Lifestyle
David Lynch says he 'died a death' over the way his 'Dune' film turned out : Wild Card with Rachel Martin
David Lynch says he felt like he lived three different lives as a teenager.
Vittorio Zunino Celotto/Getty Images
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Vittorio Zunino Celotto/Getty Images

David Lynch says he felt like he lived three different lives as a teenager.
Vittorio Zunino Celotto/Getty Images
A note from Wild Card host Rachel Martin: David Lynch says that the first time he tried transcendental meditation, “It was as if I was in an elevator and someone snipped the cables — poof! Within I went.”
Down he plunged into his own subconscious.
And that analogy — of being in an elevator cut loose — is also what it feels like to absorb Lynch’s work. Whether it’s the TV show Twin Peaks or the movie Mulholland Drive, it feels like you are plunging into a dark and surreal part of the human psyche and it’s totally confusing but also thrilling.
And frankly, that feeling of being in the elevator in free fall is a little like what talking to him feels like. Our conversation started with some lovely memories of his childhood and then the elevator drops and suddenly we’re way deeper inside Lynch’s mind than I expected to go and we’re all just along for the ride.


At 78, Lynch is still making art. He’s planning on releasing a new album with the artist Chrystabell in August. He told me the music began as a sound experiment he was working on. When he got Chrystabell to sing over the music, he found “she is perfect for this and in ways I can’t really explain.”
That said, he doesn’t think the new music is an easy listen. He says even he was turned off by it initially: “First hearing it — total bulls***.” But, he also says it opened up to him with repeated listens. “Second hearing, a little bit less. Third hearing, beauty.”
The album’s title, Cellophane Memories, is a reference to the way the music moved him. “It just clicked as being like a friend. And it conjures memories … in listening to this, all these way-distant memories started bubbling up. Something about this music conjured memories.”
He says that will happen to anyone who listens: “You will find music that’ll bring back memories … that will bring so much beauty and happiness into your life. Beauty is so tender. It’s a tender music, but tender as in beautiful.”
This Wild Card interview has been edited for length and clarity. Host Rachel Martin asks guests randomly-selected questions from a deck of cards. Tap play above to listen to the full podcast, or read an excerpt below.
Question 1: What’s a moment from your childhood when you realized you wanted to make different choices than your parents?
David Lynch: I was on the front lawn of my girlfriend’s house — in the ninth grade. And I was meeting a fellow named Toby Keeler, who didn’t go to my high school. He went to a private school. And he was telling me that his father was a painter. And I thought at first his father was a house painter. But he said, “No, a fine art painter.” And a bomb went off in my head. A bomb that changed my life in a millisecond — completely changed my life.
And from that moment on, I wanted to be a painter — only that. So my father, being a research scientist for the Department of Agriculture, I never really wanted to be that. But wanting to be a painter, an artist, has made it for sure I wasn’t going to follow in my father’s footsteps.
Lynch poses in front of one of his artworks in 2007 at the Cartier Foundation for Contemporary art, during his exhibition “The Air is on Fire”.
Dominique Faget/AFP via Getty Images
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Rachel Martin: You had to have a high threshold for risk to pursue that path — or delusion, some might say. Where do you think that instinct came from, given that those weren’t things that were manifest in your parents’ life, necessarily?
Lynch: When you love something, there’s no problem. There’s no problem. You’re in love and you take whatever comes along. You’re in love.
Question 2: What was your form of rebelling as a teenager?
Lynch: Well, I lived three lives. I lived a home life. I lived a school life, with my sweetheart, my girlfriend. And the studio, you know, art life — and then also was a bit of a party animal.
So I had these three lives and I didn’t want any of them to mix, really. So I developed spasms of the intestines.
Martin: You developed a condition — so you created it for yourself? It was psychosomatic?
Lynch: It was a psychosomatic disease, yeah.
Martin: And what did it do for you?
Lynch: I s*** my pants. That’s what happened. It was a horrible thing. However, I’ll tell you a good side of this. The Vietnam War was cooking up around this time. And my father took me to a doctor because the spasms in the intestines. I got a [colonoscopy]. And the guy was a great doctor and he pretended that — as he was watching — that it was a racetrack. And he said, “Here they go around this corner! They’re going around — such and such number seven is in the lead! And they’re going around this corner!” — following the [colonoscopy], you know, as he was telling me about my intestines. Anyway, he said, “You have spasms of the intestines,” and he said, “By the way, I see on the X-rays, you have a vertebrae out of place, and if you ever get called for the army, I can give you these X-rays, and you probably won’t be called if you want to get out.”
So spasms of the intestines led to a doctor that helped me get out, and I didn’t have to go to Vietnam.
Question 3: What failure have you learned the most from?
Lynch: My film Dune. I knew already one should have final cut before signing on to do a film. But for some reason, I thought everything would be OK, and I didn’t put final cut in my contract. And as it turned out, Dune wasn’t the film I wanted to make, because I didn’t have a final say.
The trailer for David Lynch’s 1984 Dune.
YouTube
So that’s a lesson I knew even before, but now there’s no way. Why would anyone work for three years on something that wasn’t yours? Why? Why do that? Why? I died a death. And it was all my fault for not knowing to put that in the contract.
Question 4: Where have you experienced awe?
Lynch: My first meditation. I was at [the transcendental meditation] center and I’d just been taught. And I was taken to a little room and my teacher said, “Sit here, close the eyes. Sit here and start your meditation. I’ll be back in 20 minutes.”
So I sat and closed my eyes and started what I just learned and boom! It was as if I was in an elevator and someone snipped the cables — poof! Within I went. Whoa. Bliss. The bliss that makes you cry. So beautiful. So powerful. Transcendental meditation is garbage going out, gold coming in.

I always say we are living like in a suffocating rubber clown suit of negativity. We don’t want to be clowns. We don’t want to have this heavy stinking rubber all around us of negativity.
You start transcending every day, the rubber starts disintegrating, evaporating. And freedom comes. Bliss starts coming. It just happens automatically. It’s so beautiful. Why isn’t everybody and his little brother meditating? I don’t know. Go figure.
Martin: I have to say, you seem to truly have found some level of contentment that I don’t think a lot of people have found.
Lynch: It’s all there within. If it can happen to me, it can happen to anybody. And it’s a great trip we’re all on. It just makes it greater when you’re transcending every day. Money in the bank. 20 minutes in the morning, 20 minutes in the afternoon, and go about your business the rest of the time.
Lifestyle
A Route 66 road trip is all about the people you’ll meet. Start with these legends.
Ian Bowen is manager of the “66 to Cali” shop/kiosk on the Santa Monica Pier. Many travelers go to the kiosk for the Route 66 “passports” and certificates of completion.
(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)
Beyond the merry-go-round and before the Ferris wheel on Santa Monica Pier, Ian Bowen does business in a snug kiosk overstuffed with souvenirs, guidebooks and replica highway signs. The whole structure measures about 77 square feet. But the idea behind it sprawls for miles and keeps Bowen talking for hours on end: Route 66.
The 66 to Cali kiosk is owned by Dan Rice, who started the business in 2009 after years of travels on the Mother Road. But Bowen, 35, has been managing it for 10 years, making sales, offering advice and hearing travelers’ tales, which almost always come with surprises. He calls himself “a bona fide nerd about Route 66.”
“It took me six years to do the whole road and finish my last stretch in Arcadia, Oklahoma,” Bowen said between customers one recent night. Rather than cover more than 2,400 miles in a single trip, he has done what many American “roadies” do: biting off one chunk at a time. Before you know it, he said, “you become part of the community.”
That became obvious as Bowen flipped through the photo albums he keeps in the kiosk. There’s Harley Russell, ribald proprietor and performer at the Sandhills Curiosity Shop in Erick, Okla. There’s Fran Houser, the late, widely beloved proprietor of the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas. And there’s Bowen getting a haircut from Angel Delgadillo, the Seligman, Ariz., barber, now 99, who kicked off a resurgence of interest in Route 66 in 1987 with a call for historical recognition.
This is not the career Bowen planned for; he studied to be an industrial designer. But now that he’s in the business of celebrating Route 66, he sees it, and other highways like it, as a launching pad for independent businesses, a lifeline for small towns and an antidote to the isolation of contemporary society.
“The old roads aren’t just about nostalgia,” Bowen says on his website. “They’re about creativity, honest work, investing in ourselves and our communities, and the notion that effort is rewarded.”
For those considering a Route 66 trip, Bowen has advice of all kinds.
Want an old-school meal along the route in Santa Monica? Bowen will point you toward Bay Cities Italian Deli & Bakery, which opened in 1925.
A lunch spot near Elmer’s Bottle Tree Ranch in Oro Grande? Cross-Eyed Cow Pizza, said Bowen, is just down the road.
The backstory on Bobby Troup’s song “Route 66?” Bowen can tell you that Nat King Cole recorded it in early 1946 in a studio at 7000 Santa Monica Blvd. And that address, now occupied by the Jeffrey Deitch art gallery, is actually on Route 66.
Whatever your itinerary, Bowen urges a loose schedule, leaving plenty of room for discoveries and unplanned conversations. Otherwise, “it’s so easy to use up all your time and end up running behind,” he said.
One recent Friday, Leonidas Georgiou, 36, stepped up to the kiosk, brimming with enthusiasm.
Georgiou, who lives in Athens, only learned about Route 66 last year “from an influencer on Greek TikTok.” But once he heard about it, he acted fast. Georgiou plotted a U.S. trip, recruited his mom to ride shotgun and picked up a rented Mazda SUV in Chicago. They made the drive in 23 days, with detours to Las Vegas and Monument Valley and a stop at the Walter White house (from “Breaking Bad”) in Albuquerque.
The varying weather and landscape, Georgiou said, made it feel like a four-season trip. Several times, in cities where hotels seemed too pricey or too sketchy, he and his mom slept in their SUV. Before Bowen could speak up, Georgiou added that he’s a police officer in Athens, and that he chose their spots carefully. Georgiou’s mother, who didn’t speak much English, nodded in affirmation.
“Instead of spending $40 each and getting bedbugs, it’s better to sleep in the car,” Georgiou said. And in the larger picture, he said, it was important to give the trip all the time it needed.
“This is a lifetime journey,” Georgiou said.
Bowen nodded and smiled. Another 66 traveler, another set of surprises.
Lifestyle
It only takes 30 minutes to be a good mom : It’s Been a Minute
How much time should moms spend with their kids? What if it’s quality over quantity?
CEO and co-founder Emma Grede set social media on fire when she described herself as a “max three-hour mum” and said that she would rather focus on creating “high-impact, core memories” with her children. The founding partner of Kim Kardashian’s SKIMS also said that remote work is ‘career suicide’ for women. The idea that a working mother – even a CEO mom – would spend so little time with her kids was outrageous to some…but isn’t that the reality for most parents?
To get into all of this, Brittany is joined by Kathryn Jezer-Morton, writer of the Brooding column from The Cut, and Helena Andrews-Dyer, journalist and author, to unpack the ‘controversial’ notion of a mother not wanting to spend all her time with her kids.
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This episode was produced by Alexis Williams. The video was edited by Pablo Valdivia. It was edited by Nick Michael. Our Executive Producer is Barton Girdwood. Our VP of Programming is Yolanda Sangweni.
Lifestyle
Why Mel’s Drive-In in Santa Monica is the perfect final stop on your Route 66 trip
Famous signs along the nearly 2,500 miles of Route 66 include the 66-foot soda bottle at Pops in Oklahoma, the wagging neon tail of Albuquerque’s Dog House and the hand-painted slogans for Snow Cap Drive-In in Arizona. But in L.A., none is so iconic as the giant looming penguin that signifies milkshakes, burgers, oldies playlists and sheer Americana at the end of the road.
Stories, photos and travel recommendations from America’s Mother Road
The Mother Road that stretches from Chicago to the West Coast unofficially ends at the Santa Monica Pier, but at its technical terminus, Mel’s Drive-In declares the “ROUTE ENDS HERE,” inlaid in terrazzo beneath that jumbo tuxedoed penguin. It’s been a beacon for decades, and though the beloved restaurant space recently was listed for sale for $26 million, Mel’s owners hope it remains a diner and destination for generations.
For much of its history, the diner at the end of Route 66 was the 1959-founded Penguin Coffee Shop, a Googie-architecture marvel of angular windows, rock walls and little cartoons of penguins hanging above swivel stools and an open kitchen.
The original penguin sign from the former Penguin Coffee Shop still stands at Mel’s Drive-In in Santa Monica.
As a very young child I remember sliding into the booths with my father, whose office was nearby on Wilshire. Back then, the tall angled ceilings seemed to soar and the breakfast combos looked mountainous.
“It was a Googie kind of restaurant — you know, we don’t have that many of them around anymore,” my dad recalls. “It had an aura of roadside diner about it. … Everybody would see the giant penguin out there. I don’t think Burgess Meredith ever ate there, though.” The joke takes me a beat before landing; my version of Batman’s Penguin will always be Danny DeVito.
“It was a Googie kind of restaurant — you know, we don’t have that many of them around anymore,” the writer’s dad recalls.
We’d visit every month or two, until the Penguin closed its doors in 1991 and transformed into a Western Dental office, which kept the penguin sign but dropped those high ceilings and removed the kitchen along with other hallmarks of its roadside charm. Thankfully, its journey didn’t end there.
The Weiss family, which founded Mel’s Drive-In diner in 1947, had been eyeing the property for years and signed a lease in 2016. Then there was the link to their own history: The prolific Armet & Davis architecture firm designed the Penguin as well as the current home of Mel’s Sherman Oaks.
“When the dentist office went out of business,” said co-owner Colton Weiss, “it seemed like a no-brainer to make it Mel’s and bring it back to the glory days of being a diner.”
What followed were two years of “very expensive” renovations, according to the third-generation Mel’s owner.
Beyond the iconic penguin sign — which obtained “historically or architecturally significant” designation in 2000 — Mel’s pays homage with the large sculptural, custom-made glass globe lights, which replicate the original’s. The Weisses hired garden specialists to review decades-old photos of the Penguin Coffee Shop to determine which varieties of flowers decorated the front of the restaurant, then they replanted them.
Since the building’s reopening in 2018, thousands of guests have ended the journey along Route 66 with a meal in the diner.
“We’re like Route 66 authorities now.”
— Colton Weiss, co-owner of Mel’s Drive-In
While sledgehammering drywall, they uncovered the diner’s original rock wall. Along a hallway near the bathrooms, a small gallery of Penguin Coffee Shop photos offers another glimpse of the predecessor. This location also features a marshmallow-and-chocolate-sauce Penguin Shake in honor of the tuxedoed mascot of the original.
It wasn’t until they were close to signing a deal that they realized it sat along Route 66.
“We’re like Route 66 authorities now,” said Weiss, whose father, Steven Weiss, was largely responsible for the restoration.
Since the building’s reopening in 2018, the owners say thousands of guests have ended their travels with a meal in the diner. They bustle through the doors after the long journey, sometimes bedecked in Route 66 merchandise, and sometimes buying Mel’s own brand of Route 66 merch while there.
Atmosphere and details of Mel’s Drive-In Diner.
“We had a guy do it in a ’67 Chevy, that was on his bucket list: Older guy who did it with his wife, and it was a convertible,” said Weiss. “He did it in summertime, so by the time he showed up he was covered in dust and dirt. He couldn’t be happier to make it to Mel’s and get a burger.”
Another, he said, did the whole route on a bicycle.
The diner offers certificates of completion for those who finish the trek, and devised a burger named for the route. A fish tank at the entrance features a Route 66 theme, as does a mural on a small wall of the parking lot. Two official signs, placed by the city, denote the location’s significance.
“The city knew there’d be renewed interest in a diner being the real ending of Route 66,” Weiss said. “Before, I don’t know anybody who’d want to end their trip at a dentist’s office. Maybe somebody who broke their teeth on the way.”
But the trail’s end could someday see its own end. The property was listed for sale in 2025. Representatives for the building’s management company didn’t respond to requests for comment.
“We’re trying to keep it there as long as possible,” Weiss said. “People really enjoy this location, and it seems like one of the last diners in Santa Monica.” Weiss declined to comment further.
Mel’s assistant manager Yazmin Minguelasays she sees more travelers now because it’s the centennial of Route 66. “But even before that, we still had a lot of visitors.”
She’s worked for Mel’s 22 years, six of which have been spent in the Santa Monica restaurant. Her shifts are full of Westside regulars, celebrities and guests finishing their trip along Route 66.
“Ending on a diner is nostalgia,” my dad mused. “Having a place like Mel’s, which is a substitute for the kind of flea-bitten ptomaine joints that you might get along Route 66, brings back memories to very old people. And very new people ask questions like, ‘Who’s Burgess Meredith?’”
Mel’s Drive-In is open at 1670 Lincoln Blvd., Santa Monica, Sunday to Thursday from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m., and Friday and Saturday from 7 a.m. to midnight.
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