L.A. Los Angeles Times Magazine | Oct. 5, 2008
Here's an idea for the next installment of the Saw torture-porn series: Set it in ancient Rome, with early Christians ousted from their underground chapel and put through a myriad of sadistic deaths.
Comedian David Steinberg continues in his role as Earthat is, a sounding board--to some of the funniest people working today.
There's only one rule that I know of, babies--God damn it, you've got to be kind. --Kurt Vonnegut, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
Stop anyone on the street, and they'll know of Arianna Huffington—and she's glad they do. But the Left's second most influential blogger prefers anonymity.
This isn't going to be one of those romantic stories about how Tapia Brothers is one of the last holdouts of the old-time produce stands (even though it is), a dusty place in Encino with a wooden counter and bins of fresh veggies and fruits, roosters crowing from a coop and a red tractor. It's just the kind of roadside stand that used to be a fixture in the San Fernando Valley when it was more American Gothic than suburb boom.
Up the coast, down the road and under the arbor at Rancho San Julian near Buellton, yellow jackets swoop through our lunch, falling into our wine, leaving behind smudges of pollen from the fertile Santa Barbara mesa. Jim Poett is pulling a bee out of his daughter's bowl of ice cream. His strong silence at the long table belies his pride in his daughter, Elizabeth Poett, 28. Jim is one of the first organic beef farmers, former president of the South Coast branch of CCOF ( California Certified Organic Farmers) and collaborator on the California Organic Foods Act of 1990. Just as Jim did almost 30 years ago, Elizabeth has returned home to her family's ranch from the big city. She has all the best intentions and is mentored by her father in order to realize her heroic visions of better beef. For Elizabeth, it's all about continuation and preservation of tradition, family, land, community—and feeding us really, really well.
Hes been called the prophet of architecture. I know him as Frank. Thirty years ago when I was a cub reporter, I wrote the first story about him that appeared in a popular magazinemeaning not an architecture magazine. I was (and am) married to an architect, so I knew something about design and building, but I was not prepared for Frank.
While New York has its clannish brownstones and San Francisco its overplayed Victorian veneer, Los Angeles is a deliberate fracas of residential styles or, rather, a collection of self-realizations from individuals who happen to share the same streets. From Mission Revival to Arts and Crafts to Modernism, the city celebrates its eclectic legacy. Perhaps no one does this more than Nancy Heller.
You may question why a vegan such as myself has been dying to dine at Cut. First, its like being allowed into the cool peoples hang, what with the giant pictures of George Clooney and Marilyn Manson suspended on the walls. Its definitely the coolest joint in town, even though the place is nearly all about meat. I have to wonder why they arent throwing me out by the ear upon noticing Im a little too ecstatic about my reservation.
It seems like most of our married life with kids, my husband, Chad, and I reenacted episodes of Prison Break every time we wanted to go on a date. Sometimes wed wait until our girls were asleep before we left them with the babysitter and scaled the walls, praying that a klieg light of a toddler wail didnt catch us mid-tiptoe. Whenever we accomplished this, the freedom intoxicated us to a point where wed be laughing our guts out as we screamed down Beverly Glen in the getaway Acura.
When I hear Michael Mina is opening a restaurant at the foot of Laurel Canyon, my first thought is, Another restaurant? Doesnt he already have more than a dozen? Ive always been dubious of chefs who want to expand their empires. Doesnt one eatery keep you busy enough? How is it possible to oversee the food and all the details that go into running a top restaurant? This prejudice is one Ive carried around for a long time. That is, until I meet Mina.
Of course everyone is entitled to an opinionbut you have to be a Bill Gates for that opinion to make it to prime time. Until now.
Medical private practice in Los Angeles has some unique features. We Angelenos fear the occasional earthquake, drought and fire, along with the more frequent wrinkles, subcutaneous fat and less than perfect health. Since we cant do much about the earths surprises, we seek more control of our own bodies. Nowadays, this means patients crave the latest, often most expensive, tests money (or insurance) can buy.
Among the mystical questions to ponderIs there life after death? Are there black holes in space?the toughest of them just might be, How the hell do you find a good veterinarian in this town?
One afternoon in the fall of 1985, during our weekly or every-other-weekly lunch at Ma Maison, Orson Welles told me attacks were beginning to come in, in response to a slew of books that had recently been published about him, especially Barbara Leamings wonderfully supportiveand to his mind, largely accuratebiography. He still hadnt read it, wasnt going to, he said, because he knew hed be mad, as shed used several of his best stories.
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