Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: Could I learn to like Los Angeles for the sake of my relationship?
We shared our first kiss while studying poetry in the foothills of the Rockies. “I’ll move anywhere with you,” I declared one year later. “Anywhere except L.A.” After a childhood on the suburban edges of a Midwestern prairie, I wanted big sky and mountains almost as much as I wanted Domi. But he won out, and we ended up here in his hometown.
Domi had wooed me well. Now he wanted Los Angeles to seduce me. He showered me with scarves and necklaces as we perused the trendy Melrose Avenue shops. We sipped cocktails at the Dresden while swaying along to Marty & Elayne. To prove I hadn’t lost the mountains by moving here, he drove his Jeep Wrangler down Pacific Coast Highway and up into Topanga Canyon for dinner underneath the fairy lights at the Inn of the Seventh Ray.
I began to acclimate to L.A.’s charm, but my celebrity encounters gave me away as a foreigner. At Du-Par’s in the Original Farmers Market, I implored my city-bred boyfriend not to look at the movie star eating pancakes by himself at the counter. I thought I had whispered discreetly, but both Domi and the movie star laughed so loudly the whole restaurant turned to look at me. While we tossed back margaritas at Mexico City, I resolved not to embarrass myself again by staring at the lead in my favorite television show sitting two booths over. Yet by the end of her meal, she had slunk down so low her head was almost level to the table.
One day we hiked up past Griffith Observatory to the top of Mt. Hollywood. I sat facing westward, drinking in the big sky view that stretched all the way to the ocean. The only other group of hikers clustered together, facing eastward. When they left, I gushed that they had been members of a famous rock band. “But that’s not the point,” I said. “The point is that I didn’t scare them off. I finally belong here!”
Domi agreed. On a weekend trip to Baja, we stopped for lobster at Puerto Nuevo. We bought cheap rings in Ensenada and exchanged them under the full moon. Back in Los Angeles, we performed our wedding vows — a poem we wrote together — for friends and family among the pepper trees and roses at the Los Angeles River Center and Gardens in Cypress Park.
As educators in South Los Angeles schools, we worked long hours. Other than the occasional Lakers game (Domi’s mom had season tickets), nights out grew fewer and farther in between. “All we really do on the weekends is grab burritos at Baja Fresh and movies from Blockbuster,” I remarked one day. “Might as well have a baby.”
We bought a fixer-upper in Eagle Rock. Thanks to my high school students, I had become as enamored of L.A.’s murals and graffiti as I had once been with its celebrities. So Domi covered the baby’s walls with elaborate paintings of dragons, pirates, astronauts and a purple parrot (Magic Johnson) dunking on a green parrot (Larry Bird).
Through our child’s eyes, I found myself falling even deeper in love with Los Angeles. Domi and I pushed their stroller down the Venice Beach Boardwalk, stopping to listen to Harry Perry and watch a man on roller skates juggling while wearing a Speedo. We dug our toes into the sand as we waited for our names to be called for a seat at Gladstones in Malibu. We celebrated my students’ quinceañeras in ornate halls across South L.A.
Closer to home we walked for a mile under the bright holiday lights strung along the road at Griffith Park. We went trick-or-treating on Eagle Rock’s Hill Drive and stopped to watch a flash mob perform “Thriller.” We spent Saturday mornings watching trainers walk the horses proudly and slowly around the track at Santa Anita Park.
As our child grew older, I found myself transforming into a (literal) soccer mom and discovering whole new pockets of Southern California. Some of the soccer pitches were nearby, nestled in the Crescenta Valley foothills. Gradually, we found our perimeter widening. We traversed the 210 Freeway to the 605 Freeway for nighttime practices at a sports park across from the venue where our kid had once spent weekends dressed as a knight, riding the wooden ship that swung back and forth at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. We pushed farther eastward to spend countless weekends on the sidelines at Norco’s vast expanse of soccer fields and southward to the fields underneath the giant orange balloon at Orange County’s Great Park.
Throughout all the soccer years, practices at Pasadena High School remained a constant. On the days when it was my turn to drive the carpool, I dropped the kids off, then drove a mile up the road to Eaton Canyon. Under the day’s last light, I hiked from the parking lot, past the nature center and along the stream. I passed the turnoff to the waterfall, climbed the steep paved hill and touched the Pinecrest Gate leading out to the streets of Altadena. Then I headed back in the orange-pink twilight. Sometimes I would pass deer, sometimes another hiker. But mostly, the trail felt all mine. On those evenings most of all, I knew I had finally made my home here. Here in a city bounded by mountains and teeming with magic moments.
This is a love letter to Domi, who helped me learn to love Los Angeles. This is a love letter to Los Angeles, the backdrop to our love story as a family. And this is a love letter to everyone who has ever walked through Eaton Canyon alone at dusk. Someday we’ll pass each other there on the trail again. Someday.
The author is a longtime L.A. educator who lives in Eagle Rock.
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.
Lifestyle
OTB Takes Full Control of Viktor & Rolf
Lifestyle
How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet
The scoreboard shows the results of the women’s singles final match between Iga Swiatek of Poland and Amanda Anisimova of the U.S. at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London, Saturday, July 12, 2025.
Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
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Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
Fifteen points in tennis? Nice. Thirty, 40 — even better. Advantage — that sounds good. “Love” — that also must be great, right? Well, not quite.
As the French Open rolls on and Serena Williams has announced her return to the sport, maybe you’ve been paying a little more attention to tennis. The sport’s scoring system is notably distinct, and can sometimes be hard to grasp for newcomers. But even tennis aficionados might not know why, or how, “love” became the unmistakable callout for zero points. For this installment of NPR’s Word of the Week, we’re exploring how a word that signifies trailing behind got such a sweet name.
“Love” comes from the heart — or an egg?
It’s hard to pinpoint when the first tennis ball went over the net. Tennis is a derivative of lots of other sports, such as “jeu de paume,” a handball game played in France, said JT Buzanga, the collections manager at the International Tennis Hall of Fame museum.

But tennis became a patented, official sport in 1874, said Steve Flink, a journalist whose tennis coverage got him inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It has retained its unique, mysterious scoring system ever since.
“By and large, the original system has held up almost entirely,” Flink said.
The use of “love” goes back to the late 18th century, said Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer. But it was used earlier than that in card games such as whist and bridge. Before the term made its way to tennis, the sport favored plain old “nothing,” or “nil,” he said.
Why love in the first place, though? Historians don’t really know for sure, but there are a few theories.
The French could have something to do with it. Some historians believe “love” derives from “l’oeuf,” which means “the egg” in French. Because eggs are shaped like zeros, terms such as “goose egg” and “duck’s egg” have been used in other contexts to mean zero, Sheidlower said.
It’s also possible English speakers mispronounced l’oeuf as “love.” But Sheidlower isn’t convinced that’s the answer.
“It’s the French equivalent of an English expression. But since that expression doesn’t appear in French, the French word wouldn’t have been used,” he said.
To be sure, France has had a lot of influence on tennis culture, Buzanga said. For example, “deuce” or a game tied at 40 points, comes from the French word for “two”: “deux.” But he prefers another prominent theory: that “love” comes from the idiom “for the love of the game.” Even if a player hasn’t scored, it doesn’t matter, because their heart is in it. It’s the theory Sheidlower said is the most plausible, because the idiom was used by the English before tennis was popularized.

Another variation of the “love of the game” theory is that the word could have come from the Dutch “lof,” or “honor” — or the Latin “amare,” meaning “to love,” Flink said.
But if tennis’ “love” doesn’t come from a French word, the theory at least has a French sensibility.
“I think the ‘for the love of the game’ is kind of romantic,” Buzanga said.
“Love” probably isn’t going anywhere
Tennis used to be a sport of leisure. The style of play has changed a lot over the years; players are more athletic and competitive, for instance, Flink said. But the rules of the sport are more steadfast, he said.
“There’s this incredible, enduring respect for tradition in tennis,” he said. “Changes are not made easily.”
There has been one major change in modern history: the tie-break. Matches can go on and on because players have to score two consecutive points to break a deuce, or by two games to break a tied set. But the onset of television meant matches would have to get shorter if the sport wanted to capture a larger audience, Flink said.

Change even came for “love.” An alternative sprouted up in the 1970s, and is still used today: “bagel,” named for its zero shape, Sheidlower said. Novices may say “zero,” and insiders will understand what they mean, but they “will needle them about it,” Flink said.
But “love” still prevails.
“People kind of like it,” Flink said. “It’s different. Why say zero when you can say love?”
Lifestyle
With Highway 1 open, Big Sur braces for its busiest summer in years
On a 75-mile cliff-hugging stretch of highway in California, traffic is way up, despite soaring gas prices. And locals expect the busiest summer in years.
The road is Highway 1 in Big Sur, which reopened in January after three years of repair and reconstruction following a pair of landslides. Drivers can once again embark on the state’s most famous road trip, covering the 100 miles between Cambria to the south and Carmel to the north without leaving the two-lane coastal highway. And they’re heading out in big numbers.
Caltrans estimates that as of May, Big Sur restaurant and retailer guest counts are up 40% from last year, and that northbound traffic at Ragged Point, the southern gateway to Big Sur, has risen 900% year-over-year.
People pose for photos near Bixby Bridge. Monterey County’s Board of Supervisors voted to explore a 12-month ban on parking around the bridge.
Safety cones prevent parking along Coast Road near the Bixby Bridge.
“Take your time,” said Kirk Gafill, co-owner of the popular Nepenthe restaurant and president of the Big Sur Chamber of Commerce, offering advice to travelers. “You’re going to be sharing the road with a number of people.”
As travelers rediscover the road, the cost of driving has been shooting skyward. California’s average gas price ($6.11 per gallon as of May 26) is up 26% from the year before. In early April, rates hit $9.99 at the isolated gas station in the Big Sur community of Gorda.
For spring and summer travelers, these numbers would seem to pose a stark question: Stay home and save money, or head for the coast because the road is finally open and it’s still cheaper than flying?
So far, the latter answer is winning big.
Fog lingers off the coast of Highway 1.
“We are definitely seeing a huge uptick in our reservations,” said Megan Handy, assistant general manager at the upscale Treebones resort. She estimated that bookings are 30% or more ahead of last year, and rates are unchanged since then. But “it’s still not feeling super crowded, which is nice. Everything still feels kind of calm.”
But added traffic has raised some anxiety. On May 19, Monterey County’s Board of Supervisors voted to explore a 12-month ban on parking at Bixby Bridge, one of the region’s top photo spots.
Over the years, the number of cars parking near the bridge — often illegally, sometimes impeding emergency vehicles — has risen. The proposed parking moratorium won’t take effect until the supervisors discuss it further.
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Busy as things are, several business owners pointed out that many international travelers have not yet returned — perhaps because most make their plans more than six months ahead, perhaps because of global politics, perhaps a little of each.
The biggest challenge for businesses during this resurgence? “Restaffing and retaining,” said Handy at Treetops.
At Nepenthe, Gafill said his business has seen a 45% boost in guest volume since the road’s reopening. Gafill said he would have expected a 35% pickup, “simply by virtue of reopening the highway.” The additional 10%, he said, might be “all that pent-up demand,” aided by “a very beautiful and very dry winter,” followed by a mild spring.
A lunch crowd dines at popular restaurant Nepenthe.
Another possible factor: Nobody can be sure how long the road will remain open.
To cope with the influx of people, Gafill said, “everybody is trying to recruit and retain their existing staff.”
At the Ragged Point Inn, where rates dropped as low as $149 nightly last fall, rates are back over $200 and staffers are suggesting that customers book at least six months ahead. The inn has reopened its snack bar for the first time since early 2023, and management is investing in capital upgrades and staging live music on weekends throughout the summer.
Business “is up over 100%,” said Diane Ramey, whose family owns the inn. “I know not all of our neighbors are having the same lift, but everybody is doing better.”
Traffic approaching Bixby Bridge.
A visitor poses in an oversized chair at Big Sur River Inn.
Even at the New Camaldoli Hermitage, a Benedictine monastery above Lucia, the road’s reopening and coming summer season have made a difference. Bookings are up an estimated 30% at the hermitage, which rent rooms and cottages (for two nights or more) to visitors who agree to its requirement of silence.
Big Sur business owners advise visitors to travel on weekdays for less traffic and the best hotel rates, and to get on the road as early as possible.
Since its opening in 1937, the highway has been vulnerable to landslides and shifting ground, operating on a longstanding cycle of landslide, closure, repair, reopening and then another landslide, or sometimes a fire. The U.S. Geological Survey has identified the Big Sur coastline as one of the most landslide-prone areas in the western United States. The 2023-2026 closure was the longest in the highway’s history.
Over time, road crews have used increasingly sophisticated strategies. In the most recent efforts, Caltrans said, it used drones to help survey the slopes and remotely operated bulldozers and excavators to reduce risks to workers.
During the closure, no traffic was allowed on 6.8-mile span from just north of Lucia until about a mile south of the Esalen Institute. Drivers detoured inland by way of U.S. 101.
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