By Bonnie Fishman / San Francisco Bay Area Steamed mussels in Brussels And that’s not all. Fish and chips in London, croissants and baguettes in Paris, Belgian chocolate and waffles in Brussels. I just returned from a whirlwind trip to three major European cities. Of course, I chose the hotels based on their breakfast buffet reputations. Did I go to tour museums? No. Did I go to see famous churches? Nah. Did I go to see historic buildings and squares? Not really. I went for two main reasons: to eat and because I was able to travel after a long illness. I pounded the pavement every day to suss out great food, look at crafts and fashions from other countries and most importantly, just to be there. I traveled with my sisters, Nancy and Marcia, and our cousin, Jeri, from suburban Detroit. We had a blast. Lots of walking, eating, and laughs. Two of our favorite meals were in London. The first was at Veeraswamy, the oldest Indian restaurant in the United Kingdom. The famed restaurant was celebrating its 100th birthday when we were there. The food was extraordinary– inventive, unusual flavors, and beautifully presented. The author in Veeraswamy in London I ordered the best possible dish baked in banana leaves. It was a potpourri of several recipes, a mini tasting menu on one plate if you will. Nothing on the menu resembled anything that we’re used to in the United States. When the manager caught wind of the fact that I was going to include the restaurant in a magazine food column, he comped our table with two beautiful desserts. Don't ask me what I ate because it didn't have the taste or texture of anything familiar. I didn’t care for it, but I appreciated the effort that it took to create. A variety of dishes baked in a banana leaf: crab cake, potato balls, eggplant, ground lamb, chicken curry, marinated pineapple, chutney, surrounding rice pilaf Beautiful desserts at Veeraswamy Another great London meal was at Nopi, Yotam Ottolenghi’s flagship restaurant. This was my second visit, and it did not disappoint. If you are unfamiliar with Ottolenghi, he is a very popular Israeli chef and author, with 11 bestselling cookbooks under his belt. The mostly Mediterranean bent of the cuisine speaks to me as it is one of my personal favorite food profiles. He creates magic particularly with vegetables. The evening we dined there, I had crispy oven-roasted celeriac with almond cream. Don’t ask. Oven-roasted celeriac with almond cream at Nopi in London Moving on to Paris from London through the Chunnel, we were greeted by rainy weather for our brief two days in one of my favorite cities. It didn’t stop us from walking a few blocks to the famed Café Les Deux Magots, where, back in the day, great minds and literati hung out, such as Hemingway, Camus, and Sartre. I had dessert for dinner: a warm pear tart. I devoured it guilt-free. Hey, I was in Paris, right? Warm pear tart for dinner at the famed Les Deux Magots in Paris A new day, a new culinary adventure. After visiting the spectacular Museé D’Orsay, we trekked through the pouring rain to have an ooh-la-la tres Français late lunch at the quintessential Cocorico, right behind the museum. I felt like I had walked into a French movie - the atmosphere, the vibe, the diners, the aromas, the beautiful yet understated plates of food. We were tucked into a corner booth and devoured classic French fare. Roasted cockerel at Cocorico in Paris My sister Marcia and I shared cockerel, a young rooster, roasted to perfection. I ordered it because the gentleman next to us was delicately dissecting the bird, using his fork and knife, like the French do, surgically separating the meat from the bone. His technique was mesmerizing. The next morning, we boarded a train to Brussels. It is true: Belgium is known for four culinary items: chocolate, waffles, mussels and frites (French fries). I have never seen so many chocolate shops in a row, street after street. They were all beautiful and alluring. How does one choose? Me, I’m a purist, dark chocolate with nuts. I’m not a particular fan of filled truffles. The four of us did take a chocolate class learning how to make said truffles. It’s a lot of fuss to temper the chocolate, keeping it shining after the delicacies have set. The one main thing I learned was let someone else make them! Bonnie filling truffle molds with tempered chocolate Bonnie filling the truffles with chocolate ganache Waffles are a different story. I could eat them every day. There were plenty of waffle shops too. We took a waffle class, where we learned what makes Belgian waffles different from American waffles. The Belgians use a waffle iron with deeper holes; the egg whites are whipped and folded into the batter separately; and oil is used instead of melted butter. This creates a lighter, crispier textured waffle. The Belgians also make a divine yeast waffle, sweeter and denser than the traditional product. (from L to R): Bonnie, Nancy, Marcia, and Jeri getting ready to make waffles in a cooking class in Brussels Finished product: Belgian waffle smothered with Nutella and fresh fruit I have an embarrassing confession. Keep in mind I’m the only professional chef in the class. I made two HUGE mistakes while we were preparing waffles. The first one is I overfilled the waffle iron with batter, and it squished out all over the place. Second, I forgot to oil the iron, so my waffle was not coming out of that pan even if you begged it. The class assistant spent the next 20 minutes scraping it out. I’m glad it wasn’t me! Unbeknownst to her, I was eating the scraps that she tossed aside. Now let’s talk mussels with fries or moules-frites. We stumbled across Cave du Roy, which was built in the 15th century, an underground vaulted cellar that housed a fabulous cozy restaurant specializing in mussels. They offered various preparations, but I stuck with the classic: mussels steamed with garlic butter and white wine. The food arrived in a huge metal pot. When the top was removed, we were bathed in the most beautiful aroma. The delicious frites were on the side. The cozy vaulted cellar restaurant Cave du Roy in Brussels Moules-frites at Cave du Roy I have attempted to recreate this dish at home and share it with you. The biggest difference is the quality of the mussels. The Belgian ones are harvested from the North Atlantic Sea. They were plump and juicy. The ones I was able to procure here in my town are puny. I hope you all have better success in finding wonderful mussels to cook at home! Classic Mussels in Garlic & White Wine Yield: 4-6 entrées 4 lb. mussels, scrubbed & debearded if necessary 2 Tbsp. olive oil 2 oz. butter 4 garlic cloves, minced 1 shallot, minced pinch of chili flakes 3/4 c. dry white wine 1/4 c. fresh chopped parsley Allow the mussels to soak in a large bowl of water for 20 minutes to ensure that the sand is removed from the shells. Drain the mussels in a colander. In a large Dutch oven, melt the butter with oil over moderate heat. Sauté the garlic and shallots for 5 minutes. Add the wine and chili flakes. Bring the wine to a boil; boil for 3 minutes. Add the mussels. Place the top on the pan. Cook the mussels, shaking the pan a couple of times or stir with a large spoon. When the mussels have opened, 5-7 minutes, they are done. Mix in the parsley. Distribute the mussels in individual serving bowls. Pour liquid over the top. Serve with fresh or toasted baguette slices. Yank the “beard” down the side of the mussel and pull it out. Discard. After sautéing the garlic and shallots, let wine come to a boil. Sprinkle on chopped parsley just before serving. 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 Dr. Nancy Fishman / Morgan Hill, Calif. For people who have never been married, the romantic notion of cohabitation might have enough appeal to try marriage if the opportunity arises later in life. If you had been married and experienced the death or divorce of a spouse, you certainly would have a different perspective. I’m guessing that people who divorce are less likely to consider remarriage. The bloom is off the rose. On the other end of the spectrum are those who had good marriages and could never imagine living life alone. In fact, severe loneliness and the need to take care of someone are reasons that drive some to seek new partners. My mother-in-law, Rose, lost her husband when she was 71. She never imagined being with any other man. But four years later, she met Sam, a widower from New York, who lived in the same apartment building. They met in the lobby, flirted in the elevator, and began watching TV together in the evenings. Rose discovered that she really enjoyed making dinner for Sam. The company was exactly what each needed. Soon they talked about the benefits of marriage: one rent to pay, shared interests, and the security of companionship. Marriage! Yes! That seemed like a smart idea until Sam moved into Rose’s more spacious apartment. Like a light switch was flipped, Sam immediately began bossing her around. He was not at all grateful that she spent thousands of dollars having his teeth fixed, buying him a whole new wardrobe, and paying for all the groceries. It took her a long while until she confided in us that Sam was verbally abusive and wouldn’t stop talking. My mother-in-law concluded she needed to divorce him. Just as she was about to hire an attorney, Sam had a stroke, rendering him speechless! Oh, the irony was not lost on Rose and our family. She divorced him and sent him back to New York for his family to take care of him. At that moment, Rose declared, “Never again!” My friend’s mother, Mrs. Anywitz (a pseudonym), met a different Sam, also from New York, at her synagogue. He was nice and very, very friendly. Their rabbi encouraged them to marry during their advancing years. When Mrs. Anywitz passed away, her family discovered she had been covering for Sam’s progressing dementia. He had no family living in the area, so my friend put Sam in a nursing home to receive the care his mother would have wanted him to have. Every other day, my friend would get a call from the nursing home. Apparently, Sam was very, very friendly there as well. Most mornings, the staff would find him in bed with female residents, one or two at a time. You never really know what you get when you marry in the graying years. It’s kind of like adopting an older puppy. There are medical expenses, fussy diets, separation anxiety, drooling, and tushy baths. You have to wonder if it is ever worth it, especially if there is no chance for a satisfying sex life. Many women enjoy more fulfilling companionship among the sisterhood of females. You can always find a girlfriend to go to dinner, appreciate cultural events, or take a cruise. Even though it’s not a marriage, women seem to take relationships very seriously. When in need, you can always count on a female pal to be there for you. Throughout five decades in private practice as a psychologist, I have worked with countless people who have considered remarriage. One man, in particular, had a long marriage with five adult children and a slew of grandchildren. He and his wife married young before they each had a chance to consider they might be the wrong match for one another. After almost two years of pouring out his heart to me about how unhappy he had always been in the marriage, he finally decided to seek a divorce. To say he had soured on the concept of marriage is an understatement. However, once he began living alone, he discovered the loneliness was less tolerable than the thought of finding a new love relationship. So, he took the plunge and activated a profile on a dating site. Getting back in the saddle for the first time since his college years was scary. He was full of self-doubt. He worried about women’s expectations and his ability to measure up to men with more experience. Soon, he discovered most women perceived the qualities he valued in himself. Unlike his wife, they were eager to be with him. He found himself laughing and having fun. Life was ripe with potential. Then, he met a special woman and began to consider spending his life with her. There they were…both with gray hair, eight children and many grandchildren between them. The adult children were thrilled to see their parents happy; they heartily endorsed the idea of a new marriage. Every December I receive a holiday card from the couple reminding me that remarriage is always an option at any age. Though you are never too old to remarry, I just bet it’s not on everyone’s bucket list. As for me, I say, “Hell, nooo!” This column is devoted to psychological topics that speak to the human condition, such as relationships, family, love, loss, and happiness. The ideas, thoughts, philosophies, and observations expressed here are personal and not meant as professional advice. Names and identifying information have been changed to protect the privacy of real people. Dr. Nancy Fishman moved to Santa Clara County in 2016 from Michigan, where she was a practicing psychologist. Currently, she is a strategy consultant to individuals, families, businesses, family law attorneys and their clients, working on coping, managing, reorganizing, pivoting and innovating. She is the founder of Forgotten Harvest, one of the nation’s largest food recovery operations. She is also the creator of Silicon Valley’s A La Carte food recovery and distribution initiative, and the organizer of Feeding Morgan Hill. Nancy lives on a family compound with her husband, sisters, brother-in-law, and a pack of dogs. NancyFishmanPhD.com ForgottenHarvest.org

Author Laurence Lerman The 98th Academy Awards will be held at Los Angeles’s Dolby Theatre on Sunday, March 15, at 8:00 pm ET and broadcast live around the world on ABC. Yes, it’s that time, again. After a season shaped by shifting release strategies, evolving audience habits, and a remarkably wide range of critical enthusiasms, this year’s Oscars arrive with a sense of cautious confidence. The nominees reflect a blend of prestige filmmaking and broader marketplace appeal, while the ceremony itself carries the quiet pressure of maintaining the momentum the show has rebuilt in recent years — balancing reverence for the art form with the Academy’s ongoing effort to remain culturally relevant. Add to that reverence and relevance the fact that the season comes upon us at the same time as a new war, one that will surely be met with scrutiny and anger over the course of the evening. For the second consecutive year, Conan O’Brien will steer the evening as host, a choice that now feels less like an inspired gamble than sound institutional judgment. The Academy invited him back because last year’s results spoke clearly: the 97th Oscars drew nearly 19.7 million viewers, the Academy’s largest audience since 2020, reinvigorating a telecast that had been met with genuine anticipation, but then quietly receded. O’Brien greeted the return engagement booking with his trademark mix of self-deprecation and show-business savvy, joking that “the only reason I’m hosting the Oscars next year is that I want to hear [Best Actor winner] Adrien Brody finish his speech.” It neatly captures what worked — a host who respects the pageantry but knows when to puncture it just enough to keep the evening moving. This year’s ceremony isn’t merely another page in Oscar history; it’s a notable chapter. Leading the pack is the Southern Gothic horror-drama Sinners , Ryan Coogler’s supernational Jim Crow era thriller t hat serves as a vital, allegorical exploration of Black survival and culture. It rewrote the record books with 16 nominations, the most ever received by a single title. The feat eclipsed the legendary runs of All About Eve , Titanic , and La La Land (each of which received 14 noms), prompting conversation not only about the film’s breadth of acclaim but also about how Academy tastes continue to evolve. This year also marks the introduction of a new competitive category, Best Casting, bringing the total number of Oscar categories to 24. Long advocated by industry insiders, the addition formally recognizes an art that has always operated in plain sight — the chemistry, instinct, and intuition behind assembling ensembles that feel fully alive on screen. Taken together, these elements point toward a ceremony intent on refinement rather than reinvention. Last year’s show, held in the wake of the deadly and destructive Los Angeles wildfires in January, demonstrated that the Oscars could still command attention without courting spectacle for its own sake, and expectations are that the 98th will build on that steadier foundation (minus any tragedies, hopefully). So here we are, with a record-breaking slate of nominees, a proven host returning to the stage, and an industry still negotiating how it wants to present itself to the world. What follows are my predictions for the six biggest awards, which are shaped by artistry, strategy, and the narratives that have gelled over the course of the season. Call it less a forecast than a snapshot of where the conversation stands just before the envelopes are opened. Leonardo DiCaprio (l.) and Benicio del Toro star in One Battle After Another Best Picture: Bugonia F1 Frankenstein Hamnet Marty Supreme One Battle After Another The Secret Agent Sinners Sentimental Value Train Dreams Who would I like to win: One Battle After Another Who will win: One Battle After Another Since the Best Picture race often comes down to which film feels most complete , One Battle After Another has an undeniable advantage. Paul Thomas Anderson’s satirical adventure-thriller doesn’t merely excel in one area—it has it all. The screenplay is muscular and assured, the production values and cinematography (it was primarily shot in the high-resolution, 35mm VistaVision format), and the performances—both individual turns and the ensemble as a whole—are uniformly outstanding. Inspired in part by Thomas Pynchon’s 1990 novel Vineland , the film draws on that author’s familiar terrain: a world shaped by conspiracy, chaos, and the uneasy comedy of paranoia. Writer/director Anderson smartly absorbs those elements into his own register, capturing the novel’s absurdist humor and off-kilter unease without ever letting style overwhelm substance. The result is a film that feels intellectually alive with ideas yet deeply grounded. Crucially, it speaks to America now, a land caught in a continuous and exhausting cycle of struggle . Anderson’s long-standing preoccupations—power, belief, masculinity, national myth—are sharpened into something urgent without ever tipping into didacticism. The most realistic contender is Coogler’s Sinners which is undeniably confident, propulsive, and deeply felt—and Coogler’s future remains blindingly bright. But this feels like Anderson’s hour not as a career prize for 30 years of fine work, but as recognition for a single film of undeniable authority. Paul Thomas Anderson lines up a shot of DiCaprio in One Battle After Another Directing: Chloé Zhao , Hamnet Josh Safdie , Marty Supreme Paul Thomas Anderson , One Battle After Another Joachim Trier , Sentimental Value Ryan Coogler , Sinners Who would I like to win: Paul Thomas Anderson Who will win: Paul Thomas Anderson Paul Thomas Anderson has been refining his voice for decades, from the restless propulsion of Boogie Nights to the operatic force of There Will Be Blood to the controlled intensity of The Master . One Battle After Another feels like the culmination of that long evolution: a film made by a director who knows exactly how much to show, when to withhold, and how to let performances breathe within a rigorous formal design. The film’s shifting tones—paranoia, absurd humor, genuine emotional unease—are handled with extraordinary assurance. Anderson draws on Pynchonian bedlam without letting it spill into messiness, shaping complexity into something legible and resonant. In a competitive year, Anderson's work stands apart not for its volume or ambition, but for its authority. This is the rare case where the directing prize feels less like a surprise and more like an inevitability. Timothée Chalamet is suited up for a table tennis tournament in Marty Supreme Actor in a Leading Role: Timothée Chalamet , Marty Supreme Leonardo DiCaprio , One Battle After Another Ethan Hawke , Blue Moon Michael B. Jordan , Sinners Wagner Maura , The Secret Agent Who would I like to win: Ethan Hawke Who will win: Timothée Chalamet The Best Actor award has traditionally been one of the Academy’s most age-conscious categories, a place where long résumés and accumulated gravitas tend to carry real momentum. That’s what makes Timothée Chalamet’s position this year so striking. At 30, a victory would make him the second-youngest Best Actor winner in Oscar history. And yet Marty Supreme makes a persuasive case for setting precedent aside. What distinguishes Chalamet’s performance as a fast-talking 1950s New York City table tennis prodigy and hustler is not flash or youthful intensity, but control. He shapes the character with restraint and specificity, allowing volatility and self-destruction to surface organically rather than announcing them. For all of Marty’s manic energy, Chalamet serves it up via an assured, thoughtful process. The competition is formidable. First there’s Michael B. Jordan, who delivers a bravura dual performance in Sinners , portraying twin brothers with sharply defined physical and emotional distinctions. Meanwhile, prolific four-decades-long performer Ethan Hawke is quietly devastating as lyricist Lorenz Hart in Blue Moon , capturing Hart’s brilliance and despair on the night his former partner Richard Rodgers celebrates the triumph of his new, soon-to-be-legendary musical Oklahoma! But it’s Chalamet, a relatively new A-lister (his immersive portrayal of Bob Dylan in last year's A Complete Unknown garnered a Best Actor nom) who's been successfully alternating between large-scale Hollywood fare and smaller independent features for the past decade, feels like the one who will make the Academy go a different way this year. Jessie Buckley experiences a moment of catharsis in Hamnet Actress in a Leading Role: Jessie Buckley , Hamnet Rose Byrne , If I Had Legs I’d Kick You Kate Hudson , Song Sung Blue Renate Reinsve , Sentimental Value Emma Stone , Bugonia Who would I like to win: Jessie Buckley Who will win: Jessie Buckley The category of Best Actress often rewards transformation, but it also rewards the harder trick: anchoring a film so completely that all its edges feel purposeful. Think Frances McDormand in 2020’s Nomadland (also directed by Chloé Zhao)—less a performance than a presence, a quiet force that gives an episodic journey its emotional spine. Jessie Buckley does something similar in Hamnet , which imagines the life and death of William Shakespeare's young son while delivering a portrait of grief that’s restrained, unshowy, frequently very quiet, and devastating in the way it accumulates. She doesn’t push the big emotional moments–she lets them arrive on their own. And when they do, they land with real force. It’s rigor and growing intensity that looks effortless. Buckley’s case is strengthened by a decade of superb work that includes 2020’s Wild Rose , 2021’s The Lost Daughter , and 2023’s Wicked Little Letters . And her performances are often what one walks away from a film remembering—think 2020’s I’m Thinking of Ending Things and Fingernails from 2023. (Yeah, I don’t remember them that well, either.) With Hamnet , though, the perfect canvas has been provided for the lady and her talents. Just as with Best Actor, the nominee field is strong. Norwegian actress Renate Reinsve brings confidence and precision to the drama Sentimental Value ; Emma Stone tackles the dark, sci-fi comedy-thriller Bugonia with fearless tonal agility; and Rose Byrne is raw and unguarded in the similarly tense psychological drama-comedy If I Had Legs I’d Kick You . Still, this feels like Buckley’s year: a powerful and wholly engaging performance that provides recognition for a consistently excellent output. Stellan Skarsgård gets clearly sentimental in Sentimental Value Actor in a Supporting Role: Benicio Del Toro , One Battle After Another Jacob Elordi , Frankenstein Delroy Lindo , Sinners Sean Penn , One Battle After Another Stellan Skarsgård , Sentimental Value Who would I like to win: Sean Penn Who will win: Stellan Skarsgård Stellan Skarsgård feels like the kind of Supporting Actor winner the Academy likes to congratulate itself for recognizing. For more than four decades, the Swedish superstar has been a fixture of international and stateside cinema, moving easily between leading and supporting roles, and Sentimental Value gives him a showcase that’s both generous and precise. His performance as a fading filmmaker attempting to engineer both a late-career comeback and a fresh connection with his estranged daughters is quietly authoritative, layered with regret, restraint, and lived-in intelligence—work that deepens the film without demanding attention. A win here would also serve as a nod to Sentimental Value ’s remarkable showing at the Awards, with nine nominations and a strong position in the Best International Feature race. But I have to say that Sean Penn would make for a thrilling upset. His Colonel Steven J. Lockjaw in One Battle After Another is a nightmarish creation—an authoritarian zealot driven by paranoia, guilt, and a grotesquely distorted sense of affection. It’s an unrelenting, deeply unsettling performance, and one of the film’s most daring elements, even if the film’s success in other major categories hinder Penn’s chances here. Ditto for his co-star Benicio del Toro. Then there's Jacob Elordi, whose fresh take on a classic horror figure in Frankenstein works best as a high-profile boost to a rising career, while Delroy Lindo’s nod for Sinners feels more like a courtesy than a coronation. So, this feels like Skarsgård’s moment—an elegant, quietly commanding performance that hits the Academy in its sweet spot. Teyana Taylor takes it to the streets in One Battle After Another Actress in a Supporting Role: Elle Fanning , Sentimental Value Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas , Sentimental Value Amy Madigan , Weapons Wunmi Mosaku , Sinners Teyana Taylor , One Battle After Another Who would I like to win: Amy Madigan Who will win: Teyana Taylor Few nominees arrive this season with the kind of heat Teyana Taylor has right now. Over the past six months, she’s been unavoidable—talk shows, red carpets, magazine covers, headlines, and award stages—and already honored with a Golden Globe win for One Battle After Another . More than momentum, though, it’s her turn as the complex far-left revolutionary Perfidia Beverly Hills that provides the fireworks and endures. Taylor brings force and specificity to the volatile, sexually charged role, embracing the character’s contradictions rather than smoothing them over. It plays as a breakout performance rooted in risk and command, not reassurance. As for the notably outstanding fellow nominees, Sentimental Value places two sharply drawn performances in contention. Elle Fanning initially plays on surface polish before revealing unexpected emotional depth, while Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas sneaks up with a quiet, piercing presence. Each adds a distinct emotional register to the film. Meanwhile, Wunmi Mosaku brings steadiness and moral gravity to her role as a Hoodoo healer in Sinners . Then there’s Amy Madigan, who would make a deeply satisfying winner. Her gleefully unhinged Aunt Gladys in Weapons is fearless and funny, a master class in controlled chaos (earlier on, at least)—and a reminder of the skill and range she’s brought to her film and television work for decades. Still, awards seasons tend to crown moments as much as performances, and this moment feels like it belongs to Harlem’s own Teyana Taylor. Roughly 300 films are eligible for Academy Awards each year, and for every movie that lands a nomination, there are at least two others that plausibly could have as well. The Best Picture lineup alone reflects just how crowded the year was.  Jon M. Chu’s Wicked: For Good , Noah Baumbach’s Jay Kelly , and James Cameron’s Avatar: Fire and Ash —all very popular and well-received pictures—were shut out of the category entirely despite high expectations. It’s a similar case with respected lower-profile works like Park Chan-wook’s No Other Choice , and Mona Fastvold’s The Testament of Ann Lee that also found themselves outside the final slate. That’s not a failure—it’s a sign of health. A crowded year means more voices and choices, more risks, and more room for emerging filmmakers and seasoned veterans alike to do what they do best and maybe even stretch the form. So, there you go--our picks, our arguments, and at least a few opinions you may already be preparing to dismantle! Now we want to hear from you. Tell us where you agree, where you think we’ve gone completely off the rails, and which films or performances you’d have pushed across the finish line instead. Scroll down, leave a comment and join the fray. After all, half the fun of awards season isn’t the trophies—it’s the arguing. Movies are meant to spark opinions, inspire the defense of favorites, and occasionally start a friendly brawl or two. So, make your case and keep the conversation going! 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 Susan Senator / Boston The bus came by and I got on, that’s when it all began –Bob Weir, “The Other One” (1967) Weir at the Greek Theater in Berkeley in 1981 (photo: Rolling Stone ) Weir at the Chicago Theatre on March 11, 2020 (photo: thekingdekalb) I’m not worthy of writing about Bob Weir, the co-founder of The Grateful Dead, who recently died at the age of 78. I did not follow The Dead around the country; I only saw them once, in 1979 in New York City when I was 15, and then and there I fell hopelessly in love with Weir, the Dead’s rhythm guitarist. Two years earlier, my older sister Laura had brought home their greatest hits album, Skeletons From the Closet . We sat on her lime-green shag rug, listening to the entire thing on her plastic record player, and I remember thinking I liked every single song the very first time hearing it. And when “Sugar Magnolia” came on, I tasted summer love: “She come skimming through rays of violet/She can wade in a drop of dew.” I’ve been hooked on the group ever since. I am a Deadhead, through and through, though I rarely wear tie-dye and cannot name more than a handful of their concerts by the date and set. Doesn’t matter. I listen to them and only them, making occasional allowances for Jerry Garcia Band and Bob Weir’s Wolf Bros. The real acid test for me was when I realized that if I could travel back in a time machine, I would rather go back to the Dead’s acoustic show at The Warfield in San Francisco on September 25, 1980, than even go back to 1889 and kill baby Hitler. Before I knew about the Dead, I thought—because of the macabre name—that they were some scary hard rock band for bad boys, like the lascivious Rolling Stones, whose Sticky Fingers album featuring a jeans-clad male pelvis, shocked and embarrassed little teenaged me. The Dead didn’t do that. Theirs were often humorous cautionary tales of people on the Wrong Side of the Law or revived folk songs that were a far cry from the progressive rock groups I loved back then– the band Yes, Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Pink Floyd. I heard the rumbling, rolling, bouncy sounds of “Truckin’” and I thought, with mystified delight, “What the hell is this?” I still don’t know. Every time I try to explain my obsession to a non-Deadhead, I don’t know where to begin. The Dead have been called a true example of Americana, but that sounds too quaint and makes me think of rustic antique shops or stars-and-stripes swags of bunting. Folk rock? Yes, but that doesn’t begin to cover it. The first Jam band? But how does that explain a sweet, all-too-brief ballad like “Ripple”? They’ve even been called “jazz for people who don’t like jazz.” All of those labels are too static a classification. Perhaps the Dead’s concert producer Bill Graham said it best: “They’re not the best at what they do. They’re the only ones that do what they do.” The author and her homemade Jerry Garcia cake And what did they do? “We play for life,” Dead co-founder Jerry Garcia sang in “Jack Straw,” They played because it was everything to them. The Dead played for life, and they played for fun. The Dead are probably most famous for the way they played off each other, the way they improvised together and came up with new versions of the same songs over and over. They were not interested in big profits from new albums; they preferred their own live experiences to going into the studio and cranking out song after song. To Bobby, it was the magic that happened each time they played together—even having a bad night was better than having no night. “We were real good at relating to a live audience,” Bobby said in an April 28, 2023, interview with Dan Rather. “What we were good at was stating a theme and taking it for a walk in the woods.” Bob Weir’s “walk in the woods” gets to the heart of Bob himself. He epitomized the explorer and wanderer, with that laid-back attitude combined with mischievous, fun-seeking dark eyes. He was usually the one who talked to the audience, calling us “friends,” or making wise or obscure comments on talk shows, like when he told David Letterman that he was having “more fun than a frog in a glass of milk.” Always polite and kind, Weir was the Dead’s designated crowd control. In many concert recordings you can hear Bobby humbly begging fans to “take a step back, and another, and another step back” from the stage, while the rest of the band played “Beer Barrel Polka” in the background. Deadheads still argue about which is the best version of “Take a Step Back”. Bob Weir and Don Was performing together in 2018 Longtime musician and Grammy-winning record producer Don Was played with Weir’s other band, Wolf Bros, starting in 2018, though he knew Bob long before that. Was told The Insider how one day that summer, out of the blue, Bobby called him. Bobby said he'd had a dream about their mutual friend, the late composer/bass player Rob Wasserman, who had died two years earlier. In the dream, Wasserman had come to Bobby and said that Don should be Wasserman's replacement as bass player. So, the next day, Bobby called Don and asked if he wanted to come over and jam with him. “We just jamm ed on an A minor chord for about 20 minutes…Bobby took out his phone, called his managers and said, “Okay, book a Wolf Bros tour..” Don described Bobby as “kinda half man, half spirit.” I got to see Bobby with Wolf Bros in 2022, on his 75th birthday. No longer the sweet boy next door, Bobby, with that huge white hair and Wild Bill Hickock beard, was now a thoughtful sage, a wise old Gandalf, and I, faithful Hobbit, loved him in his new form. But now?  What can a Deadhead do, if we don’t want to wait around to see if Dead & Company comes back somehow? Has our long, strange trip come to an end? Not by any stretch. Not while there are cover bands. You can find them anywhere in the country on the Grateful Dead Tribute Bands website . In my town, just three miles away from me, I have found my Church: a bar called The Midway Cafe—though it’s not a cafe and I don’t know what it is midway to. Every Friday is “Hippie Hour,” where I can hear local bands with names extracted from Dead songs or albums, like Reckoning Crew, Uncle Johnny’s Band, and Promised Land. Everyone there looks vaguely familiar, wearing tie-dye, and dancing, with that same air of dreamy worship—just like in the Dead old days. And why? Not because they sound just like the real Dead, or like the polished, media-groomed Dead & Company, but because they are real and live and playing off each other, making mistakes, exploring, and having genius moments. Just like the real Dead. Sometimes when I’m there in that smokey darkness, with the smell of weed and beer washing over me, I feel like the luckiest person in the world, because I can hear Bobby Songs sung with that same friendly openness, the same authenticity. The same walk in the woods.  I get to dance right next to the keyboard, and I never have to take a step back. And as Don Was said, “[Bobby is] living on in his music and in our hearts. We’re gonna miss him like crazy but remember–he’s right here if you need him.” 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.

By Bonnie Fishman / San Francisco Bay Area Bonnie and her sister Marcia standing in front of their house (circa 1965) The 1950s and ‘60s were great decades to grow up in especially in Oak Park, Mich., a quiet new suburb of Detroit.  We were carefree, our parents sent us out to play and told us, “Be back when the streetlights go on.” We didn’t worry about strangers snatching us off the street, we could ring someone’s doorbell and ask to use the bathroom or the phone and some of us didn’t even lock our doors. (I never had a key!) One of the best parts of that era is that we ate whatever we wanted with reckless abandon. Did it have enough protein? Did it have too many carbs or sugar? Did it have plenty of fiber and vitamins? We had no clue about any of this, because that was not the focus of anyone’s life. We were happier then. Now we have to be concerned with not eating too much sugar, fat, carbs, or preservatives.  We make sure we consume the proper number of grams of protein a day. If we had bread for lunch, maybe we had  better skip it at dinner. Those of you who were born before 1965–true Baby Boomers–know what I’m talking about. We had a worry-free mentality about eating. We didn’t even think twice.  Younger readers, buckle up because our childhoods were way more happy-go-lucky than what we all are dealing with today. I remember that in high school, I never ate the hot meals. Instead, every day I would have tuna fish on white bread, 2 Hostess cupcakes, and chocolate milk. Then I would go home and eat more before dinner. Did I count calories or think about the fact that it was too much sugar for lunch? Heck no! We ate. We were relaxed. We didn’t fret. A red-letter day in my life came in September 1964 when Kellogg’s Pop-Tarts came on the market. It was life changing!  That became my go-to breakfast. They were great snacks too. We had a “Pop-Tart” cabinet above the broom closet. All our friends would hit that spot when they came over after school. My mom baked from scratch almost daily but somehow the allure of this treat was intoxicating. I personally enjoyed blueberry without frosting. Closely following Pop-Tarts for breakfast came Carnation’s Instant Breakfast drink. This was the precursor to smoothies, except these had not a shred of good qualities. I did love the chocolate, however. How did we survive these culinary atrocities? Going down the candy aisle was a real adventure. We had Pixy Stix (straws filled with flavored sugar), Candy Buttons (colored dots of sugar stuck to a sheet of paper) and small wax bottles with sugar water inside. (We ate the wax afterwards!)  But we did have real chocolate. Nowadays, if a candy bar says “chocolate candy,” there may only be a morsel of cocoa butter in it. Pixy Stix Candy Buttons Wax bottles with dyed sugar water We can’t have this conversation without discussing ready-to-eat meals. They were offered in the freezer section of the supermarket. Our household never had TV dinners, but we did indulge in Swanson Chicken Pot Pies. (They cost a whopping 29 cents in the ‘60s.) On occasion, we even ate Mrs. Paul’s Fish Sticks. Oh, the shame of it all!  As far as snack food goes, when Pringles came on the market in 1968, they were all the rage in that red cylinder tube. Guess what? They’re not even potato chips but made out of potato flour. Our mothers also cooked with an uncanny amount of Campbell’s soup, a highly processed food. Who knows what were in those cans anyway? The Cream of Mushroom was a particular favorite of mine. I loved the tuna noodle and green bean casseroles made with it.  I’ve been able to recreate these two dishes using real ingredients. I’ll share the recipes another time! What we ate began to shift in the '70s when health concerns became important.  Yogurt grew in popularity, especially when fruit on the bottom was born. We  watched various food trends emerge over the coming decades, some of which are still with us–gluten-free, high protein, low-carb. It can be quite stressful to navigate them. Like I said before, we were happier then! Today’s recipe is a throwback to the good old days. This time I’m making homemade Pop-Tarts. When I was at the grocery store today, I happened to read the label on the present-day Pop-Tarts label. Don’t ask! Feel free to substitute strawberries, raspberries, or cherries for the blueberries. I happen to prefer frozen fruit (a rare occurrence) due to the fact that the berries have a consistently sweet, full taste. Sometimes I buy fresh blueberries, and find they’re just not that flavorful. When I heat  up these delicacies in the toaster oven (they don’t fit in a regular toaster), and I close my eyes as I’m eating, I’m a little kid again! Bonnie’s Homemade Pop-Tarts      Yield: 9 pastries Dough: 4 oz. butter or margarine, softened 1/2 c. sugar 1/2 tsp. baking powder 1/4 tsp. salt 1/2 c. full-fat Greek yogurt 1 lg. egg 1/2 tsp. vanilla 2 2/3 c. flour Filling: 1 c. blueberries, raspberries, or sliced strawberries (frozen or fresh) 1/4 c. sugar 1 Tbsp. cornstarch 1 tsp. fresh lemon juice Icing: 1 c. confectioners’ sugar 1+ Tbsp. milk 1/4 tsp. vanilla Make dough: In a stationary mixer with a paddle, or in a bowl with a wooden spoon, beat together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Blend in the baking powder and salt. Beat in the yogurt, egg, and vanilla. Add the flour.  Stir until just combined. Divide the dough into 2 balls. Flatten into discs. Wrap each in cling film and refrigerate for 2 hours. Make filling: Put the berries in a small saucepan over moderate heat. Cook for about 2 minutes, mashing the fruit with the back of a spoon. Combine the sugar and cornstarch in a small bowl. Blend into the berries. Cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture gets bub-bly, translucent and thickened, about 5 minutes. Stir in the lemon juice. Transfer to a small bowl. Refrigerate until cooled completely, at least a half an hour. Assembly: Roll out one of the discs on a floured surface into a large rectangle, about an 1/8” thick. Using a ruler as a guide, cut into a 12” x 9” rectangle. Cut the dough into 9 4”x 3” pieces. Place them on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Preheat oven to 375°. Using a pastry brush dipped in water, brush the edges of the dough pieces. Evenly divide the berry filling among the rectangles. Spread out filling leaving a 1/2” border. Roll the second disc in the same manner as the first. Place a rectangle on top of each pastry. Using a fork, press all edges together to seal. Prick the tops with the fork going down the center four times. Bake for @ 15 minutes, until the edges are slightly brown and the bottoms are light brown. Icing: In a small bowl using a fork, whisk together the confectioners' sugar, milk, and vanilla. You want a consistency that is loose enough to drizzle on the pastry. You may need to add a little more milk. Drizzle on the icing with the fork in a cross-hatch pattern.  Allow the icing to set. Cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy.             Add the yogurt, egg and vanilla.   Blend in the flour just until comes together.             Divide into 2 balls, flatten them into discs, wrap and refrigerate. Using a ruler as a guide, cut dough into 9 even rectangles. Distribute filling evenly leaving a 1/2” border. Whisk together the confectioners' sugar, milk, and vanilla. Use a fork to drizzle icing in a cross-hatch pattern. 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 Dr. Nancy Fishman / Morgan Hill, Calif. Almost never! First, let’s start by making a very important distinction: There is a difference between commenting on someone’s clothing, sunglasses or shoes, and drawing attention to their body parts. Acceptable remarks: “I like that sweater. Love the color.” ”Where did you get those sunglasses? They’re so unusual.” “I’ve been looking for a hat just like that one.” It is not okay to comment on someone’s body parts! “You have gorgeous skin.” “Your hair is so stunning.” “I’ll bet everyone says you have the whitest teeth.” As innocuous as these unacceptable remarks might seem, they are actually an intrusion into another individual’s personal space. They shine a spotlight on one who may not wish to be noticed. Sometimes, compliments can even feel threatening, especially when a person feels like the individual making the comment is hitting on them. A severe consequence is when these observations change a person’s self-image and cause them to become self-conscious about something of which they were previously oblivious. Today’s younger generations have elevated awareness of the effects of unsolicited attention given to the outward appearance of others. In previous decades, it was common to compliment people, even strangers, on anything observable. My husband claims he is just being nice when he tells a stranger in line at CVS that she has a beautiful smile. He’s a man who is accustomed to saying exactly what is on his mind. Like others of an older generation, he is grappling with the difference between being friendly and appearing too familiar. There has been a major shift in behavioral norms in our society. In the workplace, Human Resource departments publish acceptable and unacceptable language, topics, and behaviors. Reporting unsolicited remarks or physical contact can lead to an employee’s dismissal for crossing the line. During elementary and middle school, kids are prone to say whatever they are thinking. Thoughtless chatter can be embarrassing and painful for fellow classmates. When I was in junior high school, I developed breasts that were larger than most of my girlfriends. The boys, even my closest friends, nicknamed me Nancy Fishtits. They weren’t being intentionally unkind; they were just being pubescent boys. Nevertheless, I experienced firsthand how demeaning and unforgettable it was to have anyone focusing on my body. Today, there is a national epidemic of cruel social media postings that have left some undefended targets with anxiety, depression, and an inclination to withdraw from social activities, resulting in isolation. Some victims have even taken their own lives rather than to continue suffering the shame and humiliation created in a seemingly unstoppable viral environment. Whole school programs have been created to educate young people about the potentially harmful consequences of their unchecked recklessness. In Margaret Atwood’s 1988 novel Cat’s Eye , the author, through main character Elaine Risely, exemplifies the sustaining effects of bullying and childhood trauma that persisted throughout Risely’s life. Elaine at age 50, often conjures up feelings she had as a teenager when classmates verbally criticized her appearance, leaving her with self-doubt and a lack of confidence. This too common a story shows us the lasting impact living under a social microscope can have. Unwanted attention to personal appearance is a form of objectification, where people are identified as objects rather than for themselves as human beings. Almost nobody wants to be seen as Barbie, Ken or the Troll. Such a disconnect between the perception of true self and of an object can fuel self-consciousness, and worsen anxiety and depression, all of which have negative effects on comfort and freedom in school, the workplace, and in social situations. Severe forms of this can lead to eating disorders, fear of sexual assault, cognitive impairment, and certainly the dismantling of personal goals. So, when is it appropriate to verbalize your observation of someone’s appearance? If your wife asks you how she looks in her outfit, think very hard before you step into that trap. Tell her she looks fine, but another outfit is your favorite. She will decode that message. If you are shopping with your adolescent daughter and she has put on a dress that looks terrible on her, be very careful to comment on the dress and not how her body looks in it. If you are in the dressing room with your best friend and she asks you how her “butt” looks in the jeans she is trying on, you have her permission to tell her exactly what you think in the kindest way possible. Let’s all remember that words matter! This column is devoted to psychological topics that speak to the human condition, such as relationships, family, love, loss, and happiness. The ideas, thoughts, philosophies, and observations expressed here are personal and not meant as professional advice. Names and identifying information have been changed to protect the privacy of real people. Dr. Nancy Fishman moved to Santa Clara County in 2016 from Michigan, where she was a practicing psychologist. Currently, she is a strategy consultant to individuals, families, businesses, family law attorneys and their clients, working on coping, managing, reorganizing, pivoting and innovating. She is the founder of Forgotten Harvest, one of the nation’s largest food recovery operations. She is also the creator of Silicon Valley’s A La Carte food recovery and distribution initiative, and the organizer of Feeding Morgan Hill. Nancy lives on a family compound with her husband, sisters, brother-in-law, and a pack of dogs.   NancyFishmanPhD.com   ForgottenHarvest.org

By Richard Weill / Katonah, N.Y. Playwright Frederick Knott at the desk in West Sussex, England, where he wrote Dial M for Murder (1952) “A disease: thrilleritis malignis ,” Ira Levin called it in his play Deathtrap —an endless fascination with the stage thriller as a unique and ingenious theatrical form. I don’t know exactly when I caught the bug, but I know I got it from my father, who would tell me all about stage thrillers from the 1930s like Riddle Me This! and Whistling in the Dark (where the murder weapon was poison inserted into the end of a tube of toothpaste). Regrettably, I missed Sleuth on Broadway in the early ‘70s, but I was a law student in Boston in 1978 when Deathtrap came through, heading to New York, and knew to order tickets for an early performance at the Music Box Theatre. From then on, I couldn’t get enough of stage thrillers. I watched them, read them, collected them, collected books and articles about them—and then tried writing a few of my own. In 2016, my legal thriller, Framed, premiered in suburban Los Angeles to excellent reviews (“engaging, entertaining, highly credible, and well worth your time”), standing-room-only performances, and a run extended by popular demand. Two years later, I wrote a book about the experience: We Open in Oxnard Saturday Afternoon . Another thriller of mine, Imperfect Alibi , is currently under contract for promotion in Poland with Agencja Dramatu i Teatru, a theatrical agency in Warsaw. The playwright with the original London stars of Dial M for Murder at London's Cafe de Paris: They were there to celebrate Knott’s imminent departure to New York for the Broadway production. (from right) Frederick Knott, Jane Baxter, Emrys Jones and his wife Pauline Bentley. (1952) I have a personal Mount Rushmore of great stage thrillers: Anthony Shaffer’s Sleuth , Ira Levin’s Deathtrap , Agatha Christie’s Witness for the Prosecution , and Frederick Knott’s Dial M for Murder . Shelves of books have been written about Dame Agatha, including several specific to her works for the stage. Ira Levin is the subject of a book written in 1988. Shortly before his death in 2001, Anthony Shaffer completed his memoirs. Other stage thriller playwrights, like Rope and Angel Street author Patrick Hamilton, are the subject of biographies or memoirs. But to my astonishment, there were no books on Frederick Knott. It’s not as if Knott was a one-hit wonder. He wrote three hit Broadway thrillers: Dial M , Write Me a Murder (for which he became the first playwright to win a second “Best Play” Edgar Allan Poe Award from the Mystery Writers of America), and Wait Until Dark . A few brief articles had been written about him, but nothing substantial. And then I learned that Knott’s papers were in the hands of Yale University’s Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library—only 43 miles from my home. But there were exacting procedures for requisitioning boxes and folders and making appointments to view them. Maurice Evans, who played leading man Tony Wendice in the Broadway production of Dial M, with playwright Frederick Knott (1954) In April 2024, I took a shot in the dark and emailed the Beinecke Library, asking if I could obtain remote access to portions of the Frederick Knott Collection. In response, I was told: “We can send you the digitized files.” Not only that, but the Beinecke would digitalize and send me other Knott material as well. In other words, I could get copies of any papers in the collection, direct to my home computer. But what to request? The answer came when I stumbled upon a book by Charles Dennis entitled There’s a Body in the Window Seat!: The History of Arsenic and Old Lace . Why couldn’t I do something similar with Dial M for Murder ? Thus began my deep dive into one of Broadway’s greatest thrillers. Soon I was surrounded by drafts, notes, “scribbles” (as Knott called them), correspondence, diaries, and notebooks, struggling to master Knott’s barely legible handwriting. A lot of these papers were out of order; To organize Knott’s piles of Dial M notes, I had to sort them according to the main character’s ever-changing name: Henry Storm, Paul Lime, Max Lesgate, Henry Lime, and finally Tony Wendice. But one note in the pile, with no character names, stood out. It looked different. It was written on different paper. It screamed: this is where Knott’s idea for his play began: Husband gets X to kill his wife. She kills X. Husband fixes things to make it appear that she had murdered X. Wife arrested for murder. or Wife convicted and about to be hanged. About a month after he first hatched Dial M in October 1949, Knott wrote and registered a synopsis with Britain’s Screenwriters Association. It contains about 90 percent of the ultimate story. Obviously, the remaining 10 percent was harder to crack. It took another 17 months for Knott to complete it. I wanted to determine why. What was the impediment? I spent a lot of time trying to figure that out. I think I did. The story of how Dial M for Murder reached the stage is as dramatic as the play itself. There weren’t just bumps in the road; at various points in the journey, there was no road. Dial M itself was “about to be hanged” more than once. But, like the play’s heroine, it survived—and thrived. In late November 2024, I took a second shot in the dark. I found what looked like the email address of Frederick Knott’s son, Dr. Anthony F. Knott. I knew he controlled the rights to his father’s papers on behalf of his father’s estate, and I needed his permission to use material from the Knott collection in my book. What happened next knocked my socks off. No one could have been friendlier, more cooperative, and less intrusive about what my book would say. Tony Knott also shared with me additional papers and photos that, for one reason or another, never made it into the Yale collection. He so appreciated the scrutiny his father’s work finally would receive. (He believes his father would, too, even though Frederick Knott was very protective of his privacy.) When I asked Tony if he would write a foreword to the book, he graciously agreed. Frederick Knott with Grace Kelly on the Warner Brothers set of Dial M . In the film, the actress played Margot Wendice, whose husband Tony plots to have murdered (1953) In a few days, my book, Frederick Knott and Dial M for Murder: The Creation and Evolution of an Iconic Thriller , will be published by McFarland & Company, Inc. It tells the whole story of Dial M . First, its difficult birth: the play’s creation, rejection, the premature sale of its film rights, and its fortuitous first production. Then its charmed life: success in London and New York, the Hitchcock film, and appearances on stages worldwide. Finally, its controversial afterlife, culminating in Jeffrey Hatcher’s 2022 adaptation of Knott’s play. Knott’s other writing is covered as well. And Knott’s complete, original draft of Dial M for Murder is an added bonus. Frederick Knott’s last words of Dial M stage dialogue are: “He’s remembered.” Indeed, he is. Richard Weill began writing plays the summer between college and law school and continued throughout his 40-year career as a New York prosecutor and civil litigator.  A member of the Dramatists Guild, his 2016 play Framed  was a success with both critics and audiences. Weill wrote three books prior to this year’s Frederick Knott and Dial M for Murder : his account of  Framed’s eight-year journey ( We Open in Oxnard Saturday Afternoon ) and two novels: Last Train to Gidleigh , a mystery set in World War II London; and Panic! , about Thomas E. Dewey and Orson Welles.

By Andy Borowitz  March 5, 2026 Win McNamee/Getty Images WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report )— While Americans strongly disapprove of Donald Trump’s decision to attack Iran, a new poll released on Thursday shows overwhelming support for sending Stephen Miller there. Over seventy percent of those surveyed “strongly approve” of sending Miller, who bested such other popular choices as Kristi Noem, JD Vance, Karoline Leavitt, Pete Hegseth, and Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. If Trump moves forward with such a deployment, however, he could run afoul of international law, since the use of Stephen Miller against a civilian population violates the Geneva Conventions and would likely be considered a war crime.

By Lydia Hope Wilen / New York City & Stan Fischler / North Golan Heights, Israel My neighbor and I wanted to start a newsletter for our building.  Since this friend loves alliteration and wanted to use our building’s name that starts with an M”, I came up with Metropolitan Mavens. When I pitched it to the head of communications for the building, the woman told me that ‘maven’ was too ethnic. I told her, “So I guess we can also cross off “Two Jews with News.”  It got a big laugh and that was the end of the pitch session. Fast forward to days later, while I was writing my most recent article for the Insider , the word ‘maven’ must have been uppermost in my mind, because I described my autograph guy, Ray Regan, as a “dealer, collector and maven.” Yes, it’s a Yiddish word, but it has become part of everyday language like schlep, klutz, yenta, bupkis, schmooze, chutzpah, and let’s not forget tush (as in football’s tush push). When Ray read my description of him, he sent me this email: Great job! I love the mention too! "The Maven"... I've been a NY Rangers fan my whole life, following a hockey writer known as the “Hockey Maven.”  He’s still writing and I’m still following him. To think I've achieved "Maven" status alongside Stan Fischler.               When I read that name, I was flabbergasted. That doesn’t happen often. (When was the last time you were flabbergasted?)    I immediately went to my file cabinet and got out the six-decades-old article Stan wrote about me in the New York Journal-American , a prominent newspaper from 1937 to 1966. I don’t remember how or where I met Stan, or the circumstances leading up to him writing that article. All I knew is that I thought it would be nice to reconnect with him. The first step in today’s world? I googled him and found podcasts, interviews, his story in a short documentary and a Wikipedia page filled with his accomplishments, and it didn’t even mention his journalistic time at the Journal-American where we first met in person. I was looking to reconnect with a man who has had 100 books published, thousands of articles with his byline, won seven Emmy Awards, was inducted into the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame as a hockey historian, plus New York State Hockey Hall of Fame; International Jewish Hockey Hall of Fame; voted by Mayor Giuliani "One Of 100 Distinguished NYC Historians," the winner of the award for "Subway Series" for Metro Channel. And, quoting my hockey-fan friend, “He’s a real LEGEND!”    Author Lydia Wilen with Tales of Brooklyn , Stan Fischler's 100th published book -- a funny, poignant, memory-provoking memoir of his young life.  It’s a good thing I don’t get intimidated.  And why should I?  I have bragging rights too. I’ve never been beaten at Boggle.  Hey, yeah … the Hockey Maven and the Boggle Meister. Go for it, Lyd! Lost and Profound Despite all of his interviews on the internet, I couldn’t find an email address for Stan, but I did find one for Doug Whiteman, his friend and agent.  On Feb. 4 , I emailed Doug, asking if he would help me get in touch with Stan. And I sent a copy of the article Stan had written about me some 60 years earlier. (GULP!) On Feb 5 , Doug sent my email to Stan. On Feb. 6 Doug got this response: Dear Doug: THANKS!  Gotta chase down Lydia. Then Doug responded with: What a wild story regarding your friend from the past! Makes me think I should dig up an old pal or two of my own. Second Draft of a First Encounter From Stan on Feb. 7 : Dear Lydia: This is like the Marx Brothers in Monkey Business, funny but surreal. And the accompanying pix and my story. How come I didn't call you for a date? Voice from offstage ("Now he tells me.") I kinda liked my story -- and You were funnier than Fischler, which is why I didn't propose. However, if you do answer, I just might propose. Love, Stan (call me Mave) And in the following email: Dear Lydia: In its own little way, our ”reunion” has been an extraordinary event. Right up there in the extraordinary department is the fact that the moment I saw your name, I immediately thought "Hope" is your middle name and I didn’t even use it in the article. Where to begin? For starters, lemme point out that I live on a little kibbutz in the North Golan Heights.    Stan went on to tell me he was married for 48 years to Shirley Walton Fischler, then widowed in 2014. Five years later, in 2019, he moved to Israel to be with his son and his son’s family. His “getting to know you” email ended with a Henny Youngman oldie: Guy goes to the doctor and says, "Doc, my leg hurts, what should I do?" Doc shoots back: "LIMP! " No groans here. Just appreciation for what would follow. Daily emails filled with fun, reminders of the comedic greats, incredible life experiences, membership in the exclusive Marxist Society (devotees of Marx Brothers films) and yes, romance, mostly in the form of song lyrics.  Mave has a rare eidetic memory (more commonly known as a photographic memory) especially for comic bits, and of course hockey, also for songs. He’s known for having a song for every occasion. ’S Wonderful, ’S Marvelous! According to my emails, this would be the start of Mave’s Spotify, or as he would call it, his Spot-a-Fly Playlist for me: “You came to me from out of nowhere You’re getting to be a habit with me. Too close for comfort You do something to me. You make me feel so young. –And I thought about you.” Surprising myself, I came up with this Lorenz Hart lyrical answer: ”Isn’t it romantic?  Every note that’s sung is like a lover’s kiss.” Miles Apart, But Heart To Heart Both of us have active, busy lives (as Mave would say: “Busy as a one-armed paper hanger – with an itch.”)  Since there’s a six-hour time difference between us, my evening emails get to him on his following morning, and his emails get to me when I boot up my computer the next morning. Seems to me I’ve been getting out of bed earlier these days. Hmmm… Hoping for the GWG (Game-Winning Goal) Rather than having Stan read this for prepublication approval, I’m taking a chance by taking a page out of his songbook, ending with this Johnny Mercerish message sent lovingly to Mave after he reads this published piece about us: “And I hope you’re satisfied you rascal, you!” I thought that would be a nice ending to the story, and each of us would continue getting and sending funny and romantic emails each morning.  That is, until the morning of February 28 . Mave’s email that was waiting for me said: WE’RE AT WAR. I’LL WRITE WHEN I CAN. Soldiers at the entrance to the Kibbutz, after the Oct. 7th, 2023 Hamas  and allied Palestinian militant groups attacked   Israel Here, Stan picks up the story from North Golan Heights, Israel: On the kibbutz, when missiles are heading in our direction, we get an almost instantaneous, automated warning through a highly advanced, integrated system known as Tzeva Adom (Red Alert). That's when we go to the safe room. Missiles Are Heading In Our Direction... Before I continue, you should know that right before I started this, Lydia gave me permission– actually, she gave me orders –to share my circumstances, observations, concerns, song/film/comedy references and feelings. Think of it this way, instead of "Dear Diary," it's "Dear Lydia," starting with a missive I sent her on March 3 . This was my granddaughter's bedroom. Now it's my family's "safe" room Not that I want to delve into the day-by-day or night-by-night interludes, but yesterday was a corker. Ariel, my 20-year-old grandson and I were planning to sleep in the safe room. It used to be my granddaughter's bedroom. The trouble is, the "safe" room has a number of features, the most prominent of which is that it's damn unsafe. So, Ariel was already sleeping when I entered and couldn't find the light switch in the pure blackness. I wound up reviving Hellzapoppin ’. And then, with Ariel still sleeping, I had to replay the male role of the Flying Wallendas, bouncing off walls that suddenly emerged out of sheer space. After 10 minutes of subdued frenzy, I found what I was looking for, the Johnson & Johnson shelf with much-needed bandages. By now, Lyd, you should have an explanation for my AWOL and why my absence could have become more permanent if Ariel hadn't stopped the bleeding from my head before the ambulance posse arrived. I'm thinking of You – thinking of me – followed by a paid political announcement. The war here is serious and getting more serious. Hezbollah in Lebanon–very close to us.  Awakened us in the safe room, firing missiles at us and a few other things. Didn't hit our kibbutz, as far as I know, but it did not help future sleeping. I've been told that the Lebanese government, on loan from Duck Soup , has been ordered, as Jack Benny would say, "NOW CUT THAT OUT!" March 5:   Just after I said, "good night," the air raid sirens went off and four of us huddled until the All Clear.  No damage here.  Likely Hezbollah in nearby Lebanon. The Brits and the French forgot how the USA saved their asses in WW II.  Better stop; too pissed for words. March 6: A very long day and still not over. Having done an hour-long hockey podcast and then dinner and checking the news and a possible air raid siren alert, I'm like the guy who rode off madly in all directions. Frankly, my Sweet Lydia, the Maven's Gloom Dodger Machine has been overwhelmed today with bad news.  Hezbollah is shooting way too many missiles and other crap our way. On top of that, I just learned that four or five days worth of my hockey stories did not get through to Hockey News for reasons not even mentioning.  And, your last letter, Lyd, which I wanted to print, somehow skipped town. The Press Box at the UBS Arena, in Belmont Park, NY, named after the Hockey Maven in 2022, three years after he left the U.S. March 9: Nowadays I work on a minute-to-minute life; last night we were twice awakened by separate air-raid sirens. No damage; another warning via phone buzzing and, again, no damage. Apart from the night sirens and other alerts, as the song goes, "I'm Doin' Alright." The main plot is called STAYIN’ ALIVE!  We have failed to neutralize Hezbollah in Lebanon–hence, the missiles–and air raid sirens–were enough to twice awaken us and cause a march to the safe-room. A major challenge is trying to keep my sunny side up while also trying to be patient about my wounds healing. What matters, despite all the tsouris, is that you and I have formed a neat link, emotional, humorous and loving. Again, the Larry Hart song, "Isn't  It Romantic?" Life is very challenging. I do the man's morning prayer ( Modeh Ani ).  It's a 12-word prayer of gratitude for the restoration of the soul, thanking God for life, mercy, and faithfulness. A note to Lydia: You know, I've NEVER held back my growing affection for you. Suddenly, I had the choice of letting it all hang out in this article, but I'm choosing to keep it between us. Let the readers be lucky enough to find romance for themselves. 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 . . .

From Fidias Podcast in Cyprus, March 7, 2026 Fidias Panayitou is a member of the European Parliament

By Jessie Seigel / Washington, D.C. Originally appeared in My Washington Whispers on Feburary 27, 2026   Occasionally, when the crush of news comes raining down from all directions like the deck of cards attacking Alice at the end of Lewis Carroll's Wonderland tale, it becomes too much for an opinion columnist to coherently address. This was one such week for me. There were the Supreme Court’s decision against Trump’s tariffs and Trump's determination to sidestep it; Trump’s threatened attack on Iran; the Republican regime’s efforts to take over and thus steal the midterm elections; further monstrous Epstein File revelations and efforts to cover them up; further news of ICE perpetrated murders; as well as various reports of government spying on ICE observers and journalists to intimidate them or charge them with conspiracy. There were also the Clintons' appearances before Congress, Trump’s State of the Union lies, and the People’s State of the Union event. With all of these important stories, where is one to start? When adroit attorney and commentator Joyce Vance needs a small break, she writes in her Substack column about her pet chickens. I do not have chickens. Or a dog. Or a cat. When I, for a moment, can’t take any more, I turn on the tv in the morning and escape by watching a rerun or so of Leave It to Beaver  before getting out of bed to face the day. I do not watch that show to escape into some unreal but nostalgic middle class past where everyone in the neighborhood was white, the mother wore pearls while preparing dinner, and the worst problems were whether Beaver or older brother Wally ever mildly misbehaved. In fact, when I first saw Leave It to Beaver  (I was about 12 years old; we didn’t buy a TV until then), I disliked it intensely. I felt it was false and ridiculous. The relationships were stilted and facile. There seemed a cavernous divide: me parent, you child. That is, the children never confided in the parents. The parents never really asked the children what was going on. Their little problems would easily have been resolved if they just communicated. I much preferred Father Knows Best . Though these days, that title might be considered paternalistic, the show was not. That show portrayed a family that had true warmth and real communication. Although of the same era as Leave It to Beaver —the husband went to an office and the wife, Margaret, was a housewife—the marriage was a partnership. The occasional conflicts between them rang true. The children’s problems were never severe but were realistically presented.   But back to Beaver . Why do I watch it now?  Partly because it is there, something easy and non-combative to watch from bed when I wake in the morning. It does not require too much in the way of adrenaline or brain cells. And it has cheerful theme music. And why am I bothering to write about it? Because, although I still see its flaws, I now see those flaws from a slightly different perspective.  It is, as I remembered, simplistic. The various episodes seem to be almost parables—short lessons—for right and honorable behavior. And for communication. There are numerous episodes in which the  father, Ward Cleaver, warns Beaver not to do something. Persuaded by his friend Gilbert or Wally’s always conniving friend, Eddie, Beaver does the thing and is afraid to tell his father, making the situation worse. But when Beaver eventually does confess, his father says that he should feel he can always come to him when in trouble. Although Ward takes pride in his sons’ accomplishments and is disappointed when they fail, he is nevertheless a contrast with the father of Wally’s friend Lumpy, who egotistically sees Lumpy only in terms of how the kid reflects on him. The punishments Beaver and Wally receive further reflect these differences in family treatment. They usually are lectured or must go to their room. This is repeatedly contrasted with how their friends are treated by their fathers—getting hit or yelled at—sometimes for nothing. Perhaps the Cleaver family was not meant to represent the norm, but a model to which to aspire. I still find that model lacking in the complexity a real family navigates, and its lessons too obviously stated. Nevertheless, its goal to teach honesty, fair-dealing, respect for each other, and communication (even if backhandedly set up), makes me judge it a little less harshly this time around. Especially in these days when honesty, fair dealing, kindness, and communication are in such peril. 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 Marilyn Mars / Santa Fe, New Mexico LUANATEUTZI/SHUTTERSTOCK A paradox that has always fascinated me, while working with people in their homes as a clutter-clearing practitioner, is that we get used to seeing things so often that we no longer see them anymore. It can be as simple as a kitchen cabinet filled with mugs. You grab your favorite one while the others sit stagnantly waiting their turn as the years go by. Or a stack of magazines you keep hoping to “read someday” and there they sit unnoticed as you walk around them like you would a piece of furniture. Maybe it’s a sewing machine you inherited from your grandmother that’s been sitting in a corner for over a decade. Clutter blindness is a phenomenon where you become so accustomed to the clutter in your environment that you stop noticing it altogether. The crowded counter, the piles of mail, the overflowing closet with clothes that haven’t seen the light in years become such a normal part of your daily routine that you become blind to them. The more time you spend in a space, the more you get used to seeing it that way and it becomes the norm. Your brain begins to filter it out. But what I’ve found is that when you become aware of your space and consciously make changes, it can open new possibilities in your life. I had a client whom I’ll call Henry who felt like no matter how hard he worked or how talented he was, he continued to hit walls when it came to his work world. We decided to take a look at his office space together. The first thing I asked Henry was what did the faceless man mean to him? He said, ‘what faceless man’? He had a painting of a man without a face hanging near his desk. This item was a gift from an artist he liked years ago. Henry had stopped seeing it. The faceless man represented a man without a presence. In his office, Henry was surrounded by clutter and had many other items that represented emptiness to him. In my experience, clutter blindness happens in homes and offices for various reasons. Often it occurs as people experience some form of trauma or stress. They become overwhelmed and the outer environment reflects what’s happening in a person’s life. Henry’s office had become cluttered from the stress of lack of job opportunities. The hodgepodge continued to build up and not only was there no room for what he wanted in his life, his space was continually reflecting his invisibility. We did a thorough clutter-clear of his office over a number of days which gave his office a lighter feeling. He decided to let the painting of the faceless man go, since it had no meaning to him anymore.  He said he felt like he could breathe again. We even added a few items that made him feel successful and seen. He now had a relationship with his space that supported him. Three months later, I received a call from Henry. His work life had opened up, and his job situation had substantially changed. Clutter blindness can show up as a small mess, like a nightstand piled high with a variety of items contributing to disturbed sleep. It can also show up in entire rooms, making it difficult to function in your own residence. Once clutter builds up, it can feel overwhelming and affect your state of well-being. It can also block the flow of many other areas of your life. A different client, whom I’ll call Cindy, had lost her mother with whom she was very close. After her mother died, Cindy brought an enormous number of her mother’s possessions into her home, surrounding herself with more inherited items than her own belongings. At first, Cindy found it a comfort, but the profusion of objects soon started to overwhelm her space and how she was living. When Cindy realized these items were blocking her from her natural grieving process, she began to let go, start to heal and reclaim her space back.    You may be noticing some clutter blindness in your own life. It takes awareness before you can choose to make a change. The first step is to clarify what your motivation is to clutter-clear. By using techniques like starting with something easy, a small area you can successfully complete, you can begin to reclaim your space and restore order to your surroundings. Start with a kitchen cabinet, or if that feels overwhelming, just clear one shelf. Go through one item at a time and decide whether to keep it or not.  You’re on your way! Marilyn Mars is a clutter-clearing expert and educator, whose passion is discovering the underlying reasons why we hold on to things that no longer serve us in our current lives, Marilyn has worked one-on-one with clients around the country for 15 years and teaches virtual classes year-round. A native of Long Island, N.Y, she took a road trip to Santa Fe in 2001, fell in love with the mountains and decided to stay. She and her husband Guillermo are dedicated hikers. www.marilynmars.com