Business
My Red Carpet Quest: A Two-Year Search for Steve
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Steve Olive was my white whale.
I had been trying for two years to write a profile of Mr. Olive, the co-founder of Event Carpet Pros, the California-based company responsible for custom-making the colorful, though not always red, carpets for thousands of movie premieres, the Golden Globes, the Grammy Awards, the Super Bowl and, since 1997, the Academy Awards.
I learned about Mr. Olive in 2023, while reporting an article about why the organizers of the Oscars were rolling out a champagne-colored carpet that year. My editor, Katie Van Syckle, and I had found the Event Carpet Pros website and we took turns calling the listed number in an effort to reach someone. Finally, Katie connected with Mr. Olive, and briefly interviewed him.
But this mysterious, matter-of-fact, low-key man at the heart of the glitz and glamour of awards season stuck in my mind. I wanted to know more about him. How does one become a rug guy? What had he wanted to be when he grew up? Had he ever attended an award show himself?
Last year, when the Oscars returned to a classic red carpet, Katie and I again agreed that I should pursue a story on Mr. Olive, but he was hesitant. But this year, with the encouragement of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, he agreed. It was three weeks before the ceremony.
Mission: Steve, as I termed it, had officially begun.
I sent a barrage of frantic texts and placed several calls to Brooke Blumberg, a publicist for the academy, trying to nail down when the carpet, which was manufactured at a mill in Dalton, Ga., would arrive at the company’s warehouse in La Mirada, Calif., a city in Los Angeles County.
My goal was to be there when the approximately 30 rolls, each weighing 630 pounds, were unloaded in the Event Carpet Pros parking lot, from a truck that had been driven about 35 hours, from Dalton. The scene, I imagined, would be akin to the arrival of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree in New York City.
Despite my persistent overtures, Ms. Blumberg informed me that I had missed my chance. The truck had arrived at the warehouse the afternoon before I was planning to fly to Los Angeles.
“Oh darn!” I texted her. “We can hopefully get the install, though!” (The week before the ceremony, the 50,000-square-foot carpet is rolled into place by a crew of 20-some workers on Hollywood Boulevard.)
My next priority was meeting Mr. Olive at his office. But he had the flu, so I was told the interview might need to happen over a video call. Still, Katie and I thought I should go to California to capture the scene. And I wanted to meet his co-workers, as well as talk to the person who orders the red carpet for the Oscars from Mr. Olive each year.
When I finally made the decision to get on a plane, there was a chance that I might have neither the opportunity to talk to Mr. Olive in person nor to see the red carpet. But I bought a seat on a Wednesday afternoon flight and hoped for the best.
On my first day in La Mirada, I scouted out the Event Carpet Pros warehouse, a 36,000-square-foot white structure tucked among palm trees. Then, on Thursday night, I interviewed Joe Lewis, a producer for the Oscars who has ordered the awards show’s red carpet from Mr. Olive for the past 16 years.
On Friday morning, face mask on as a precaution, I visited Mr. Olive — now energetic, his bout with the flu evidently a distant memory — at his office inside the warehouse.
I’d had an idea of him in my head for two years, and I was curious to see if it matched the man. At 6-foot-2, bald and dressed entirely in black, he was somehow exactly as I’d imagined. He was, I learned, a former bodyguard for Mötley Crüe.
He had gotten into the red carpet business in 1992, with his brother-in-law, who installed tents around the country. I met Mr. Olive’s 26-year-old son, Nick, and his co-workers, all of whom told me the same thing: This is a man who doesn’t want, or need, the spotlight; he’s just happy making other people happy.
“I’m not good at this,” said Mr. Olive, as he awkwardly tried to follow the instructions of our photographer, Jennelle Fong, at what must have been his first-ever photo shoot, while standing on the Oscars red carpet.
A bit media shy, it took him some time to open up. And he was never really keen to discuss himself or his days as a bodyguard, for some of the hottest ’80s bands. “I’m not interesting,” he told me.
But I observed him becoming more comfortable as the talk turned to his lifeblood: carpets. He loved talking about his favorite collaborations over the years — all meticulously documented on the company’s Instagram account, which he created in 2013 — and sharing photos of his dog, Olive.
“You’ll make me look good, right?” he asked an hour and a half later, as we parted ways. I promised to send him a copy of the article after it was published.
Over the weekend, it was a frantic scramble to write my article. I wanted to capture not just Mr. Olive’s personality, but also the scope and scale of the modern “red carpet,” not just as a platform for fashion, but as a personal branding opportunity for celebrities. I wanted people to understand why what Mr. Olive was doing mattered.
I submitted my article on Monday morning; Ms. Fong photographed the installation of the red carpet on Hollywood Boulevard on Tuesday; and we had the story ready to go for Wednesday afternoon, when the carpet would be rolled out.
I didn’t get my Rockefeller Center Christmas tree arrival moment. But I witnessed something even better: One unassuming man, who neither wanted nor needed recognition, sharing his joy over his decades-long passion.
Business
How the landmark verdict against Meta and YouTube could hit their businesses
A Los Angeles jury dealt a blow to social media giants Meta and YouTube this week when it found that the platforms were negligent for designing addictive features that harmed the mental health of a California woman.
Both companies plan to appeal, but the ruling has ignited uncertainty around the tech companies’ future and sparked questions about the potential fallout.
The seven-week trial kicked off in February, featuring testimony from Meta and YouTube executives.
Kaley G.M., a 20-year-old Chico, Calif., woman, sued the platforms in 2023, alleging that using social media at a young age led to her mental health problems such as body dysmorphia and depression. She also sued TikTok and Santa Monica-based Snap and those companies settled ahead of the trial.
Lawyers representing the woman argued that the platforms hook in young users with features such as infinite scrolling, autoplaying videos and beauty filters.
People use social media to keep up with their friends and family, but teens can also feel inadequate, sad or anxious when they compare themselves to a curated version of other people’s lives online. They’re also spending a lot of time watching a seemingly endless amount of short videos.
A jury determined that Meta was 70% responsible for Kaley’s harms and YouTube was 30% responsible. They awarded her a total of $6 million. The ruling came shortly after a New Mexico jury found Meta liable for $375 million in damages after the state Atty. Gen. Raúl Torrez alleged the platform’s features enabled predators and pedophiles to exploit children.
“These verdicts mark an unsurprising breaking point. Negative sentiment toward social media has been building for years, and now it’s finally boiled over,” said Mike Proulx, a director at Forrester, a market research company.
How have the companies reacted to the verdict?
Meta and Google, which owns YouTube, said they disagreed with the ruling and plan to appeal.
“This case misunderstands YouTube, which is a responsibly built streaming platform, not a social media site,” said Jose Castañeda, a Google spokesman, in a statement.
Meta spokesman Andy Stone posted the company’s statement on social media site X.
“Teen mental health is profoundly complex and cannot be linked to a single app. We will continue to defend ourselves vigorously as every case is different, and we remain confident in our record of protecting teens online,” the statement said.
Tech companies have been responding to mental health concerns, rolling out new parental controls so parents can keep track of their children’s screen time and moderating harmful content. Instagram and YouTube have versions of their apps meant for young people.
Some child advocacy groups and lawmakers, though, say these changes aren’t enough.
The ruling could affect how much money YouTube’s parent company, Alphabet, and Meta earn as they spend more on legal battles. While they make billions of dollars from advertising, investors are wary about higher expenses. The companies are already spending billions of dollars on artificial intelligence and developing new hardware such as smartglasses.
On Thursday, Meta’s stock fell more than 7% to $549 per share. Alphabet saw its share price drop more than 2% to roughly $280.
In 2025, Meta’s annual revenue grew 22% from the previous year to $200.97 billion.
Last year, YouTube’s annual revenue surpassed more than $60 billion. Both Google and Meta have been laying off workers as they spend more on AI.
The ongoing backlash hasn’t stopped tech companies from growing their users.
A majority of U.S. teens use YouTube, TikTok, Instagram and Snapchat, according to a 2025 Pew Research Center survey. More than 3.5 billion people use one of Meta’s products, which include Instagram and Facebook.
Social media has continued to change over the years as companies double down on short videos and AI chatbots.
Mental health concerns have only heightened as AI chatbots that respond to questions and generate content become more popular. Families have sued OpenAI, Character.AI and Google after their loved ones who used chatbots killed themselves.
Some analysts remain skeptical that Meta and YouTube would make drastic changes to their products because they’ve weathered crises before.
“Neither Meta nor YouTube is going to do anything different until a court orders them to, or there’s a significant drop in user or advertiser use,” said Max Willens, Principal Analyst at eMarketer.
Other analysts said legal risks could also affect how tech companies develop new AI-powered products and features.
“It’s likely that tech firms will now face increased scrutiny over the design of their platforms, which should drive more thoughtful inclusion of features that foster healthier interactions and safeguard mental health,” said Andrew Frank, an analyst with Gartner for Marketing Leaders.
At the very least, the verdicts serve as a “dire warning about how we handle the next wave of technology,” Proulx said.
“If we’re still struggling to put effective guardrails around social media after nearly two decades, we’re far from prepared for the growing harms of AI, which is moving faster, scaling wider, and embedding itself far deeper into people’s lives,” he said.
Times staff writer Sonja Sharp contributed to this report.
Business
Justin Vineyards pays $1.49 million to settle sex harassment case
Justin Vineyards & Winery has agreed to workplace reforms and to pay $1.49 million to settle a federal lawsuit accusing it of allowing female employees to be sexually harassed and then retaliating against them for reporting it.
The Paso Robles business reached the settlement with the federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. It was was approved Thursday by a federal judge.
Also named in the lawsuit and settlement is the Wonderful Co., the Los Angeles agribusiness owned by Beverly Hills billionaires Lynda and Stewart Resnick.
In 2010, Wonderful acquired Justin, which includes production facilities, a tasting room, inn and Michelin-starred restaurant.
The lawsuit, filed in 2022, alleged that female employees were subject since August 2017 to comments about their appearance; texts containing inappropriate photos; touching of their breasts, buttocks and genitals; forced kissing and other harassment by their male supervisors.
It further alleged that the companies “knew or should have known” about the hostile work environment.
The lawsuit also said that when complaints were made about the harassment, they were not properly investigated and the employees were subject to retaliation, including being given double shifts, being accused of wrongdoing and being berated and yelled at by supervisors.
Aside from the monetary penalty, the settlement requires Justin and Wonderful to halt any harassment or retaliation, undergo compliance audits and take other measures at the vineyard operations.
The companies denied all the allegations and agreed to the settlement to resolve the litigation, according to the consent decree.
In a statement, Justin said that the matter “dates back many years and was dealt with immediately and decisively the moment we became aware of any allegations of conduct that did not align with what is appropriate in the workplace.
“With this agreement reached, we look forward to putting this chapter fully behind us and continuing to focus on the incredibly talented team we have in place today,” the statement said.
Beatriz Andre, acting regional attorney for the EEOC’s Los Angeles District Office, commended Justin and Wonderful for reaching the settlement.
“The policy changes and reporting to which the companies agreed are important steps in ensuring a workplace free of discrimination,” she said in a statement.
In 2016, workers cut down dozens of oaks trees on land managed by Justin to make room for new grape plantings, stirring up controversy.
The Resnicks said they were unaware of the cutting, apologized, donated the land to a nature conservancy and agreed to plant thousands of trees on vineyard property.
After buying Justin, Wonderful acquired Landmark Vineyards in Sonoma County and Lewis Cellars in Napa Valley.
Business
Commentary: How a custody fight over an old dog showed why lawyers should never trust AI to tell the truth
The seemingly limitless proliferation of cases in which lawyers have been caught letting fictitious AI-generated legal citations contaminate their briefs continues to amaze.
That’s not only because judges are fining more lawyers for their laziness, but because the publicity about these embarrassments has been inescapable.
Here’s one involving a dog named Kyra.
She’s a 16-year-old Labrador retriever who became the target of a nasty custody fight between a California couple after the dissolution of their domestic partnership. In the course of the lawsuit, one lawyer published two AI-fabricated citations in a filing. The opposing law firm didn’t catch the flaw and cited the same fake cases in its filings, including in a court order signed by a judge.
Most lawyers grew up in a time when you could expect the other side to spin and even to lie about the record some of the time, but just lying or making a mistake about the existence of a case was basically unheard of up until a few years ago.
— Eugene Volokh, UCLA law school
The case of Joan Pablo Torres Campos vs. Leslie Ann Munoz also points to how AI, touted worldwide as a labor-saving technology, has actually increased the workload in some trades and professions, like lawyering. For litigators, it has created a new imperative: ferreting out citations that have been fabricated by AI bots in their own court filings — and their adversaries’.
I’ve written before about the proliferation of AI-generated fabrications infiltrating legal filings and even legal rulings, despite the advice drilled into the heads of even law students about making sure that their citations to precedential cases are accurate. But the wave keeps building: A database of AI hallucinations maintained by the French researcher Damien Charlotin now numbers 1,174 cases, of which some 750 are from U.S. courts.
That’s almost certainly a conservative count. Most AI fabrications may not even come to the attention of litigants or judges, especially in state courts.
“For every case that talks about this, my guess is that there are many that aren’t visible,” says Eugene Volokh of UCLA law school and the Hoover Institution, who keeps a weather eye on AI-related courthouse developments. He believes there may be thousands escaping notice.
AI has introduced mistakes that were never seen in the past. “Most lawyers grew up in a time when you could expect the other side to spin and even to lie about the record some of the time, but just lying or making a mistake about the existence of a case was basically unheard of up until a few years ago,” Volokh told me. “That’s because there would be no source of hallucinations — maybe you’d get the citations slightly wrong or you mischaracterized or misquoted them, but to talk about a case that doesn’t exist — that didn’t happen. Now it happens a lot.”
The judiciary is getting increasingly nervous about AI fabrications becoming part of the judicial record. “Reliance on fake cases…seriously undermines the integrity of the outcome and erodes public confidence in our judicial system,” an appelate judge stated.
Therefore, he added, “it is imperative for both the court and the parties to verify that the citations in all orders are genuine….This is especially vital with the increasing incidence of hallucinated case citations generated by AI tools.”
Judges are still reluctant to bring down the hammer for AI-fabrications if lawyers acknowledge their fault and “throw themselves on the mercy of the court,” Volokh says. But they’re getting tougher on lawyers who deny their reliance on AI or try to shift blame.
As recently as Monday, federal Magistrate Mark D. Clarke of Medford, Ore., ordered the attorneys representing the plaintiff in a civil lawsuit to pay more than $90,000 in legal fees, on top of an earlier sanction of $15,500 imposed on one of the lawyers, for incorporating 15 fabricated case citations and eight misquotations into case filings.
Clarke also dismissed the $29-million lawsuit, which arose from a ferocious dispute among the sibling heirs to an Oregon winery fortune, with prejudice, so it can’t be refiled. It was an extraordinary punishment, Clarke acknowledged — and the largest penalty imposed in any case in Charlotin’s database.
“In the quickly expanding universe of cases involving sanctions for the misuse of artificial intelligence, this case is a notorious outlier in both degree and volume,” Clarke wrote. Among other faults, he noted, the plaintiff’s lawyers never adequately fessed up to their wrongdoing. “If there was ever an ‘appropriate case’ to grant terminating sanctions for the misuse of artificial intelligence,” he wrote, “this is it.”
That brings us back to the custody battle over Kyra. The case originated in 2024, two years after a family court judge in San Diego dissolved the domestic partnership of Joan Torres Campos and Munoz. The dissolution order allowed them to keep their own property, but didn’t mention the dog, who lived with Munoz.
Torres Campos subsequently sought shared custody of Kyra and visitation rights. (Pet custody battles have long been a cultural fixture: Film aficionados might recognize this case’s similarity to the custody fight over the wire-haired terrier Mr. Smith in the 1937 Cary Grant/Irene Dunne vehicle “The Awful Truth,” surely the funniest movie ever made by Hollywood.)
Munoz rejected Torres Campos’ request, arguing that he didn’t really care about the dog, but only aimed to harass her. A family court judge sided with her, but Torres Campos appealed.
In her initial reply to Torres Campos, Munoz’s lawyer, Roxanne Chung Bonar, cited California cases from 1984 and 1995 that she said supported her client’s refusal to grant visitation rights.
Both case citations were fictitious. The 1984 case, Marriage of Twigg, didn’t exist at all; Bonar’s citation pointed to a criminal case that had “nothing to do with pets or custody determinations,” California Appellate Judge Martin N. Buchanan wrote for a unanimous three-judge panel, upholding the family court judge . The second reference was to Marriage of Teegarden, which was handed down in 1986, not 1995, and also had nothing to do with the issue at hand.
Things only got more complicated from there. Torres Campos’ lawyer, in a reply brief and a subsequent proposed court order, didn’t mention that Twigg and Teegarden were fabricated cases, perhaps because the lawyer hadn’t checked the references personally. The family court judge signed the proposed order, including the fake citations, resulting on their infiltration into the official record. (Although Torres Campos’ lawyer drafted the proposed order, it actually rejected his lawsuit.)
It was only in the course of appealing the family court ruling did Torres Campos’ lawyer mention that the two cited precedents were “invented case law.”
There was one more turn of the screw: In responding to Torres Campos’ appellate filing, Bonar “doubled down,” Buchanan wrote. Bonar insisted that Twigg was a “valid, published precedent” and added three more purported citations to the case. All were “just as phony as the original citation,” Buchanan noted.
Bonar even taunted Torres Campos’ lawyer for his “failure to conduct basic legal research” to verify the ostensibly genuine precedents, adding that his “inability to locate them underscores the incompetence that led to his appeal’s dismissal.”
Where did these references come from? It turned out that the Twigg reference originally came from a Reddit article written by an Oregon blogger and animal rescuer who posts under the name “Sassafras Patterdale,” in which she cited the fictitious case in a post about pet custody battles. Munoz had received the article from a friend and passed it on to Bonar. Both of them assumed that everything in it was accurate.
According to the appellate ruling, the additional citations to Twigg don’t appear in the Reddit post. Bonar never explained where they came from. She did concede, however, that the fictitious citations “‘may have’ come from her use of AI tools,” Buchanan noted. He sanctioned her with a $5,000 fine, largely because she did not initially acknowledge that her citations were fake and tried to shift blame to her opposing counsel.
Although the appeals judges could have awarded the case to Torres Campos due to Bonar’s performance, they declined to do so — because Torres Campos’ lawyers hadn’t checked their opposing counsel’s citations themselves. At this stage, Munoz still has custody of the dog and the lawsuit is essentially over, according to Torres Campos’ attorney, David C. Beavens of San Diego.
Beavens says he took the case because he hoped to use it to obtain judicial clarification of a state law enacted in 2019, which authorized courts to issue orders regarding the ownership and care of pets in divorce cases. The appellate judges, sidetracked by the AI issue, never touched on that. But Beavens says he agreed with the panel’s position AI fabrications have become such a problem in court that “we need to hold everyone accountable” — lawyers on both sides of a case and the judges as well.
Bonar told me that she was not challenging the sanction but declined to comment on it further.
I did ask Bonar if she had any advice for other lawyers tempted to use AI in their work. “Yes,” she said: “Verify all third-party sources.”
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