member state, by force or threat of force, may place itself above the United Nations Charter that governs us all. At stake is the integrity of the UN-based international system. One of the crucial roles of the Security Council is to call on member states to settle disputes by peaceful means such as negotiation, mediation, arbitration, or judicial settlement, without the threat of force or resort to force. Today, the world is in urgent need of a renewed commitment to diplomacy. The current threat of an attack by the US did not begin with any failure by Iran to negotiate. On the contrary, it began with the United States’ repudiation of negotiations that had already succeeded. On July 14, 2015, after years of extensive diplomacy, Iran and the P5 countries plus Germany concluded the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) to ensure that Iran’s nuclear program would remain exclusively peaceful. In return, economic sanctions on Iran were to be lifted. The JCPOA placed Iran’s nuclear activities under strict and continuous scrutiny by the International Atomic Energy Agency and thereby ended the risk of a nuclear-arms breakout by Iran, a risk that Iran had consistently denied. On July 20, 2015, the UNSC unanimously adopted Resolution 2231. That resolution “ endorses the JCPOA ” and calls upon all states to take the steps “ necessary to support the implementation .” It terminated previous sanctions resolutions and incorporated the JCPOA into international law . The Security Council explicitly recognized Iran’s “ right to develop nuclear energy for peaceful purposes ” under the Non-Proliferation Treaty and established a robust verification regime. Yet on May 8, 2018, three years after the successful UNSC Resolution, the United States unilaterally withdrew from the JCPOA. This withdrawal was actively lobbied for by the Israeli government. Since the late 1990s, Israel’s leadership has repeatedly, falsely, and hypocritically claimed that Iran was on the verge of obtaining a nuclear weapon, even as Israel itself had secretly acquired nuclear weapons outside the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons and has until today refused to join the treaty and subject itself to its controls. When President Trump unilaterally withdrew the United States from the JCPOA, the US reimposed wide-ranging sanctions in direct contradiction of Resolution 2231 and launched a campaign of economic warfare designed to cripple Iran’s economy that continues to this day. The current threats by the US are therefore part of a long-standing pattern of feigning interest in negotiations while in fact pursuing economic warfare and military force. In June 2025, following the renewal of negotiations earlier that year, the United States and Iran entered a sixth round of talks. The US had characterized the negotiations as constructive and positive. The sixth round was set for June 15, 2025. Yet on June 13, 2025, the US supported Israel’s bombing of Iran. A week after that, the US attacked Iran under Operation Midnight Hammer. The US assault on the UN Charter has now escalated once again to the brink of war, with US threats of force and acts of economic warfare proceeding daily. The US has been escalating its military presence near Iran and has repeatedly threatened to launch an imminent attack. The administration has also been candid about its strategy of economic warfare. On January 20, in an interview in Davos , US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent described how the US had deliberately engineered the collapse of the Iranian currency, a dollar shortage, and a collapse of imports, all with the goal of fomenting economic suffering and mass unrest. Bessent described the resulting unrest as “ moving in a very positive way here .” The most striking aspect of the US campaign for regime change in Iran is the repeated US insistence that Iran must negotiate. Iran has negotiated, repeatedly. The JCPOA was negotiated and ratified by the UN Security Council. Even after Iran engaged in renewed negotiations last summer, it faced large‑scale air strikes on its territory. Now, the US openly avows the policy of economic collapse and regime change. No country is safe if the United States can make brazen threats against Iran and indeed several other states in recent weeks, including Cuba , Denmark , and others. It is both sad and poignant to recall that the United Nations was the brainchild of President Franklin D. Roosevelt. He envisioned an era of great-power cooperation and multilateralism under international law as the basis of international peace and security. His wife, Eleanor Roosevelt, oversaw the drafting and adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights . The US at that time envisioned an era in which diplomacy would prosper, and a time in which law and justice rather than brute force would prevail, a time when we would honor the words of the Prophet Isaiah inscribed on the wall on First Avenue facing the United Nations: “ They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not lift up sword against nation. Neither shall they learn war any more .” To allow the UN Charter to be ruthlessly violated, no less by its host country, is to invite the return to global war, this time in the nuclear age. In other words, it is to invite humanity’s self-destruction. On behalf of We the Peoples , the UN Security Council carries the authority and heavy responsibility to keep the peace. Sincerely yours, Jeffrey D. Sachs University Professor at Columbia University Appendix. I humbly offer below an illustrative Draft Resolution by which the UNSC could fulfill its duty in the current context. The Security Council, Recalling the purposes and principles of the Charter of the United Nations, in particular the obligation of all Member States to refrain from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any State, as set forth in Article 2(4) of the Charter, Reaffirming that the maintenance of international peace and security rests upon respect for international law, the authority of the Security Council, and the peaceful settlement of disputes, Recalling its resolution 2231 (2015), adopted unanimously on 20 July 2015, by which the Security Council endorsed the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) and called upon all Member States to take actions necessary to support its implementation, Reaffirming its commitment to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, the need for all States Party to that Treaty to comply fully with their obligations, and recalling the right of States Party, in conformity with Articles I and II of that Treaty, to develop research, production and use of nuclear energy for peaceful purposes without discrimination Acting under the Charter of the United Nations, Calls upon all Member States to immediately and unconditionally cease all threats or uses of force and to comply fully with their obligations under Article 2(4) of the Charter of the United Nations; Acknowledges that the JCPOA constituted a valid multilateral negotiation endorsed by the Security Council, and recognizes that the abandonment of the JCPOA resulted from the unilateral withdrawal of the United States; Decides that , under its authority, the UNSC mandates all States concerned to immediately engage in negotiations to conclude a renewed comprehensive arrangement on the Iranian nuclear issue, building upon the principles of the JCPOA and fully consistent with the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons; Calls upon all Member States to refrain from actions that undermine diplomatic efforts, escalate tensions, or weaken the authority of the United Nations; Decides to remain actively seized of the matter.

By Laurence Lerman / New York City Chris Pratt and Kali Reis are law enforcers of the future in Mercy SCREEN TIME Artificial intelligence has always made for a good movie villain, a seductive ally, or—most unsettling of all—a mirror. The new sci-fi thriller Mercy , which led the national weekend box-office with $11.6 million upon opening on January 23, arrives squarely in that tradition, offering a high-gloss, big-budget spin on anxieties that cinema has been practicing for nearly a century. Starring Chris Pratt as a detective of the near-future on trial for murdering his wife and Rebecca Ferguson as the advanced AI judge presiding over his fate, the film places its protagonist inside a 90-minute procedural countdown: prove your innocence or be condemned by a system you once championed. It’s a sleek premise, built less for philosophical depth than for propulsive tension. But Mercy also lands at a moment when the cinematic language of artificial intelligence is beginning to feel uncomfortably close to home. The film’s hook is elegantly cruel. Pratt’s detective,  Chris Raven, helped usher in a justice system run by artificial intelligence—one designed to be faster, fairer, and free of human bias. Now, accused of a deeply human crime, Raven finds himself pleading his case before an entity that cannot be swayed by charisma, history, or emotional appeal. The irony is baked in: the very tool meant to improve society may be incapable of recognizing the messy, contradictory truths that define it. Alicia Vikander is an AI-infused humanoid robot in Ex Machina Ferguson’s AI judge Maddox isn’t framed as overtly malicious; instead, she represents a system doing precisely what it was built to do. That moral ambiguity places Mercy in the lineage of AI-themed new millennium films like Minority Report , Ex Machina , I, Robot, and The Matrix —stories that ask not whether artificial intelligence can think or feel, but whether its logic ultimately aligns with human survival. Neo gains the ability to perceive the code in The Matrix Directed by Kazakh-Russian filmmaker (and tech entrepreneur!) Timur Bekmambetov, Mercy isn’t all that interested in metaphysics or ethics seminars. Rather, it’s focused on  genre pleasures: ticking clocks, courtroom faceoffs, the creeping dread that the machine is always one step ahead, and lots of high-tech action. This has long been Hollywood’s approach to AI—less a subject for sustained inquiry than a narrative accelerant. Artificial intelligence, in movies, is a storytelling device first and a philosophical question second. That has been true since the beginning. Nearly a hundred years ago, Fritz Lang’s 1927 Metropolis introduced audiences to one of cinema’s earliest artificial beings: a gleaming mechanical double named Maria who’s been designed to manipulate the masses. Maria, a robot, is energized to preach to the workers in Metropolis Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 2001: A Space Odyssey offered HAL 9000, a calm, rational intelligence whose murderous turn felt chilling precisely because it was logical. The Terminator and its offspring transformed techanxiety into muscle and metal, while imagining a future in which machines don’t merely defeat humanity but render it obsolete, harvesting human bodies while trapping minds inside a simulation. Across decades and genres, a pattern emerged. Artificial intelligence in films almost always produces an “us versus them” scenario. The machines evolve faster than we can control them, extend their reach beyond our comprehension, and inevitably threaten human existence—whether intentionally or as a byproduct of their programming. Even sympathetic portrayals tend to circle back to imbalance. In writer/director Spike Jonez’s sci-fi-spiked psychological romantic drama Her , the AI doesn’t destroy humanity; it simply outgrows it, leaving people behind with their feelings and their grief. Astronaut David Bowman takes on the HAL 9000 computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey Mercy follows that trajectory in a more grounded register. The threat isn’t global extinction or simulated reality (not yet at least)—it’s institutional dominance. An AI entrusted with judgment becomes dangerous not because it hates humans, but because it may not fully understand them. The film’s central fear is procedural rather than apocalyptic: what happens when justice is optimized to the point that it loses mercy? In that sense, the title feels less ironic than prophetic. What’s striking, then, is that the films doing the most serious work around artificial intelligence right now aren’t thrillers or sci-fi spectacles at all, but documentaries. As AI moves from the speculative future to daily infrastructure—reshaping labor, authorship, power, and decision-making—narrative cinema keeps it at a safe remove, transforming the technology into villains, arbiters, or sleek existential puzzles. Documentary filmmakers, meanwhile, grapple with messier present-tense questions. Who controls these systems, who profits from them, who is displaced, and what happens when opaque algorithms begin making human-scale decisions? Upcoming docs like Deepfaking Sam Altman , which follows filmmaker Adam Bhala Lough as he sets out to better understand AI technology and its creators, and The AI Doc: Or How I Became an Apocaloptimist , engage directly with the people, institutions, and incentives driving the AI boom. It’s not that fiction lacks imagination; it’s that documentaries are where imagination finally gives way to consequence. Deepfaking Sam Altman humorously questions our relationship with emerging technology Cinema has always embraced technological innovation, both behind the scenes and on screen. New tools promise greater realism, more spectacle, and more immersive experiences. Artificial intelligence fits neatly into that tradition. Mercy (arrives at a moment when AI is no longer an abstraction. It’s present in everyday life—in writing, art, surveillance, and systems that increasingly shape human outcomes. That proximity gives even familiar tropes a sharper edge. The irony is that Mercy doesn’t need to be especially cerebral to resonate. Its power comes from recognition. We’ve seen this story before, in shinier or stranger forms, but the underlying question remains unchanged: when we build systems to be better than us, do we also build systems that can turn against us? Hollywood has been asking that question for a century, and audiences keep showing up for the answer—perhaps because, deep down, we suspect we already know it. Laurence Lerman is a film journalis and a former editor of Video Business -- Variety's digital media trade publication. Over the course of his four-decade career, he has conducted one-on-one interviews with just about every major filmmaker working today, from Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino and Clint Eastwood to Kathryn Bigelow, Bernardo Bertolucci, and Werner Herzog. Most recently, he is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of the online review site  DiscDish.com , the founder and curator of  FilmShul.com , a multi-part presentation on the history of Hollywood and Jewish America, and a commentator on various 4K UHD and Blu-ray home entertainment releases.

From Breaking Points , January 19, 2026

By Lydia Hope Wilen / New York City The author and her co-writer sister Joany, with Jon Stewart on his TV show in 1995 Introducing the Wilen Sisters My sister Joany and I were collaborators, co-authors and popular TV show guests because we had unique (doctor-approved) home remedies that really worked.  We would demonstrate the remedies, using the hosts of the shows as willing guinea pigs. The quick-witted hosts would come up with funny responses.    Hands-On Jon Way before The Daily Show, there was The Jon Stewart Show. In April 1995, Joany and I were guests on the show. Here are just a few examples of Jon’s ad libs based on our remedies: To relieve stress, we had Jon put clothespins on the tips of his fingers.  Exerting pressure on nerve endings is known to relax one’s entire nervous system.  Jon said, while flailing his clothespin fingers, “You know what would be stressful?: Trying to tie my shoelaces.” To relieve a headache, we put lemon peel on Jon’s forehead and kept it in place with an ace bandage.  He announced, “I look like I was in a Civil War re-enactment.” When we talked about a remedy for clearing one’s sinuses, we gave Jon two thin strips of orange peel.  He started to put one strip in one nostril and before he could put the other strip in the other nostril, we stopped him and told him that he has to put both strips in one nostril. Jon got a little crazy-funny. “Is this a crack about my nose?” Picking up an orange from the counter, he said, “Why don’t you put the whole orange up there, Jew boy?” He eventually put both of the orange peel strips up one of his nostrils. He played off of us, and it was a riot. In fact, he talked to us about coming on his show on a regular basis. What show?  His show was cancelled the following week. Howie: Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow In April 1999, on the last stop of a media tour, Joany and I were booked on  The Howie Mandel Show .  As you may know, Howie, comedian, TV judge and game show host, was and still is a germophobe.  We thought we were screwed. We'd have to demonstrate our remedies on one another. But n-o-o-o-o.  Howie was a willing subject. The Wilen Sisters on the Howie Mandel Show  (1999) Remember the old clothespin-on-the-fingertips remedy to relieve stress?  We did that one with Howie too.  His ad lib was, “If people are tuning in now, they’ll think I was in a terrible laundry accident.” We also used a clothespin on his ear to help relieve a stress headache.  He said, “It’s not that the headache goes away, it’s that your ear is killing you so much, you forget about the headache.” We explained that the U.S. Army tested honeycomb to help desensitize people who suffer from hay fever. The results were encouraging enough to try it out on Howie. We took a one-inch square of honeycomb and fed it to him .  We kept repeating that he should swallow the honey, not the wax.  Once he swallowed all of the honey, he should just chew the wax for a few minutes. We kept emphasizing, “Don’t swallow the wax!”  Finally, Howie said, “If I swallow the wax, put a wick up my rear end and… He censored himself before saying “And come on baby light my fire!” Once our segment ended and we stopped laughing, Howie said he wanted to make arrangements for us to come back, also on a regular basis.  By the time we got back to New York City,  Howie’s show had been cancelled. Saturday Night Strive Last year was Saturday Night Live 50: The Anniversary Special . Amazing!  Fifty years on the air and not one skit ending with an actual punchline. Do I sound bitter?  No.  Just truthful. Last year was also my anniversary of sorts.  While SNL creator and executive producer Lorne Michaels was staffing the show, I had an interview with him.  I brought several skits and bits that I thought were funny.  Mind you, the show wasn’t on the air yet, so I had no idea of Mr. Michaels’ comedic taste. I showed up for the interview looking like the good girl that I was.  I wore a smart, stylish Loehmann’s outfit.  You know, the kind with the labels cut out so that no one knew that the outfit was selling for a fraction of the designer’s price. A young Lorne Michaels in his NYC office (1979) And, ready for this? I wore white gloves.  That’s how young ladies accessorized 50 years ago.  The interview didn’t go well. I clearly wasn’t a fit for what he had in mind.  Even so, I left my envelope of material for Lorne and left forlorn. Shortly thereafter, I received a very funny letter from the boss himself. If you don’t have time to read it, I’ll sum it up for you:  SNL = Sorry, Not Lydia. Who’s Your Daddy? When I completed my first screenplay, I fantasized about Mike Nichols, award-winning comedian, film and Broadway director, directing it. Why not start at the top?  Oh, you need an agent?  I didn’t have one, but I did have Mike Nichols’ office address. So, I came up with what I thought was a charming and clever idea that would get his attention.  The script had a maroon cover that held the pages together with brass brads. I bought a pastel-pink baby blanket (it looked great with maroon) and a nicely woven basket. I wrapped my script in the blanket – baby bunting style – and placed it in the basket along with a note that said: Dear Mike Nichols, I can no longer provide the life this screenplay deserves, so I leave it here, swaddled at your creative doorstep, praying you take it in and raise it into the film it was meant to be. With trembling hands and boundless hope,                                                       Lydia I placed my baby on the doorstep of his Beresford office entrance on W. 81st Street and Central Park West, rang the bell and ran down the block.  By the time I had the nerve to walk back to the entrance, the basket was gone. A few days later, while fantasizing what I would wear to the premier, and what my acceptance speech would be at the Academy Awards, I received an ominous-looking, unfriendly manila  envelope in the mail.  It was my script –no blanket, no basket–but with a letter from Mike Nichols. True, I didn’t get a job at SNL and Mike Nichols didn’t direct my screenplay, but I had the last laugh. I got several hundred dollars (minus the cost of the blanket and basket) from Ray Regan, an autograph dealer/collector/maven, ( https://www.vintagehollywoodautographs.com/ ) for those two signed letters. Now where did I put that letter from Steven Spielberg? Lydia Hope Wilen began her professional career as a comedy writer on  Personality , a celebrity-driven game show.  Her greatest gig was her extremely successful collaboration with her late sister Joany as nonfiction bestselling authors (18 books), which led to the sisters becoming  popular TV personalities. They continued as journalists (NY Daily News Sunday full-page feature, Celebrity Surveys for Cosmopolitan Magazine, cover stories for Parade Magazine) and got the opportunity to write and talent coordinate a  Nickelodeon  series hosted by Leonard Nimoy. The Wilens had an unusually versatile writing range from  Reading Rainbow episodes, to off-color comedy skits for Dr. Ruth Westheimer’s TV show,  Sexually Speaking, plus  three optioned screenplays. And that's just for starters . . .

By Jeffrey Markowitz / Huntington Woods, Mich. Jeffrey Markowitz's Oak Park High School senior yearbook photo (1968) Judi Foster's Oak Park High School senior yearbook photo (1970) Life started for me long after I was born. I should say that living was what started. I met Judi Foster in 1968 at Oak Park High School in Oak Park, Mich. I was in my senior year, and she was a sophomore. I was waiting for my next class to begin, and Judi was standing across the hall by the lockers. We made eye contact, and at that very moment I knew the game was on. However, I didn’t know that I was getting out of the gate too late — she had a boyfriend. As it happened, Judi knew one of my friends and eventually we were introduced. There was an immediate connection of friendship, and I realized she was the one I wanted to spend my years with. My heart told me to stay with the feeling and not let it go. I settled for our platonic relationship, and we became very close. Talking on the phone late at night, hanging out after school and on the weekends was our usual routine. Judi became my best friend, but I hoped for more! After I graduated, my next stop was Eastern Michigan University in Ypsilanti, Mich. Judi and her friends would occasionally visit, and I headed back to my hometown every weekend. I went with my friends to Oak Park’s football and basketball games. Judi was a cheerleader and that was the main reason to attend. After completing a year at Eastern, I decided that it wasn’t what I’d imagined college life would be. So, I moved back home and enrolled in Wayne State University. What a surprise! I could see Judi more often. And as it turned out, she was headed to Wayne State as well. Carpools with both of our friends were arranged. It was a fun commute as we drove through scenic Palmer Woods in Detroit as a short cut to campus. We all had early morning classes and similar schedules. I even enrolled in a few of Judi’s classes, which also served to complete requirements for my degree in sociology. During a sociology lecture, Judi and I would talk incessantly. Finally, the professor called out our names loudly and asked us to step into the hallway. We were embarrassed and also amused because he thought we were married. After the scolding, we laughed about the craziness of his presumption. We vowed to keep our noise down to a minimum for the rest of the semester. (Years later, I discovered a well-hidden secret about two of my sociology professors:  In their classes of approximately a hundred students, everyone received a a passing grade each semester. These well-intentioned instructors wanted to keep students from being drafted and sent to Vietnam. These were acts of true compassion that continued for the duration of the war.) Judi was on a fast track to graduate from the College of Education in three years. She enrolled in six classes a semester and even took classes scheduled for the same time slot only appearing for the  midterm and final exams. Since she was on campus crazy hours, I would get on my motorcycle to bring her a late lunch. As time passed, a spark ignited and our relationship changed. Judi and I became a lot closer than I ever would have thought possible. It actually put me into shock. But that was short lived. A brief  time later, Judi became engaged to her high-school boyfriend. I was pissed off, to say the least. I was genuinely surprised, since I thought we were headed in the right direction. I was close to Judi’s parents and siblings. Contemplating the loss of their friendship was also disturbing. Surprisingly, Judi’s mother told me to break up the wedding plans. I immediately thought of the scene in the 1967 film The Graduate , starring Dustin Hoffman and Katharine Ross. Like in the movie, I envisioned myself pounding on the synagogue windows, shouting out Judi’s name in an effort to stop the marriage. It was a fantasy that never came to fruition. Jeffrey and Judi taking in the beauty of the island of Kauai, Hawaii on their honeymoon (1997) Judi and Jeffrey enjoying one of the many family birthday parties (1998) Life then became somewhat depressing for me. I needed to get back in the game. I was living in an apartment complex with five swimming pools, and I became friendly with one of the lifeguards. She asked me to go to a football game. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the cards. On the way to the game, I had a terrible car accident. I ran into a huge, exposed drainpipe that was above ground due to erosion. I rolled my Corvette four times and the roof came off. One of the pins that held the roof in place clipped my head. Somehow, I survived the collision, receiving 90 stitches. A few days later, after soul-searching, I realized that I needed a change in my life. So, I decided to move to California to escape. I had friends living there and wanted to leave memories of my life behind, especially those of Judi. A 2001 Hawaiian family odyssey in Honolulu However, every day I would wake up and feel a magnetic pull in my heart to return to Oak Park. After a year living down on the beach with other Oak Parkers and working at an electrical supply house in the San Fernando Valley, I’d had enough. I moved back in with my parents until I could find a place of my own. While chipping golf balls across the street to a neighbor’s tree, a car pulled up along the curb. I had no idea who it was until the window rolled down. I heard a familiar voice say, “Hi Jeffrey.” It was Judi. After some small talk, I could feel my heart pounding again. Fast forward, I bought a house in Southfield, Mich. and had settled there comfortably for years when the call came. It was Judi and she told me she had gotten divorced. It was nearly 20 years in the making. My response— “What the f*** took you so long?” Shortly after, we picked up our relationship again, but it was on the slow track. Judi had four children — one with special needs. Lindsay, her oldest, had an extremely rare condition known as Marshall-Smith Syndrome. She had cognitive and physical challenges. I didn’t know what to expect. After dating for four months, I looked forward to meeting the kids. Honestly, I was a bit nervous. Todd, Chad, and Eli ranged in age from 6 to 14 years old. Lindsay was 15. I had little or no experience with children, especially one who required extra time and attention. Remarkably, when I met the crew, it seemed like a natural fit. I was invited to dinners, then multiple athletic games for the boys, and I even began to help them with their homework assignments. I truly connected with Lindsay, as we both became closer and comfortable with each other. Finally, after three and a half years with the family, my probation period was over. I asked Judi to marry me. My parents and friends thought I was certifiably crazy. I knew better. I now have a full plate with nine grandchildren and a family that keeps growing. It would have been a solitary life if not for that phone call 32 years ago. Having a purpose and a partner was the key. Judi and the kids were a gift and life itself. Judi and Jeffrey with their grandkids at Normandy Oaks Park in Royal Oak, Mich. (2024) After a 30-year career in construction management, building commercial and residential jobs, Jeffrey has turned to his passion–cooking. He is the master of the grill and has been nicknamed Chef Jeff by his family. Jeffrey also started a small catering business. Nothing makes him happier than satisfying his customers He enjoys sports and has spent 65-plus years playing golf, competing with friends, playing the course and trying to keep his head in the game for all 18 holes. He is the husband of Judi Markowitz. They have four adult children and nine grandchildren who keep them on their toes. Oh yeah, let’s not forget George, their Bernese Mountain granddog.

By John Woodford / Ann Arbor, Mich. People protest against ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) in downtown Minneapolis, 1/25/26 My plan for this story was to recount and ridicule Donald Trump’s most recent displays of monomaniacal egoism: his serial depositing of his name on various institutions, coins, doctrines, programs, titles, labels, logos and other receptacles. Trump’s name game served as a butt of satire for a couple of weeks, diverting public attention from the ongoing conflict in Gaza and thereby interrupting our national debate over which term best describes that ongoing American carnage: Is it genocide, atrocity, ethnic cleansing or, um, a whatchamacallit? But then came the January 3rd raid into Venezuela, the killing of a hundred or so security forces and a few stray civilians in Caracas, and the seizure of President Nicolás Maduro and his wife Cilia Flores in their bedroom. This caper presented a new semantic challenge to the analysts, panelists and talking heads cycling and recycling through our news media. Was this a “capture”? That’s the preferred term by both our openly right-wing and our supposed liberal mass media, because it signals to the public that the Maduros were drug-running terrorists despite the fact that no evidence of their criminality has been presented to any legal or judicial authority. Or was their seizure an “arrest,” a “regime-change” a “coup,” a “profitable oil acquisition,” an act of “piracy” or, um, a whichamajig? Some members of the U.S.’ highly trained and high-tech armed troops provided a preview of what was to come in Minneapolis: They punched out Mrs. Maduro, aged 69, who must have called them a name or taken a swing at them or tried to run away. For a while, you could fairly easily find photos showing her with bandages on her head and eye, but you’ll have a harder time finding those images now. She feared she might have broken ribs, too, her attorney said, and her ribs were X-rayed, but I’ve found no reports on the extent of those injuries. No sooner, however, had our legacy media (or mainstream media, monopoly media or corporate mass media) sunk its teeth into the semantic challenges presented by our country’s Venezuelan adventure than new blood was shed more abundantly on the trail: the blood of Renee Good in Minneapolis. Just four days after Caracas, the news pack raised its assorted muzzles and swiftly gave chase to the latest demonstration of federal might. Most coverage echoed the pronouncements of the Chief Howler in Charge (CHIC). Some amplified his approval of the shooting. Others undercut public protests that the ICE agent who killed Ms. Good, Jonathan Ross, should be charged with a crime by devoting hours of programming to the question of how far and when she turned the front wheels of her vehicle away from her killer. “It is a horrible thing to watch,” President Trump wrote in a post on Truth Social very shortly after watching early videos of the shooting. “The woman screaming was, obviously, a professional agitator, and the woman driving the car was very disorderly, obstructing and resisting, who then violently, willfully, and viciously ran over the ICE officer, who seems to have shot her in self-defense.” Oh, the horror! Trump immediately ordered that Minnesota’s state investigators should have no access to evidence or suspects in the case. To the President and his supporters, the worst aspects of the mini blitzkrieg was not seeing an unarmed mother shot three times in the head as she attempted to drive away. No. what was “horrible” was having to hear women speak boldly, the victim cheerfully saying, “I don’t hate you,” and her partner not screaming but saying in a needling tone, “You want to come at us? You want to come at us? Go get yourself some lunch, big boy.” Listen to the recordings yourselves and decide if you hear a scream. Nevertheless, here’s a typical headline by the openly subservient and blood lusting segment of our news media: “Renee Nicole Good’s wife screams ‘drive baby, drive’ just seconds before ICE agent shoots her in dramatic footage taken from his phone” ( New York Post , Jan. 9). Shucks, fellas, you know how women’s voices — being higher-pitched and all–can sound like a scream when they’re saying something you don’t like, right? Women! If they’re not elite, a guy can just “grab them by the pussy; you can do anything ,” as Trump observed during the years when he was developing the qualities that led to his two electoral victories. Now we know just how far “anything” can extend. Lawrence Jones, a co-host of TV’s Fox & Friends , was on that network’s program assessing the Minneapolis shooting a few hours after Good died. Summing up the evidence as the President, Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem (Good “was a domestic terrorist”) and Fox reporters had described it, Jones concluded, “It was a clean kill.” Other politicians and media figures have used the same term in the weeks after the atrocity. So, let’s look at what a “clean kill” means to people interested in the finer points of that accomplishment. “For an Operator Kill to be considered as a Clean Kill, you must finish off your target without sustaining any damage from them, whether from bullets, explosives or melee attacks.” (Source, OneEsports, in a discussion of the simulated violence in the online game Modern Warfare 3) “The assassin liked to make a clean kill and thus favored small arms over explosives”. (Source wordow.com 2026) As Ross strode away from his scene toward the car in which he and his partner would leave the scene of his “clean kill,” he glared into the candid camera and snarled this valediction at his victim: “Fuckin’ bitch!” And 17 days later, the current administration's excuse for "lawmen" killed again in Minneapolis. This time the victim was Alex Pretti, a 37-year-old off-duty ICU nurse who was trying to protect tear-gassed protesters from assault by ICE agents. Pretti had a licensed firearm on his person, but did not draw it in videos of the skirmish, contrary to claims by the President and his minions. Pretti was obviously restrained by the federal agents when he was shot 10 times. What we are being urged, seduced, conditioned into thinking or feeling, my dear fellow Americans, is that citizens who stand up on their hind legs and voice their disapproval of actions taken in their name in this land of, by and for the people, can be — even deserve to be— seized, beaten, jailed, tortured, shot. If you’re looking to the Democratic Party hierarchy and regulars to confront and resist these authoritarian measures for you, just remember, they voted 99 to 0 for Marco Rubio as Secretary of State, Bernie Sanders included. And what do you hear them saying about the ongoing genocide in Gaza? They’re as happy to have it out of the news media as Trump is. Speaking of Gaza, Arabs are known to have a keen fondness for proverbs, aphorisms, maxims and adages — pithy verbal expressions passed down via oral traditions for centuries. Proverbs express moral lessons and offer guidance in how we assess social situations and how we try to live our lives. Here’s one that’s apt for our country and others here and now: “They asked Pharaoh: ’What made you so pharaonic?’ He said, “I didn’t find anyone to restrain me.” John Woodford lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where he retired after two decades as the executive editor of Michigan Today , a University of Michigan alumni/ae publication. His career in journalism includes editing and/or reporting duties for Ebony  magazine, Muhammad Speaks  newspaper, the Chicago Sun-Times , the New Haven Register , the New York Times  and Ford Motor company publications.