It's not a place to get much sleep. The retro-feel series takes us to late-1970s Miami, where Cuban immigrant Roman Compte manages the glam Mutiny Hotel, a hot spot for cocaine dealers and enthusiasts. With the hotel a raging success, Compte's choices become delicate and dangerous when both the DEA and a powerful drug lord start demanding his loyalty. Danny Pino and Michael Chiklis lead the cast. Sunday, June 16, at 9 p.m., MGM+.

"If you are a woman born in the '70s who has Googled 'menopause' on an iPhone, you probably know who Mary Claire Haver is," said Lauren Mechling in The Guardian. At age 55, the Texas-based ob-gyn, author of the best-seller The New Menopause, has become a social media phenomenon by candidly discussing menopause from every conceivable angle. It took Haver some time to find the right format. After experimenting with jokey TikTok dance videos, "I realized people want to hear me talk, not dance," she says. Having come to see that, she adds, "I got really good at doing 30-second little blips on important information about menopause.” Haver's health-care advice for women has since racked up more than 4 million social media followers. 

In The New Menopause, Haver offers more grounded advice than she can squeeze into a TikTok, said Meghan Rabbitt in Maria Shriver's Sunday Paper. In her medical opinion, other physicians have overemphasized the risks and undersold the potential benefits of hormone therapy. Thanks to its effectiveness, she says, "I think menopause should be optional." For many women, hormone therapy can strengthen bones, lower rates of urinary tract infections and cardiovascular disease, and even reduce mortality. The important thing, Haver says, is that women advocate for themselves and work to dispel a medical climate too frequently dismissive of their concerns. "Sadly, we are a decade or two away from you being able to confidently walk into your primary-care doctor's office and have an informed conversation about your menopause journey," she says. "The onus is on us to educate ourselves."

The basketball giant who beat pain and a stutter

Bill Walton was one of the greatest centers in basketball history, leading UCLA to two national titles before landing NBA championships for the Portland Trail Blazers and the Boston Celtics. But he didn't stop there. After retiring from the court, he overcame a stutter to launch a second career as an eccentric and often hilarious broadcast commentator, holding forth on the game's intricacies with leaps into history, politics, and the glories of his beloved Grateful Dead. "I was incredibly shy and never said a word," he once said. "Then, when I was 28, I learned how to speak. It's become my greatest accomplishment of my life — and everybody else's biggest nightmare." 

William Theodore Walton III was born in La Mesa, Calif., said The New York Times, to a social worker father and a librarian mother. One day, the family next door "dismantled its backboard and basket, and he and his father reassembled it at their home." Walton had found his passion. After a stellar high school career, he landed at UCLA, where he won his first NCAA title in 1972 — the same year that he was arrested at a protest against the Vietnam War. His most famous game came in the next year's final, said ESPN.com, "in which he shot an incredible 21-for-22 from the field" and led the Bruins to another national championship. The 6-foot-11-inch Walton quickly became a dominant force in the NBA, driving the Trail Blazers in 1977 to their only NBA championship. His 14-year career was "disrupted by chronic foot injuries" and dozens of painful surgeries, and he played just 468 out of 1,148 regular-season games. In 1988, when his injuries had progressed to the point where he could no longer run, he retired and took up broadcasting, calling games for NBC, ESPN, and CBS with goofy glee. 

Walton brought "a sense of joy, wonder, and wackiness" to his on-air coverage, said CNN.com. He showed off his tie-dyes, showered colleagues with gifts, and once gobbled a cupcake, lit candle and all. But constantly cramming his huge frame into airplane seats took a toll, and his spine collapsed in 2007. Spinal fusion surgery finally took away his chronic pain and restored his ability to walk. "My life has been defined by meteoric rises and climbs to the top, and then these catastrophic health challenges that would just take me down," he said in 2016. "I never thought that I’d be free of pain.... I am the luckiest guy on earth."