Lifestyle
Everything you need to know about Disneyland’s Tiana’s Bayou Adventure, opening this week
Splash Mountain’s eviction is complete.
With the opening Friday of Tiana’s Bayou Adventure, Disneyland has formally rid itself of an attraction that came to be seen as problematic. In its place is a ride that serves as a celebration, boasting a statement about the communal power of music and a narrative that serves as an American success story.
Centered on characters from the 2009 animated film “The Princess and the Frog,” Tiana’s Bayou Adventure makes the argument that thrill rides can enchant rather than frighten us. The ride still features its steep 50-foot drop begging us to hold on tight, but it reframes it. Princess Tiana, now a restaurateur, is throwing a Mardi Gras party, and we need to get there at once. That’s a stark shift from Splash Mountain, with its villainous fox and bear-hunting Br’er Rabbit.
Tiana’s, opening such as it is just about a week after one of our nation’s most divisive presidential elections, is not only a story about people coming together, but also a tale dedicated to those who may be overlooked, says Walt Disney Imagineering’s Josef Lemoine, who helped craft the ride’s narrative. He says such themes could be found in unexpected places, including the background of Louis the alligator.
“He felt like he had to be human to have his voice and abilities recognized,” Lemoine says. “Tiana goes, ‘No. We found you in the bayou. I think we’ll go look where everyone else is probably not looking.’ We want everybody to feel like they have something to contribute.”
It helps give the ride a lighthearted, upbeat feel, making it an attraction that’s based almost fully on the joy of community. And it’s one of a host of reasons we not only think the ride is a blast, but also why it’s an important addition to Disneyland. Here are six things you should know about the new attraction.
1. Goodbye, Critter Country. Hello, Bayou Country.
The opening of Tiana’s gives the newly christened Bayou Country its centerpiece attraction. The land, most recently known as Critter Country, now serves as a sort of extension of the nearby New Orleans Square, home to the quick service dining location Tiana’s Palace and “The Princess and the Frog”-themed shop Eudora’s Chic Boutique. The latter, named after Tiana’s dressmaker mother, features housewares and New Orleans-themed decor. Over in Bayou Country are two additional Tiana-related shops, Louis’ Critter Club and Ray’s Berets. The stores are your go-to for Tiana-themed plushies, headgear and toys, including an interactive and wearable light-up firefly.
Bayou Country also houses the family ride the Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, the too-often overlooked Davy Crockett’s Explorer Canoes and the just-opened Hungry Bear Barbecue Jamboree, nostalgically themed to the late Country Bear Jamboree. But Tiana, with its looming, green-draped mountain, is the star. Including the ride, the west side of Disneyland is home to five “The Princess and the Frog”-themed locales, giving the chef-turned-entrepreneur one of the larger footprints at the Disneyland Resort.
Murals from artist Malaika Favorite grace the walls of Tiana’s Bayou Adventure.
(Christian Thompson / Disneyland Resort)
2. The details entice you even before you enter the ride
One of the most striking sights at Tiana‘s occurs outside the ride, where the murals of Louisiana artist Malaika Favorite don the show building. Look for a series of large-scale paintings — Imagineering’s Ted Robledo, who along with Charita Carter and Carmen Smith oversaw the development of the attraction, notes these are the original hand-painted works. A few feature the alligator Louis and at various points show the interests of Tiana and her growing restaurant empire. They’re colorful, ever-so-slightly abstracted works, all connected via a rainbow tapestry.
At various points they detail group outings, such as playing music, working a garden or collaborating in a kitchen. All told, they help bring to life the Southern region Tiana’s aims to honor, and do so not with fantasy artwork but talent born of the area. They’re fluid and lively, a mix of people and colors that brim with brightness. It’s the rare ride that avoids conflict, and instead acts as a tribute to a city and a culture.
“We want to make sure that people recognize that we’re thinking about New Orleans as an incredible place of so many cultures,” Smith says. “We think about Choctaw Indians, and if you go through the queue you’ll see one of their stickball [artifacts]. It’s a sport that the Choctaw Nation played. There’s all these cultures and stories hidden throughout the queue.”
Mayra the frog in Tiana’s Bayou Adventure, a ride that celebrates music and community.
(Christian Thompson / Disneyland Resort)
3. It’s a thrill ride that’s an anti-thrill ride
The skeleton of Splash Mountain and Tiana’s Bayou Adventure is the same, that is the ride still features its cleverly designed track layout, one that manages to disguise twists, turns and drops. Yet the story on Tiana’s has been simplified. There’s a heavily detailed queue that features newspaper clippings and knick-knacks that give us insight into Tiana’s business and life — we learn, for instance, her last name is Rogers — but ultimately this is a journey about finding musicians in the bayou for a giant Mardi Gras bash.
The ride features multiple songs from “The Princess and the Frog,” opening with “Down in New Orleans” and transitioning to “Almost There,” but once we drop into the bayou the soundtrack shifts to the jubilant and bouncy “Gonna Take You There.” The ride turns into a giant jam session. The score subtly shifts from zydeco to rara — the tones transitioning from that of a backwoods party to a street parade — before leading to an Afro-Cuban finale that builds to the sing-along “Dig a Little Deeper.”
But whereas Splash Mountain was about ramping up the tension — turning fear into fun — Tiana’s wants to use its hair-raising drops for something that feels more festive. Walt Disney Imagineering has in recent years been trying to upend the expectations that come with certain ride systems. See the transition of the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror to Guardians of the Galaxy: Mission Breakout!, which took an elevator drop ride from spooky to comedic.
The multicolored lift of Tiana’s Bayou Adventure, which sets up the 50-foot drop.
(Todd Martens / Los Angeles Times)
Likewise, Tiana’s wants to turn its centerpiece 50-foot drop into a thing to be welcomed. As we ascend up the lift hill, we do so with twirling, bright lights, which feature just a dash of twilight hues. My ride companion, The Times’ senior editor for video Mark Potts, remarked that it felt like going up to heaven. I can’t vouch for the factuality of that, but it resonates, as the emotion here is triumph.
“Life should be about enjoyment and having fun and having that sense of wonder. We want people to walk away feeling, ‘wow’ — drenched, yes — but that they have been on a magical journey where you’re getting a chance to feel a city, and hear the music of the city,” says Smith.
The critter musicians of Tiana’s Bayou Adventure play instruments constructed out of found objects.
(Christian Thompson / Disneyland Resort)
4. You’ll see some of Disneyland’s most advanced animatronics
But not all is so culturally realistic. This is still a Disney ride, after all, and one based on a fairy tale. That means cute critters.
There are three core bands of animals throughout the attraction — Disney has previously said Tiana’s features 19 original characters. Some are instantly charming, such as a rabbit playing a license plate as a washboard (that’s Gritty). Others, such as a big-cheeked frog named Mayra, will recall Dizzy Gillespie.
The frogs appear larger than life, as Tiana’s does utilize a popular theme park cliche of shrinking the audience at one point, but the scene also allows us to better see how all the animals are playing instruments made out of either found objects or forest materials. Check Felipe the frog, whose piano is constructed in part out of a chocolate box. Those who pay close attention to the queue may spot that Tiana is a fan of the very same candy brand. And then there are the bobcats playing single note trumpets (made out of bark and leaves).
Disneyland regulars who go on the ride multiple times will also become familiar with Lari the armadillo, a good-natured thief who appears multiple times throughout the ride. If you see an instrument made out of keyboard keys, the story goes that Lari is likely the one who swiped them from Tiana’s computer.
Fireflies are seen throughout Tiana’s Bayou Adventure, often lighting up the forest.
(Sean Teegarden / Disneyland Resort)
5. Disneyland has the definitive (and I’d say the better) Tiana’s
Tiana’s opened earlier this year at Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom, and the rides are virtually identical, save for some differences in track layout. The Florida version is also a tad longer, which results in some lengthier interstitial scenes without critters. But Imagineers noted that the ride was plotted using Disneyland’s version of Splash Mountain as the template. That’s because work properly got underway on the attraction during pandemic shutdowns of 2020 when parks were closed, meaning travel was at a minimum and the show building that was studied most closely was the one in Anaheim, as it’s clearly closer to Imagineering’s Glendale headquarters than Orlando, Fla.
The bulk of the decisions related to the ride, such as “where critters went, where characters went, where Tiana is,” were cemented in Anaheim, Robledo said. Robledo pointed out that he’s especially proud of the way in which the Disneyland version transitions into the bayou, as after a short drop we’re greeted by a burst of fireflies that gradually light up the forest that engulfs us and in moments explodes with music. I rode Tiana’s at both parks and while they are extremely closely related, the edge goes to Disneyland. It’s swifter, the animatronics are generally closer to us, and the slightly shorter ride time ensures there’s no elongated scenes without some critter action.
Princess Tiana and her alligator pal Louis in Tiana’s Bayou Adventure at Disneyland.
(Christian Thompson / Disneyland Resort)
6. The change is part of a necessary push for a more inclusive Disneyland
If we can agree that Disneyland is, unlike a film or a television series, a living environment — a place born of one era but striving to be welcoming to subsequent generations — then it stands to reason that its attractions must change with the times.
In 2017, Disneyland at last gave women agency in its Pirates of the Caribbean attraction by removing a bridal auction scene and reimagining a female “wench” as a pirate. Amid the protests and cultural reckoning of 2020 that followed the murder of George Floyd, Disney announced it would strike “Song of the South” references from Splash Mountain and instead feature “The Princess and the Frog,” starring the company’s first Black princess. And in 2021 Disney remade parts of the Jungle Cruise to remove, in Disney’s words, “negative depictions of native people.”
These changes are necessary.
Though Splash Mountain aimed to skirt any controversy associated with “Song of the South,” a work long decried as racist for its idyllic view of slavery and the Reconstruction era, it could never divorce itself from the film. The goal of the original attraction was to be something of a cartoon sprung to life, and it did so by focusing only on “Song of the South’s” animated characters. Yet it was a tricky line to walk, and, in hindsight, perhaps even naive to believe the attraction could stand apart from a film that has long been out of circulation.
Tiana’s Bayou Adventure, then, is a course correction, and one that provides more opportunities for Disneyland’s wildly diverse fan base to see itself reflected in its rides.
Imagineering’s Carter recalled during a media presentation the release of the film about 15 years ago.
“For the first time,” Carter said, “I had a princess that looked like me.”
Thirty years ago, comedian and actor Tig Notaro didn’t have a clear direction in life, so she followed some childhood friends who wanted to get into entertainment to Los Angeles. Secretly wanting to do stand-up, Notaro decided to try her luck at various outlets in town, which became the start of her successful career.
“I stayed on my friends’ couch near the Hollywood Improv on Melrose, and a couple months later, got my own studio apartment in the Miracle Mile area,” Notaro says. “I love all the options for everything in L.A. — the entertainment, the restaurants. I like to stay active. So many people love the hiking options in Los Angeles, and I’m one of them.”
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
Notaro appears in Season 3 of Apple TV’s “The Morning Show” and is a series regular on Paramount+’s “Star Trek: Starfleet Academy,” as she was on “Star Trek: Discovery.” She’s also a touring stand-up comic and hosts “Handsome,” a comedy podcast, with Fortune Feimster and Mae Martin. The trio will be taping a live show May 4 at the Wiltern with the cast of Netflix’s “The Hunting Wives.” The live shows include interviews, but also “incorporate some ridiculous things,” she says. For example, upon hearing that some of the hosts always wanted to learn to tap dance, Notaro “hired a tap instructor to come to our live show in Austin and teach us how to tap dance in front of the audience.”
Notaro lives near Hollywood with her wife, actor Stephanie Allynne, their 9-year-old fraternal twin boys, Max and Finn, and three cats, Fluff, Linus and Skip. When she’s not touring, her ideal Sundays include sampling vegan restaurants, wandering through bookstores or museums, and doing something physically active with the family.
This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.
6 a.m.: Up with the kids
Because we have active children, we still wake up at 6 a.m. or 6:30 a.m. on Sunday, but there’s not as much of a rush to get going. Stephanie and I will often have coffee and chat in the living room together. I love that part of the day. Stephanie may cook breakfast, but Max and Finn are pretty self-sufficient and can make certain little meals for themselves. Max is really starting to take an interest in cooking, so he’d make breakfast for himself. Our family is vegan, but he eats eggs, so he makes himself an egg sandwich with avocado a lot of times.
9 a.m.: Daily morning walk
After breakfast, we usually have a morning walk around our neighborhood. That’s a daily thing I like to do, regardless of what’s going on. Now that I’m not touring as much, tennis is back on the schedule. So I’d go to Plummer Park in West Hollywood and play for a while, then join the family for lunch.
11:30 a.m.: Hike with a side of chickpea sandwich
I love Trails, a cafe in Griffith Park, where you can eat outdoors. It serves simple food, and has good vegan options. I usually get their chickpea salad sandwich. The food there is great. Afterward, we’d visit Griffith Observatory, where there’s lots to see. There are lots of great trails in the park, so we’d go for an hour hike before leaving.
3 p.m.: Browse the shelves for rock biographies
Bookstores are fun, so we’d head downtown for the Last Bookstore, which is in a historic building with lots of vintage books. I really love all things plant-based, and I’m a very big music fanatic. So I love to look for vegan books, nutrition books, rock biographies and autobiographies. It’s just fun to browse around the stacks.
If we didn’t go to the bookstore, we’d probably go to LACMA. Our sons are huge fans of art and want to go for each new exhibit. They love Hockney, Basquiat and Picasso, to name a few.
4 p.m.: Cuddle with cuties at a cat cafe
We’d then make a quick stop at [Crumbs & Whiskers], a kitten and cat cafe on Melrose for coffee, snacks and to pet the cats. It’s best to make reservations in advance. There’s cats all around the place that need to be adopted. You can visit and pet them, or find a new roommate. I’d love to take some home, but we already have three.
5:30 p.m. Italian or sushi, but make it vegan
We’re an early dinner family. One restaurant we like is Pura Vita in West Hollywood. It’s the greatest vegan Italian food, and for non-vegans, nobody ever knows the difference. It’s the first 100% plant-based Italian restaurant in the United States. They make an incredible kale salad and I love the San Gennaro pizza. It’s got cashew mozzarella, tomato sauce, Italian sausage crumble and more.
Then there’s Planta in Marina del Rey. It’s right on the harbor and you can sit outside and look at the boats coming in and out. They have sushi, salads and other plant-based entrees. They’ve got a really great spicy tuna roll that’s made out of watermelon. They are magicians.
Or there’s Crossroads Kitchen in West Hollywood. They play the best classic rock, and the atmosphere is upscale, fine dining. The appetizers that we always get are called Moroccan Cigars, which are vegan meat substitutes fried in a rolled batter. I really like the grilled lion’s mane steak, their mushroom steak with truffle potatoes, or the scallopini Milanese, that has a chicken or tofu option. I get the chicken with arugula on top. I always love to have a decaf espresso with dessert, which is either a brownie sundae or banana pudding.
7:30 p.m.: Comfort watch or word games
After dinner, the kids often like to watch an episode of “Friends,” a show that all ages enjoy, sports or “The Simpsons.” Or we’d play a game where each of us will add a word to a sentence and create a weird or funny long sentence until one of our sons says period. Then they’ll try and remember the whole sentence and repeat it back.
9:30 p.m.: Bubble bath then bed
The boys usually go to bed at 8:30 p.m. and bedtime for us is 9:30 p.m. Stephanie and I would read or chat. I like to take a bubble bath, if people must know. The best Sundays for me mean finding a good balance of relaxing and being active. I feel very lucky that my family and I can do those things together.
When Marian Sherry Lurio and Jonathan Buffington Nguyen met at a mutual friend’s wedding at Higgins Lake, Mich., in July 2022, both felt an immediate chemistry. As the evening progressed, they sat on the shore of the lake in Adirondack chairs under the stars, where they had their first kiss before joining others for a midnight plunge.
The two learned that the following weekend Ms. Lurio planned to attend a wedding in Philadelphia, where Mr. Nguyen lives, and before they had even exchanged numbers, they already had a first date on the books.
“I have a vivid memory of after we first met,” Mr. Nguyen said, “just feeling like I really better not screw this up.”
Before long, they were commuting between Philadelphia and New York City, where Ms. Lurio lives, spending weekends and the odd remote work days in one another’s apartments in Philadelphia and Manhattan. Within the first six months of dating, Mr. Nguyen joined Ms. Lurio’s family for Thanksgiving in Villanova, Pa., and, the following month, she met his family in Beavercreek, Ohio, at a surprise birthday party for Mr. Nguyen’s mother.
Ms. Lurio, 32, who grew up in Merion Station outside Philadelphia, works in investor relations administration at Flexpoint Ford, a private equity firm. She graduated from Dartmouth College with a bachelor’s degree in history and psychology.
Mr. Nguyen, also 32, was born in Knoxville, Tenn., and raised in Beavercreek, Ohio, from the age of 7. He graduated from Haverford College with a bachelor’s degree in political science and is now a director at Doyle Real Estate Advisors in Philadelphia.
Their long-distance relationship continued for the next few years. There were dates in Manhattan, vacations and beach trips to the Jersey Shore. They attended sporting events and discovered their shared appreciation of the 2003 film, “Love Actually.”
One evening, Mr. Nguyen recalled looking around Ms. Lurio’s small New York studio — strewed with clothes and the takeout meal they had ordered — and feeling “so comfortable and safe.” “I knew that this was something different than just sort of a fling,” he said.
It was an open question when they would move in together. In 2024, Ms. Lurio began the process of moving into Mr. Nguyen’s home in Philadelphia — even bringing her cat, Scott — but her plans changed midway when an opportunity arose to expand her role with her current employer.
Mr. Nguyen was on board with her decision. “It almost feels like stolen valor to call it ‘long distance,’ because it’s so easy from Philadelphia to New York,” Mr. Nguyen said. “The joke is, it’s easier to get to Philly from New York than to get to some parts of Brooklyn from Manhattan, right?”
In January 2025, Mr. Nguyen visited Ms. Lurio in New York with more up his sleeve than spending the weekend. Together they had discussed marriage and bespoke rings, but when Mr. Nguyen left Ms. Lurio and an unfinished cheese plate at the bar of the Chelsea Hotel that Friday evening, she had no idea what was coming next.
“I remember texting Jonathan,” Ms. Lurio said, bewildered: “‘You didn’t go toward the bathroom!’” When a Lobby Bar server came and asked her to come outside, Ms. Lurio still didn’t realize what was happening until she was standing in the hallway, where Mr. Nguyen stood recreating a key moment from the film “Love Actually,” in which one character silently professes his love for another in writing by flashing a series of cue cards. There, in the storied Chelsea Hotel hallway still festooned with Christmas decorations, Mr. Nguyen shared his last card that said, “Will you marry me?”
They wed on April 11 in front of 200 guests at the Pump House, a covered space on the banks of Philadelphia’s Schuylkill River. Mr. Nguyen’s sister, the Rev. Elizabeth Nguyen, who is ordained through the Unitarian Universalist Association, officiated.
Although formal attire was suggested, Ms. Lurio said that the ceremony was “pretty casual.” She and Jonathan got ready together, and their families served as their wedding parties.
“I said I wanted a five-minute wedding,” Ms. Lurio recalled, though the ceremony ended up lasting a little longer than that. During the ceremony, Ms. Nguyen read a homily and jokingly added that guests should not ask the bride and groom about their living arrangements, which will remain separate for the foreseeable future.
While watching Ms. Lurio walk down the aisle, flanked by her parents, Mr. Nguyen said he remembered feeling at once grounded in the moment and also a sense of dazed joy: “Like, is this real? I felt very lucky in that moment — and also just excited for the party to start!”
He always texted when he was outside. No call, no knock. It was just a message and then the soft sound of my door opening. He moved like someone practiced in disappearing.
His name meant “complete” in Arabic, which is what I felt when we were together.
I met him the way you meet most things that matter in Los Angeles — without intending to. In our senior year at a college in eastern L.A. County, we were introduced through mutual friends, then thrown together by the particular gravity of people who recognized something in each other. He was a Muslim medical student, conservative and careful and funny in the dry, precise way of someone who has always had to choose his words. I was loud where he was quiet, messy where he was disciplined. I was out. He was not.
I understood, or thought I did. I thought that I couldn’t get hurt if I was completely conscious throughout the endeavor. Los Angeles has a way of making you feel like the whole world shares your freedoms — until you realize the city is enormous, and not all of it belongs to you in the same way.
For months, our world was confined to my apartment. He would slip in after dark, and we’d stay up late talking about his family in Iran, classical music and the particular pressure of being the son someone sacrificed everything to bring here. He told me things he said he’d never told anyone, and I believed him.
The orange glow from my Nesso lamp lit his face while the indigo sky pressed against the window behind him. In our small little world, we were safe. Outside was another matter.
On our first real date, I took him to the L.A. Phil’s “An Evening of Film & Music: From Mexico to Hollywood” program. I told him they were cheap seats even though they were the first row on the terrace. He was thrilled in the way only someone who doesn’t expect to be delighted actually gets delighted — fully, without guarding it. I put my arm around his shoulders. At some point, I shifted and moved it, and he nudged it back. He was OK with PDA here.
I remember thinking that wealth is a great barrier to harm and then feeling silly for extrapolating my own experience once again. Inside Walt Disney Concert Hall, we were just two people in love with the same music.
Outside was still another matter.
In February, on Valentine’s Day, he took me to a Yemeni restaurant in Anaheim. We hovered over saffron tea surrounded by other young Southern Californians, and we looked like friends. Before we went in, we sat in the parking lot of the strip mall — signs in Arabic advertising bread, coffee, halal meats, the Little Arabia District — hand in hand. I leaned over to kiss him.
“Not here,” he said. His eyes shifted furtively. “Someone might see.”
I understood, or told myself I did, but I was saddened. Later, after the kind of reflection that only arrives in the wreckage, I would understand something harder: I had been unconsciously asking him to choose, over and over, between the people he loved and the person he loved. I had a long pattern of choosing unavailable men, telling myself it was because I could handle the complexity. The truth was more embarrassing. I thought that if someone like him chose me anyway — chose me over the weight of societal expectations — it would mean I was worth choosing. It took me a long time to see how unfair that was to him and to me.
We went to the Norton Simon Museum together in November, on the kind of gray Pasadena day when the 210 Freeway roars in the background like white noise. He studied for the MCAT while I wrote a paper on Persian rugs. In between practice problems, he translated ancient Arabic scripts for me. I thought, “We make a good team.” Afterward, we walked through the galleries and he didn’t let go of my arm.
That was the version of us I kept returning to — when the ending came during Ramadan. It arrived as a spiritual reflection of my own. I texted: “Does this end at graduation — whatever we are doing?”
He thought I meant Ramadan. I did not mean Ramadan.
“I care about you,” he wrote, “but I don’t want you to think this could work out to anything more than just dating. I mean, of course, I’ve fantasized about marrying you. If I could live my life the way I wanted, of course I would continue. I’m just sad it’s not in this lifetime.”
I was in Mexico City when these texts were exchanged. That night I flew to Oaxaca to clear my head and then, after less than 24 hours, flew back to L.A. No amount of vacation would allow me to process what had just happened, so I threw myself back into work.
My therapist told me to use the conjunction “and” instead of “but.” It happened, and I am changed. The harm I caused and the love I felt. The beauty of what we made and the impossibility of where it could go. She gave me a knowing smile when I asked if it would stay with me forever. She didn’t answer, which was the answer.
I think about the freeways now, the way Joan Didion called them our only secular communion. When you’re on the ground in Los Angeles, the world narrows to the few blocks around you. Get on the freeway and you understand the whole body of the city at once: the arteries, the pulse, the scale of the thing.
You understand that you are a single cell in something enormous and moving. It is all out of your control. I am in a lane. The lane shaped how I drive. He was simply in a different lane, and his lane shaped him, and those two facts can coexist without either of us being the villain of the sad story.
He came like a secret in the night, and he left the same way. What we made in between was real and complicated and mine to hold forever, hoping we find each other in the next life.
The author lives in Los Angeles.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
-
Business2 minutes agoBed Bath & Beyond is back in California after vowing never to return
-
Entertainment8 minutes agoJada Pinkett Smith asks court to make Will Smith’s former friend pay her $49,000 legal bills
-
Lifestyle14 minutes ago
How to have the best Sunday in L.A., according to Tig Notaro
-
Politics20 minutes ago
Voter ID is headed for California’s November ballot
-
Sports32 minutes agoRams first-round pick Ty Simpson aiming to ‘have a long career like Matthew’
-
World44 minutes agoPolice raid Peru’s election authorities after outcry over slow vote count
-
News1 hour agoAppeals court rules that Trump’s asylum ban at the border is illegal
-
New York3 hours agoHistory of Domestic Abuse Can be Considered in Sentencing, Court Rules