Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: He brought paper bags on our date. ‘We may need these if we hyperventilate’
He handed me a brown paper bag — mind you, just a regular lunch-size kraft paper bag that was still flat and folded — and in all seriousness said, “Just in case you need it.”
Turning to look at him — an almost-stranger I was about to embark on a coffee date with — I asked, “Is this in case I get nauseated?”
“That too,” he grinned sheepishly. “But I was thinking something more like this …”
As his voice trailed off, I watched wide-eyed as he pulled out a paper bag, snapped it open, covered his mouth and forced it to open and closed with controlled breathing. “We’re both so nervous,” he explained matter-of-factly. “We may need these if we hyperventilate.”
Like a released champagne cork, laughter exploded and bubbled over, and the chemistry in the car changed from frigid temps to cozy and comfortable. We chatted like old friends as we hopped on the 57 freeway headed to the Orange Circle, where we talked over coffee at the Pie Hole, strolled with our hands stuffed in our pockets and planted the beginning seeds of friendship.
I had recently muddled through a marathon seven-year divorce that left me shattered and devastated, and my family, friends and children knew that I would never date again — and without a doubt, I’d never get married. I had only agreed to go to coffee because I knew of him through our 19-year-old boys. Their inseparable friendship during their junior high years had caused our paths to cross. We shared numerous drop-offs and pickups as I mustered through divorce paperwork and he navigated a grief-stricken home with the death of his wife.
But now, years later, as he walked me to the door, he asked, “Can I see you again?”
On our second date, he took me to “The Sound of Music” at La Mirada Theatre for the Performing Arts. Tears streamed down my face the whole night because of his cologne and my allergies. When we said goodbye at the door, I cautiously admitted, “I don’t think I can see you again. I’m terribly allergic to you.”
Surprised, he said, “I thought you were moved by the singing!” That night he texted me a photo of a hammer crushing his cologne bottle.
A few days later, we strolled by the Muckenthaler Cultural Center in Fullerton and heard live music floating through the park. Our curiosity got the best of us, and we rambled onto the grounds to find an intimate wedding reception taking place in the courtyard below. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand, and we were dancing under the moonlight while the trees twinkled with floating bulbs and antique street lamps lit up as if on cue. It was as if we were on the set of “La La Land” — something magical and unforgettable. This was the night he said he fell in love with me.
As partners in crime, we began planning surprise adventures for each other over the course of two years: an enchanted night walk through the botanical gardens of Palos Verdes; a day trip to San Francisco to eat at Red’s Java House and watch the Giants play ball; ice skating at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego and a caroling trolley ride; “The Lion King” at the Pantages in Hollywood; dinner downtown at Perch prior to the closing performance of “Peter Pan Goes Wrong” with Neil Patrick Harris at the Ahmanson Theatre; a day at the Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades; and an enchanting dinner in a private cabana at the Firefly in Studio City.
So it was no surprise when he texted, “Are you available all day on Sept. 21?”
I wrote back, “It’s my day off. Absolutely!”
He arrived early and whisked me off to the Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens in San Marino. We spent hours lingering in the Chinese gardens, eating in the glass tea house and gazing over the koi-filled pond. We strolled through rose gardens, exhibitions and the never-ending gift shop. By the time 3 p.m. came around, we collapsed satisfied and exhausted on a shaded park bench.
“We can call it a day if you like,” I said, yawning. “It’s already been amazing.”
According to my event coordinator, the day was just getting started. Our next stop was Culver City, where he gave me a music box that played “Edelweiss.” It was a clue to our next destination: the Hollywood Bowl for “Rodgers & Hammerstein’s The Sound of Music Sing-A-Long.” But first we had to eat at Lustig, an Austrian restaurant where we ordered schnitzel with noodles (otherwise known as spaetzle), sausages and a bowl of divine butternut squash soup recommended by our uber-friendly waiter.
At the Hollywood Bowl, we hissed at the Baroness, booed at the Nazis and shot off confetti poppers when Maria got her first kiss. When Captain von Trapp sang “Edelweiss” to his children, the whole amphitheater joined their voices together, flooding the Hollywood Hills with a surprisingly heartwarming sound of music.
I fell asleep contentedly on the drive home but awoke as we pulled into our favorite spot at the Muckenthaler.
“You want to take a walk?” he asked. Sleepily I followed him to a picnic bench glowing amber in the lantern light.
“I want to give you the same gift I gave you on our very first date ….”
Puzzled, I challenged him: “You didn’t give me a gift on our very first date.”
Slowly he handed me a brown paper bag — mind you, just a regular lunch-size kraft paper bag, still flat and folded. “Remember this?” he smiled nervously. “I’m guessing you’re going to need it right now.”
And he was right, because at that moment he dropped to one knee.
The author is a librarian for the Fullerton Public Library system. On her days off, she explores new places and embarks on all-day adventures with her partner in crime and newly acquired fiancé. In her spare time, she also enjoys reading, baking, writing, spending time with her family and her latest hobby — planning a wedding and honeymoon.
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.
Students walk on the Stanford University campus on March 14, 2019, in Stanford, Calif.
Ben Margot/AP
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Ben Margot/AP
When Theo Baker arrived at Stanford University a few years ago, he joined the student newspaper, following the path of his journalist parents, Peter Baker, a White House correspondent for The New York Times, and Susan Glasser, a writer for The New Yorker.
Through his reporting as a student journalist, he eventually broke a story about manipulated data in Stanford President Marc Tessier-Lavigne’s neuroscience research that helped lead to the university president’s resignation.
Theo Baker’s book, How to Rule the World: An Education in Power at Stanford University was released May 19. In it, Baker describes Stanford as a place where proximity to Silicon Valley gives rise to a parallel system of influence, recruitment and money, with investors looking to identify promising students almost as soon as they arrive on campus.
He told Morning Edition host Steve Inskeep there was “a sort of Stanford inside Stanford,” where elite students are drawn into an “alternate reality” of excess and access to cut corners.
In the interview, he discusses how Stanford is not just a university but also a pipeline where status and power can matter as much as ideas.
We reached out to Stanford University for comment and have not heard back.
Listen to the interview by clicking play on the blue box above.
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?”
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