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Tag: good time

  • Cannibal and the Headhunters founder and L.A. Chicano rock pioneer dies

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    In 1965, Robert “Rabbit” Jaramillo and his friends were on the cusp of becoming rock ‘n’ roll royalty.

    Their Eastside quartet, Cannibal and the Headhunters, had a spring smash with “Land of 1,000 Dances.” The hypnotic tune with a memorable “nah na na na nah” chorus earned them appearances on TV music variety programs like “American Bandstand.” They played at concerts with chart toppers like the Temptations, the Righteous Brothers, Marvin Gaye and the Rolling Stones. The vocal group’s tightly choreographed performances impressed the Beatles, who asked them to be an opening act for their second U.S. tour that summer.

    The Headhunters returned to L.A. in August with the Fab Four to play two shows at the Hollywood Bowl just weeks after the Watts riots. Jaramillo danced with such energy that his pants ripped while he and the others scooted across the stage on their behinds, drawing delighted shrieks from the hometown crowd.

    “We were the act, the act!” Jaramillo told the Times in 2015. “Didn’t make no difference what color you are. We’re here, we’d perform, and we’d do our best to show ‘em a good time.”

    When the Beatles run ended a few nights later, the Headhunters went back on the road through the fall with another popular British Invasion act, the Animals.

    But Jaramillo and his friends never recorded another hit, and he left the group two years later.

    “He wanted to keep going, but he needed to make money for his family,” said his daughter, Julie Trujillo. “He always had regret about that.”

    Jaramillo died Aug. 8 of congestive heart failure in Pueblo, Colo. He was 78.

    After leaving the band, he slunk into such musical obscurity that when Tom Waldman began to research what became his 1998 book “Land of a Thousand Dances: Chicano Rock ‘n’ Roll from Southern California,” the word was that the former Headhunter was already dead. Instead, Waldman found him in Pueblo, where Jaramillo had moved in the late 1970s to continue his post-Headhunters career as a railroad signal maintainer.

    His still-strong tenor was reserved for belting gospel songs at the Pentecostal church he attended.

    “He was serious and thoughtful about his career, not bitter but not exuberant either,” said Waldman, who ended up writing a musical based on a fictionalized version of the Headhunters. “But certainly, there was always a sense of pride of what they had done.”

    The book sparked renewed interest in the Eastside’s 1960s Chicano rock scene, and Jaramillo reunited with bandmates to perform for a few more years before adoring crowds. As the last surviving Headhunter, he appeared in documentaries and radio interviews for the rest of his life to recount that magical summer of 1965 when four Mexican Americans from L.A. proved to the world they could shine next to some of the biggest rock groups of all time.

    Born in the Northern California city of Colusa to Mexican immigrants, Jaramillo and his family moved to Boyle Heights when he was young. He grew up in an era when young Mexican Americans on the Eastside were absorbing genres from across Los Angeles — doo-wop from South L.A., surf rock from the coast, the tight harmonies and lovelorn lyrics of Mexican trios — to create a distinct genre later on called Chicano rock or brown-eyed soul. While attending Lincoln High, Jaramillo, his brother Joe and their friend Richard Lopez started a group called Bobby and the Classics, practicing their moves inside what used to be a chicken coop in the Jaramillos’ backyard.

    With the addition of Frankie Garcia as lead singer, Bobby and the Classics renamed themselves the Headhunters after a shrunken head that Jaramillo hung on the rearview mirror of his ’49 Chevy. Their stage personas were based on their neighborhood nicknames: Cannibal for Garcia, Scar for Lopez, YoYo for Joe. Robert was Rabbit because of his large front teeth.

    The teens quickly became local favorites, performing at church halls and auditoriums. A local producer recorded “Land of 1,000 Dances” with members of car clubs singing along and clapping in the studio to re-create the verve of an Eastside party. It topped out at No. 30 on the Billboard charts, which Jaramillo found out while picking peaches in Northern California with his brother and Lopez to help their family’s finances.

    “We get a call — ‘You guy’s gotta come back! The record’s a hit!,” Jaramillo recounted decades later in a documentary. “‘We gotta go to this ‘Hullabaloo’ show!’ We made enough money to get our sorry butts back home.”

    Eastside Chicano rock group Cannibal and The Headhunters perform on the NBC TV music show ‘Hullabaloo’ in March 1965 in New York City, New York. Robert “Rabbit” Jaramillo is second from right.

    (Hullabaloo Archive/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

    Their rollicking appearance on the nationally syndicated program was what members claimed caught the attention of Paul McCartney, who supposedly told Beatles manager Brian Epstein he wanted the “Nah Nah boys” to open for them.

    “I remember asking him how big of a deal that was, and Dad said, ‘I never knew anything about the Beatles,’” Trujillo said. “To him, all he cared about was that he was singing.”

    Trujillo said her father shared anecdotes over the years about the Headhunters’ short stint in the spotlight: the time he and Ringo Starr sneaked away from chaperones to get high, or when Cher sat on Jaramillo’s lap while the two took a crowded taxi somewhere.

    “I do remember my dad saying that their manager screwed them a bit, that they weren’t getting any money and the guys just had to start careers,” Trujillo said. “But we didn’t see him as a famous person. We just saw him as Dad.”

    The performing itch returned to Jaramillo when he retired from the Santa Fe railroad in the 1990s and moved back to Southern California. Gregory Esparza joined the Jaramillo brothers and Lopez in 1999 to take the place of Garcia, who had died three years earlier. Esparza said those Headhunters never performed much publicly because of a copyright dispute over the name, but he remembered rehearsing with the original members “hundreds” of times.

    “It was about reliving what they had at such a young age — reaching the top of the mountain at faster-than-light speed,” said Esparza, who’d go on to front another legendary Eastside Chicano rock group, Thee Midniters. “Getting that recognition really meant a lot to them.”

    He recalled a festival in San Bernardino where the promoter told the group that they wouldn’t get paid if they identified themselves as the Headhunters. “So Rabbit goes on stage, gets a big smile and said, ‘You all know who we are!’ and everyone cheered.”

    Health issues brought Jaramillo back to Colorado in the mid-2000s, but singing never left his life. He was inducted into the Chicano Music Hall of Fame during a 2017 ceremony at Su Teatro in Denver, drawing roars from the audience when he went onstage with his cane only to toss it aside and dance to the Headhunters’ signature song. Fellow congregants at Jaramillo’s longtime church, Good Shepherd Fellowship in Pueblo, regularly asked him to perform Christian songs — a favorite was “My Tribute” by gospel pioneer Andraé Crouch. He also loved to do karaoke with his grandson Daniel Hernandez, preferring oldies like “Daddy’s Home” and “Sixteen Candles.”

    “No one knew who he was, and he never said who he was,” said Hernandez, a Phoenix resident who grew up in East L.A. but spent time with Jaramillo in his later years. “But after he sang, we would always have people buying us beers and telling him, ‘Hey, you’re a great singer!’”

    Jaramillo is survived by two brothers; eight children; 15 grandchildren; and 17 great-grandchildren. Services were held at Good Shepherd Fellowship and ended with his casket being wheeled out to “Land of 1,000 Dances.”

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    Gustavo Arellano

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  • Buddy Duress, ‘Good Time’ Star, Dies at 38

    Buddy Duress, ‘Good Time’ Star, Dies at 38

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    Buddy Duress (né Michael C. Stathis), who starred alongside Robert Pattinson in the Safdie brothers’ 2017 crime thriller “Good Time,” has died. He was 38. Duress’ brother Christopher Stathis revealed to People on Tuesday that the actor died in November 2023 of “cardiac arrest from a drug cocktail.” Duress was born in Queens, New York, […]

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    Michaela Zee

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  • Good Time Streaming: Watch & Stream Online via Netflix

    Good Time Streaming: Watch & Stream Online via Netflix

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    Good Time is a 2017 American crime thriller film directed by Josh and Benny Safdie. It follows Constantine “Connie” Nikas, a small-time thief who tries to liberate his developmentally handicapped brother from police prison while avoiding his own arrest.

    Here’s how you can watch and stream Good Time via streaming services such as Netflix.

    Is Good Time available to watch via streaming?

    Yes, Good Time is available to watch via streaming on Netflix.

    After his younger brother Nick is imprisoned for a bank robbery, Connie goes on a tortuous quest through the city’s underground in an attempt to free him. He races against the clock to save his brother and himself in one night, knowing their lives are in danger.

    The main cast includes:

    • Robert Pattinson as Constantine “Connie” Nikas
    • Benny Safdie as Nikolas “Nick” Nikas
    • Buddy Duress as Ray
    • Taliah Webster as Crystal
    • Jennifer Jason Leigh as Corey Ellman
    • Barkhad Abdi as Dash
    • Necro as Caliph

    The film also boasts numerous other talented stars.

    Watch Good Time streaming via Netflix

    Good Time is available to watch on Netflix. With a vast library of TV shows, movies, and original programming, Netflix gives you an option to choose to change, downgrade, or cancel your subscription at any time.

    You can watch the series via Netflix by following these steps:

    1. Visit netflix.com/signup
    2. Choose a payment plan from the following:
      • $6.99 per month (standard with Ads)
      • $15.49 per month (Standard)
      • $22.99 per month (Premium)
    3. Enter your email address and password to create an account
    4. Enter your chosen payment method

    The cheapest Netflix Standard with Ads Plan provides all but a few of its movies and TV shows. However, it will show ads before or during most of its content. You can watch in Full HD and on two supported devices at a time.

    Its Standard Plan provides the same but is completely ad-free while also allowing users to download content on two supported devices with an additional option to add one extra member who doesn’t live in the same household.

    The Premium Plan provides the same as above, though for four supported devices at a time, with content displaying in Ultra HD. Users get to download content on up to six supported devices at a time and have the option to add up to two extra members who don’t live in the same household. Netflix spatial audio is also supported.

    The synopsis for Good Time is as follows:

    “After a botched bank robbery lands his younger brother in prison, Connie Nikas embarks on a twisted odyssey through New York City’s underworld to get his brother Nick out of jail.”

    NOTE: The streaming services listed above are subject to change. The information provided was correct at the time of writing.

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    Oviya Priyadharshini

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  • Wildfire Masking Is Just Different

    Wildfire Masking Is Just Different

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    Late last night, New Yorkers were served a public-health recommendation with a huge helping of déjà vu: “If you are an older adult or have heart or breathing problems and need to be outside,” city officials said in a statement, “wear a high-quality mask (e.g. N95 or KN95).”

    It was, in one sense, very familiar advice—and also very much not. This time, the threat isn’t viral, or infectious at all. Instead, masks are being urged as a precaution against the thick, choking plumes of smoke from Canada, where wildfires have been igniting for weeks. The latest swaths of the United States to come into the crosshairs are the Midwest, Ohio Valley, Northeast, and Mid-Atlantic.

    The situation is, in a word, bad. Yesterday, New Haven, Connecticut, logged its worst air-quality reading on record; in parts of New York and Pennsylvania, some towns have been shrouded in pollutants at levels the Environmental Protection Agency deems “hazardous”—the more severe designation on its list. It is, to put it lightly, an absolutely terrible time to go outside. And for those who “have to go outdoors,” says Linsey Marr, an environmental engineer at Virginia Tech, “I’d strongly recommend wearing a mask.”

    The masking advice might understandably spark some whiplash. For the majority of Americans, face coverings are still most saliently a COVID thing—a protective covering meant to be worn when engaging in risky gatherings indoors. Now, though, we’re having to flip the masking script: Right now, it’s outdoor air that we most want to guard our airways against. In more ways than one, the best masking practices in this moment will require snubbing some of our basest COVID-fighting instincts.

    The COVID masking mindset can, to be fair, still be helpful to game out the risks at play. Viral outbreaks and wildfires both introduce dangerous particles into the eyes and the airway; both can be blocked with the right barriers. The difference is the source: Pathogens travel primarily aboard people, making crowds and crummy indoor airflow some of the biggest risks; fires and their smoky, ashy by-products, meanwhile, can get stoked and moved about by the very outdoor winds we welcome during viral outbreaks. Conflagrations clog the air with all sorts of pollutants—among them, carbon monoxide, which can poison people by starving them of oxygen, and a class of chemicals called polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons that’s been linked to increased cancer risk. But the primary perils are the fine-particulate-matter components of soot, ash, and dust, fine enough to be borne over great distances until they reach an unsuspecting face.

    Once breathed in, these particles, which the EPA tracks by a metric known as PM2.5, can deposit deep in the airway and possibly even infiltrate the blood. The flecks irritate the moist membranes that line the nose, mouth, lungs, and eyes; they spark bouts of inflammation, triggering itching and irritation. Chronic exposure to them has been linked to heart and lung issues, and the risks are especially high for individuals with chronic medical conditions—burdens that concentrate among people of color and the poor—as well as for older adults and children.

    But N95s and many other high-quality masks have their roots in environmental health; they were designed specifically to filter out microscopic particulate matter that travels through the air. And they’re astoundingly good at their job. Jose-Luis Jimenez, an aerosol scientist at the University of Colorado at Boulder, recently put their performance to the test with an N95 strapped to his own face. Using an industry-standard test, he measured the particulate matter outside the mask, then checked how much made it through the device and into the space around his nose and mouth. Percentage-wise, he told me, “it removes 99.99 … I didn’t measure how many nines; it was working so well.” On broader scales, too, the protective math plays out: Well-fitting masks can curb smoke-related hospitalizations; studies back up their importance as a firefighting mainstay.

    The key, Jimenez told me, is choosing the right mask and getting it flush against your face. Experts in the field even get professionally fit-tested to avoid contamination infiltrating through any gaps. Surgical masks, cloth masks, or any other loose accessories that aren’t specifically designed to filter out tiny particles just won’t do the trick, though they’re still better than not covering up at all. (If that sounds familiar, it should; viral or smoky, “masks don’t care what the particle is,” Marr told me. “They care about the size.”)

    N95 masks aren’t perfect protectives either. They don’t shield the eyes, and they aren’t great at staving off carbon monoxide and the other gaseous pollutants that wildfires emit. (That’s for a reason: Allowing gas through masks is how we continue to breathe while wearing them.) But gases are volatile and quickly dissipate; for Americans hundreds or even thousands of miles from the source of the smoke, “it’s going to be the particulate matter that is most concerning to us,” Marr told me. Even in the parts of New York and Pennsylvania where PM2.5 has rocketed up to dangerous levels, the carbon-monoxide stats have remained low.

    Considering how dicey the discourse over masking has gotten, masking advice won’t necessarily be embraced by all. Less than a month after the official end of the United States’ COVID public-health emergency, people are fatigued by face coverings and other mitigations. And we’re fast entering the stretch of the year when having synthetic polymer fabrics strapped across your face can get downright miserable, especially in the humidity of northeastern heat. But when it comes to avoiding the harms of wildfire smoke, experts generally consider masks a second-line defense. The first priority is trying to minimize any exposure at all—which, for now, means staying indoors with the doors and windows tightly shut, especially for people at highest risk. Paula Olsiewski, an environmental-health researcher at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security, also recommends running whatever air filters might be available; air conditioners, portable air cleaners, and DIY air filters all help.

    It’s also a good time, experts told me, to be mindful of the differences between filtration and ventilation, or increasing flow to turn over stale air. Both are crucial, sustainable interventions against respiratory viruses. But in the context of wildfires, excellent ventilation could actually increase harm, Jimenez told me, by allowing in excess smoke. For right now, stale indoor air—a classic COVID foe—is a smoke-avoider’s ally. The masks come in for anyone who must go outside in a part of the country where the air quality is bad—say, above an index of 150 or so.

    The move might feel especially counterintuitive for people who have long since stopped masking against COVID—or even ones who still do, simply because the rules don’t mesh. Through the flip-flopping guidance of mask everywhere to mask until you’re vaccinated to actually, mask after you’re vaccinated too to mask only indoors, Americans never hit much of a stable rhythm with the practice. The inertia may be especially powerful on the East Coast, which has largely been spared from the scourge of wildfires that’s constantly plaguing the West. (That puts the U.S. well behind other countries, especially in East Asia, where masking against viruses and pollutants indoors and out has long been commonplace; even in California, N95 and HEPA shortages aren’t anything new.)

    That said, our COVID-centric view on masking was always going to get a wake-up call. Wildfires—and viral outbreaks, for that matter—are expected to become more common going forward, even in regions that haven’t historically experienced them. And for all their weariness with COVID, Americans now have far more awareness of and, in many cases, access to masks than they did just a few years ago. The wildfires aren’t good news, but maybe a mask-friendly response to them can be. Smoke does, from a public-health perspective, have one thing going for it, Olsiewski told me: It is visible and ominous in ways that a microscopic virus is not. “People can see that their air is not clean,” she told me. It’ll take more than ash and haze to break through the divisiveness around masks. But a threat this obvious might at least forge a tiny crack.

    This story is part of the Atlantic Planet series supported by the HHMI Department of Science Education.

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    Katherine J. Wu

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  • Airplane Toilets Could Catch the Next COVID Variant

    Airplane Toilets Could Catch the Next COVID Variant

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    Airplane bathrooms are not most people’s idea of a good time. They’re barely big enough to turn around in. Their doors stick, like they’re trying to trap you in place. That’s to say nothing of the smell. But to the CDC, those same bathrooms might be a data gold mine.

    This month, the agency has been speaking with Concentric, the public-health and biosecurity arm of the biotech company Ginkgo Bioworks, about screening airplane wastewater for COVID-19 at airports around the country. Although plane-wastewater testing had been in the works already (a pilot program at John F. Kennedy International Airport, in New York City, concluded last summer), concerns about a new variant arising in China after the end of its “zero COVID” policies acted as a “catalyst” for the project, Matt McKnight, Ginkgo’s general manager for biosecurity, told me. According to Ginkgo, even airport administrators are getting excited. “There have been a couple of airports who have actually reached out to the CDC to ask to be part of the program,” Laura Bronner, Ginkgo’s vice president of commercial strategies, told me.

    Airplane-wastewater testing is poised to revolutionize how we track the coronavirus’s continued mutations around the world, along with other common viruses such as flu and RSV—and public-health threats that scientists don’t even know about yet. Unlike sewer-wide surveillance, which shows us how diseases are spreading among large communities, airplane surveillance is precisely targeted to catch new variants entering the country from abroad. And unlike with PCR testing, passengers don’t have to individually opt in. (The results remain anonymous either way.) McKnight compares the technique to radar: Instead of responding to an attack after it’s unfolded, America can get advance warning about new threats before they cause problems. As we enter an era in which most people don’t center their lives on avoiding COVID-19, our best contribution to public health might be using a toilet at 30,000 feet.

    Fundamentally, wastewater testing on airplanes is a smaller-scale version of the surveillance that has been taking place at municipal water networks since early 2020: Researchers perform genetic testing on sewage samples to determine how much coronavirus is present, and which variants are included. But adapting the methodology to planes will require researchers to get creative. For one thing, airplane wastewater has a higher solid-to-liquid ratio. Municipal sewage draws from bathing, cooking, washing clothes, and other activities, whereas airplane sewage is “mainly coming from the toilet,” says Kata Farkas, a microbiologist at Bangor University. For a recent study tracking COVID-19 at U.K. airports, Farkas and her colleagues had to adjust their analytical methods, tweaking the chemicals and lab techniques used to isolate the coronavirus from plane sewage.

    Researchers also need to select flights carefully to make sure the data they gather are worth the effort of collecting them. To put it bluntly, not everyone poops on the plane—and if the total number of sampled passengers is very small, the analysis isn’t likely to return much useful data. “The number of conversations we’ve had about how to inconspicuously know how many people on a flight have gone into a lavatory is hysterical,” says Casandra Philipson, who leads the Concentric bioinformatics program. (Concentric later clarified that they do not have plans to actually monitor passengers’ bathroom use.) Researchers ended up settling on an easier metric: Longer flights tend to have more bathroom use and should therefore be the focus of wastewater testing. (Philipson and her colleagues also work with the CDC to test flights from countries where the government is particularly interested in identifying new variants.)

    Read: Are our immune systems stuck in 2020?

    Beyond those technical challenges, scientists face the daunting task of collaborating with airports and airlines—large companies that aren’t used to participating in public-health surveillance. “It is a tricky environment to work in,” says Jordan Schmidt, the director of product applications at LuminUltra, a Canadian biotech company that tests wastewater at Toronto Pearson Airport. Strict security and complex bureaucracies in air travel can make collecting samples from individual planes difficult, he told me. Instead, LuminUltra samples from airport terminals and from trucks that pull sewage out of multiple planes, so the company doesn’t need to get buy-in from airlines.

    Airplane surveillance seeks to track new variants, not individual passengers: Researchers are not contact-tracing exactly which person brought a particular virus strain into the country. For that reason, companies such as Concentric aren’t planning to alert passengers that COVID-19 was found on their flight, much as some of us might appreciate that warning. Testing airplane sewage can identify variants from around the world, but it won’t necessarily tell us about new surges in the city where those planes land.

    Airplane-wastewater testing offers several advantages for epidemiologists. In general, testing sewage is “dramatically cheaper” and “dramatically less invasive” than nose-swab testing each individual person in a town or on a plane, says Rob Knight, a medical engineering professor at UC San Diego who leads the university’s wastewater-surveillance program. Earlier this month, a landmark report from the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine (which Knight co-authored) highlighted international airports as ideal places to seek out new coronavirus variants and other pathogens. “You’re going to capture people who are traveling from other parts of the world where they might be bringing new variants,” Knight told me. And catching those new variants early is key to updating our vaccines and treatments to ensure that they continue to work well against COVID-19. Collecting more data from people traveling within the country could be useful too, Knight said, since variants can evolve at home as easily as abroad. (XBB.1.5, the latest variant dominating COVID-19 spread in the U.S., is thought to have originated in the American Northeast.) To this end, he told me, the CDC should consider monitoring large train stations or seaports too.

    Read: The COVID data that are actually useful now

    When wastewater testing first took off during the pandemic, the focus was mostly on municipal facilities, because they could provide data for an entire city or county at once. But scientists have since realized that a more specific view of our waste can be helpful, especially in settings that are crucial for informing public-health actions. For example, at NYC Health + Hospitals, the city’s public health-care system, wastewater data help administrators “see 10 to 14 days in advance if there are any upticks” in coronavirus, flu, or mpox, Leopolda Silvera, Health + Hospitals’ global-health deputy, told me. Administrators use the data in decisions about safety measures and where to send resources, Silvera said: If one hospital’s sewage indicates an upcoming spike in COVID-19 cases, additional staff can be added to its emergency department.

    Schools are another obvious target for small-scale wastewater testing. In San Diego, Rebecca Fielding-Miller directed a two-year surveillance program for elementary schools. It specifically focused on underserved communities, including refugees and low-income workers who were hesitant to seek out PCR testing. Regular wastewater testing picked up asymptomatic cases with high accuracy, providing school staff and parents with “up to the minute” information about COVID-19 spread in their buildings, Fielding-Miller told me. This school year, however, funding for the program ran out.

    Even neighborhood-level surveillance, while not as granular as sampling at a plane, hospital, or school, can provide more useful data than city-wide testing. In Boston, “we really wanted hyperlocal surveillance” to inform placements of the city’s vaccine clinics, testing sites, and other public-health services, says Kathryn Hall, the deputy commissioner at the city’s public-health agency. She and her colleagues identified 11 manhole covers that provide “good coverage” of specific neighborhoods and could be tested without too much disruption to traffic. When a testing site lights up with high COVID-19 numbers, Hall’s colleagues reach out to community organizations such as health centers and senior-living facilities. “We make sure they have access to boosters, they have access to PPE, they understand what’s going on,” Hall told me. In the nearby city of Revere, a similar program run by the company CIC Health showed an uptick in RSV in neighborhood wastewater before the virus started making headlines. CIC shared the news with day-care centers and helped them respond to the surge with educational information and PPE.

    Read: Whatever happened to toilet plumes?

    According to wastewater experts, hyperlocal programs can’t usher in a future of disease omnipotence all by themselves. Colleen Naughton, an environmental-engineering professor at UC Merced who runs the COVIDPoops19 dashboard, told me she would like to see communities with no wastewater surveillance get resources to set it up before more funding goes into testing individual buildings or manhole covers. The recent National Academies report presents a future of wastewater surveillance that includes both broad monitoring across the country and testing targeted to places where new health threats might emerge or where certain communities need local information to stay safe.

    This future will require sustained federal funding beyond the current COVID-19 emergency, which is set to expire if the Biden administration does not renew it in April. The United States needs “better and more technology, with a funding model that supports its development,” in order for wastewater’s true potential to be realized, Knight said. Airplane toilets may very well be the best first step toward that comprehensive sewage-surveillance future.

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    Betsy Ladyzhets

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  • Should Everyone Be Masking Again?

    Should Everyone Be Masking Again?

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    Winter is here, and so, once more, are mask mandates. After last winter’s crushing Omicron spike, much of America did away with masking requirements. But with cases once again on the rise and other respiratory illnesses such as RSV and influenza wreaking havoc, some scattered institutions have begun reinstating them. On Monday, one of Iowa’s largest health systems reissued its mandate for staff. That same day, the Oakland, California, city council voted unanimously to again require people to mask up in government buildings. A New Jersey school district revived its own mandate, and the Philadelphia school district announced that it would temporarily do the same after winter break.

    The reinstated mandates are by no means widespread, and that seems unlikely to change any time soon. But as we trudge into yet another pandemic winter, they do raise some questions. What role should masking play in winters to come? Is every winter going to be like this? Should we now consider the holiday season … masking season?

    These questions don’t have simple answers. Regardless of what public-health research tells us we should do, we’ve clearly seen throughout the pandemic that limits exist to what Americans will do. Predictably, the few recent mandates have elicited a good deal of aggrievement and derision from the anti-masking set. But even many Americans who diligently masked earlier in the pandemic seem to have lost their appetite for this sort of intervention as the pandemic has eased. In its most recent national survey of health behavior, the COVID States Project found that only about a quarter of Americans still mask when they go out, down from more than 80 percent at its peak. Some steadfast maskers have started feeling awkward: “I have personally felt like I get weird looks now wearing a mask,” Saskia Popescu, an epidemiologist at George Mason University, told me.

    Even so, masking remains one of the best and least obtrusive infection-prevention measures we have at our disposal. We haven’t yet been slammed this winter by another Omicronlike variant, but the pandemic is still here. COVID cases, hospitalizations, and deaths are all rising nationally, possibly the signs of another wave. Kids have been hit especially hard by the unwelcome return of influenza, RSV, and other respiratory viruses. All of this is playing out against the backdrop of low COVID-19-booster uptake, leaving people more vulnerable to death and severe disease if they get infected.

    All of which is to say: If you’re only going to mask for a couple of months of the year, now is a good time. “Should people be masking? Absolutely yes, right now,” Seema Lakdawala, a flu-transmission expert at Emory University, told me. That doesn’t mean masking everywhere all the time. Lakdawala masks at the grocery store, at the office, and while using public transportation, but not when she goes out to dinner or attends parties. Those activities pose a risk of infection, but Lakdawala’s goal is to reduce her risk, not to minimize it at all costs. A strategy that prevents you from enjoying the things you love most is not sustainable.

    Both Lakdawala and Popescu were willing to go so far as to suggest that masking should indeed become a seasonal fixture—just like skiing and snowmen, only potentially lifesaving and politically radioactive. Even before the pandemic, influenza alone killed tens of thousands of Americans every year, and more masking, even if only in certain targeted settings, could go a long way toward reducing the toll. “If we could just say, Hey, from November to February, we should all just mask indoors,” Lakdawala said, that would do a lot of good. “The idea of the unknown and the perpetualness of two years of things coming on and off, and then the confusing CDC county-by-county guideline—it just sort of makes it harder for everybody than if we had a simple message.” Universal mandates or recommendations that people mask at small social gatherings are probably too much to ask, Lakdawala told me. Instead, she favors some limited, seasonal mandates, such as on public transportation or in schools dealing with viral surges.

    David Dowdy, an epidemiologist at the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health, is all for masking season, he told me, but he’d be more hesitant to resort to mandates. “It’s hard to impose mandates without a very strong public-health rationale,” he said, especially in our current, hyperpolarized climate. And although that rationale clearly existed for much of the past two crisis-ridden years, it’s less clear now. “COVID is no longer this public-health emergency, but it’s still killing thousands of people every week, hundreds a day … so it becomes a more challenging balancing act,” Dowdy said.

    Rather than requirements, he favors broad recommendations. The CDC, for instance, could suggest that during flu season, people should consider wearing masks in crowded indoor spaces, the same way it recommends that everyone old enough get a flu shot each year. (Although the agency has hardly updated its “Interim Guidance” on masks and the flu since 2004, Director Rochelle Walensky has encouraged people to mask up this winter.) Another strategy, Dowdy said, could be making masks more accessible to people, so that every time they enter a public indoor space, they have the option of grabbing an N95.

    The course of the pandemic has both demonstrated the efficacy of widespread masking and rendered that strategy so controversial in America as to be virtually impossible. The question now is how to negotiate those two realities. Whatever answer we come up with this year, the question will remain next year, and for years after that. The pandemic will fade, but the coronavirus, like the other surging viruses this winter, will continue to haunt us in one form or another. “These viruses are here,” Lakdawala said. “They’re not going anywhere.”

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    Jacob Stern

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