Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: I was a suburban lacrosse mom. I was ready to detonate my life and have a Hollywood affair
With the wind whipping my hair in every direction, I blasted out of Los Angeles International Airport. On my way northward and speeding in my white Mustang convertible, I careened wildly through the city and then the canyons. My heart pounded; my thoughts raced. I could only think about Nick’s eyes, his lips, what he would smell like.
Other drivers glanced at my sleek rental car, their envy fueling my confidence. I had never had an affair before, and these fantasy wheels seemed like the perfect grace note for my Hollywood love story. Sunglasses on, I was on a mission to put a body to the voice.
Falling for this handsome, very recent widower was beyond reckless. I was a suburban lacrosse mom and I was jeopardizing my 20-year marriage, two children, two hypoallergenic dogs, meticulously designed houses, swimming pools, gardeners and gutters. My ticket out of suburbia came at a steep price, but I was on autopilot, spellbound and fueled by lust.
I didn’t know a lot about Nick, but what I knew ignited me. The fact that he was from L.A. didn’t hurt. Had he hailed from Chicago, I never would have responded to his initial tweet. Nick went to Princeton and graduated with all of the Ivy League haughtiness, if not the GPA or success, associated with such a diploma. A simple IMDb search would have highlighted a failed career and the worst New York Times movie review I had ever read. I regularly did more research on what type of mascara to buy than I did any online probing about this man for whom I was about to detonate my life.
My L.A. affair started in the bedroom of my Long Island house. I was one of a handful of patient zeros, the first cohort of Americans to test positive for the novel coronavirus in March 2020. I was well enough to recover at home and quickly became the only good news story in America. I invited the world to join me in my convalescence while news stations around the world carried footage of my self-documented isolation. Holed up, I started an organization in my bedroom, Survivor Corps. My goal was to inspire people previously infected with COVID-19 to donate plasma so their antibodies could be transferred to less fortunate patients fighting for their lives. My husband at the time was not patient with my new hobby of saving lives.
“A CNN Heroes profile by Sanjay Gupta is nice. Know what would also be nice? Cooking dinner for your kids,” he said to me in a sneer masquerading as a smile.
Nick’s first wife was one of my quarter million members (no, I didn’t know her). Suffering from a debilitating case of long COVID, she took her own life. Nick, grief-stricken, took to the airwaves to tell the world about the insidious long tail of COVID while anchors cried and women swooned. Within weeks, Nick and I were texting and talking for hours, and I booked a flight to California.
Having been married over 20 years, my dating skills were thin, the red flags inoperative. I had never heard the term “love bombing”; I was too busy experiencing it. As I drove, my mind swirled while my foot got heavier on the gas pedal. I looked down at the speedometer: 79 mph. I pushed the pedal to 85. Finally, I pulled into the Ventura motel where we had arranged to meet. Nick finally arrived in a decidedly unsexy Suburban and swaggered toward me; I lost my breath and teetered against the hot metal of my car.
“Hey, I’m Nick,” he said with a drawl as if he were John Wayne or an airline pilot. Maybe both.
He was shorter than the movie star I had imagined, but I was from the East Coast and was not yet in on the Hollywood secret that most movie stars are, in real life, shorter than everyone’s imagination. He was closer to my eye level but just as good-looking. He came straight for me and took me in his arms. We inhaled each other deeply. Nick smelled like Southern California, as promised. His aroma was earthy, sun-kissed, balanced with tennis and golf.
A year and a half after meeting, Nick and I exchanged vows in Marina del Rey, and I adopted his unpronounceable last name. The Nick I married, the one I fell for, vanished almost overnight. After Week 2, nothing I did was right, and his once-gentle nature fractured into an uncontrollable and constant rage. He constantly accused me of trying to control him. He also accused me of stealing keys to a car I didn’t drive and drafting words written in his handwriting.
“I told you I was feral,” he said, seething.
“No, you definitely did not,” I said, heaving while cowering from my Ivy League prince.
He made it crystal clear that apologies were not in his repertoire; my tears only fueled his emotional withdrawal.
I kept faith by remembering our perfect first year together until Nick, almost three years later, let me in on the joke. He had been cheating on me since our first days together, using his dead wife’s cellphone as his burner. He was splitting his time pretending to grieve her, being secretly committed to me and dating anyone who worked it in a dress and heels. He went on dates with 10 different women within the first year.
Nick was living a double — make that triple — life.
Failing with the higher caliber dating apps, he met and had an affair with a South American woman he met via Tinder. He had sex with her in our bed — without a condom because he “trusted her” — in the middle of the afternoon. He manipulated this woman, telling her that he loved her, while they fantasized together about a shared future. She wanted to move to Los Angeles to live with him — ostensibly to live her own California dream, that of snagging a green card.
Our vows that we wrote and rewrote obsessively were meaningless. We had boastfully told our story to People magazine for its Real-Life Love series; his quotes were nothing but wildly creative fiction. Nick was as good a liar as an actor, and he was much better at both of those skills than he was at screenwriting.
My Hollywood ending was far from glamorous: me, catatonic on Nick’s couch, realizing I had given it all up for an honest-to-God psychopath. Within months of our wedding, I would end up in solitary confinement, based on Nick’s charges of domestic abuse, in the most frightening lockup in downtown L.A., while he hung up on my jailhouse pleas for help. A year after that, I would end up in inpatient trauma therapy while Nick apparently told people that I was a drug addict and mentally unstable. All the while, I kept wondering how far I needed to sacrifice myself, my pride and my dignity to prove loyalty to the same vows that, for him, were nothing more than script practice.
I should have listened to my mother: “Don’t get fooled by Los Angeles; nothing there is ever what it seems.”
The author is the founder of Survivor Corps. She splits her time between Los Angeles and Washington, D.C., and is co-authoring a memoir with her husband Nick Güthe. She is on X (formerly Twitter): @dianaberrent
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
Terry Tempest Williams on why women with big ideas get labeled ‘crazy’ : Wild Card with Rachel Martin
A note from Wild Card host Rachel Martin: I met Terry Tempest Williams about 25 years ago at a writer’s conference in Yosemite Valley. I was a young reporter who was there to do a story about how literature was addressing climate change and she made such a huge impression on me. I had never heard someone talk about the natural world the way Terry did and she had a spiritual depth I hadn’t encountered in my life at that point.
To this day, Terry’s writing always reorients me towards what is good, what is beautiful, and what is true. Her newest book is called “The Glorians.”
Lifestyle
Meow Wolf taps famed L.A. animation house for its new Los Angeles venue
For its upcoming Los Angeles venue, experiential art firm Meow Wolf will focus on the art of storytelling, with a specific eye toward skewering our city’s moviemaking magic. To help bring that vision to life, Meow Wolf has entered into a creative partnership with Titmouse, one of L.A.’s most renowned independent animation houses.
The Hollywood-based studio behind popular series such as “Big Mouth” and “Star Trek: Lower Decks” will create animation that will be shown throughout the West L.A. venue, which is on target for a late 2026 opening at the Howard Hughes entertainment complex.
It’s a move that represents a shift for Santa Fe, N.M.-based Meow Wolf. Over the last decade-plus, the art collective has grown beyond its anything-goes, punk-meets-psychedelic roots into an organization with full-scale, maximalist installations in its hometown, Denver, Las Vegas, Houston and the Dallas suburbs. In the past, Meow Wolf kept most of its media in-house.
As part of its larger-than-life participatory art installations, Meow Wolf L.A. will feature a mix of live action and animation, the former filmed by Meow Wolf in its Santa Fe studio. Meow Wolf’s James Stephenson, a senior VP with the company and its creative director of emerging media, said the degree to which the L.A. exhibition will lean into various animation styles necessitated an outside partner. Titmouse’s work, in development by a number of directors with contrasting tones, will be shown on a variety of formats, ranging from cinema screens to full-room projections.
“I really believe in animation as an art form, and I know the Titmouse folks do too,” Stephenson says. “Animation is made by artists. It’s made by artists with their own hands. It’s something that is still very rooted in craft.”
Meow Wolf’s L.A. space is set in a former cinema complex, and will champion its location, taking guests on a journey through a converted movie house and beyond, into a sci-fi-inspired fantasyland with sentient spaceships and a 30-foot-tall mushroom tower. Meow Wolf creatives have spoken of the fantastical movie theater as one that will feature animated, self-aware candy before attendees enter the main exhibition space, making Titmouse’s work some of the first art guests will encounter. Titmouse co-founder Chris Prynoski has said the studio has lined up at least six directors for the exhibit.
An in-progress art installation destined for Meow Wolf L.A. at the art collective’s Santa Fe, N.M., headquarters. The L.A. exhibition will feature animation from Titmouse.
(Gabriela Campos / For The Times)
Titmouse, says Stephenson, is the right partner because “they’re known less for a house style, and more for a house vibe.” Over the years, Titmouse has been behind such diverse shows as “Scavengers Reign,” owning a Jean Giraud influence rooted in French and Spanish surrealism, the lively “Jentry Chau vs. the Underworld,” with an unique color palette that took inspiration from anime and Chinese mythology, the exaggerated comic book feel of Adult Swim’s “Metalocalypse,” and the approachable yet expressive tone of “Star Trek: Lower Decks.”
“Meow Wolf’s vibe is similar to Titmouse’s vibe,” Stephenson says. “It’s artist-first, artist-driven, independent and kinda edgy. They are always trying to find the edge of what’s possible. They try to see how far they can go, and it’s done for fun and in the spirit of taking risks.”
Prynoski says working with Meow Wolf will give Titmouse a sense of artistic freedom it doesn’t always have when delivering content for more traditional Hollywood partners. He says the multi-director approach is a callback to the early days of Warner Bros. Animation, when individual creators put their own stamp on Looney Tunes material.
“I use Bugs Bunny as an example,” Prynoski says. “You’ve got a Friz Freleng Bugs Bunny short. You’ve got a Chuck Jones Bugs Bunny short. You’ve got a Tex Avery Bugs Bunny short. They’re all different versions of Bugs Bunny, and people who are really paying attention can tell which director directed each one. Even though to the layman, these are all Bugs Bunny, but if you lined them up, they are drawing in different styles, sensibilities and techniques.”
Prynoski says that was a centerpiece of his pitch to Meow Wolf, noting that characters will reappear in multiple installations, each handled by a different artist. Meow Wolf L.A., in fact, will be the firm’s most character-driven exhibition, as guests will follow the storylines of three main protagonists throughout the space.
In announcing the partnership, Meow Wolf and Titmouse released an image from an animated work directed by Luca Vitale. It features a key character having a moment with a hummingbird and it’s done in an elegant, slightly anime-influenced style. It’s an image full of movement, reflecting a character in transition with inviting pastels and bold dashes.
“I like that image because I think it captures some of the sense of wonder that we want people to feel,” Stephenson says. “The character is having an encounter with the elusive nature of creativity and reality in a way that makes them have a different perspective of what’s possible.”
Other contributing animation directors to Meow Wolf L.A. include Space Dawg, Felix Colgrave, Alexander Vanderplank and Phimémon Martin, and Jun Ioneda.
Titmouse’s partnership with Meow Wolf will extend beyond the L.A. exhibition. The two will be working on the development of Meow Wolf New York, which is slated to open some time after Los Angeles, and are collaborating on a planned animated series, which Prynoski is spearheading.
Meow Wolf exhibits are the result of sometimes hundreds of disparate artists coming together in a shared space. Distilling that into a signature, singular style for a series could be a challenge. Stephenson pinpoints some guiding principles.
“You really need to feel the hand of the artist,” he says. “You need to feel a DIY aesthetic. You need to feel the materiality. Those are very specific to what we are.”
Lifestyle
Appeals court denies Trump’s request to halt removal of his name from the Kennedy Center
The Kennedy Center on June 28, with its facade signage still covered by a tarp and scaffolding.
Alex Wroblewski/AFP via Getty Images
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Alex Wroblewski/AFP via Getty Images
On Wednesday, a federal appeals court denied President Trump’s request to stop the removal of his name from Washington, D.C.’s Kennedy Center. The signage on the building has been covered with tarp and scaffolding since June 13, but in a court filing last month, the center’s current executive director said that Trump’s name has been removed.
In their decision, three judges from the U.S. District Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit said that the president had failed to prove that the arts center would be “irreparably injured” without Trump’s name attached to it.

NPR requested comment from the Kennedy Center, but did not receive an immediate reply.
This latest round of court decisions is part of the ongoing litigation filed by Rep. Joyce Beatty, D-Ohio, against President Trump and the board of the Kennedy Center. In a statement emailed Wednesday to NPR, Beatty said: “Today’s ruling again affirms that this administration’s efforts to rename the Kennedy Center were unlawful. His name no longer desecrates this sacred memorial, which belongs to the American people. Now it is time for the Trump administration to accept this, comply with the law, and take the tarps down.”
In previous court filings, Trump’s legal team had asserted that removing the president’s name from the arts complex, both on the physical building and in its digital materials, would inflict irreparable harm in both time and money already spent. In the denial, the three judges — Patricia Millett, Robert Wilkins and Gregory Katsas — wrote that since Trump’s name has already been removed, “a stay would not avert those harms.”
Furthermore, Trump had claimed that without his name attached, future fundraising would be threatened “and [will] contribute to the financial decline of the Center.” In response, the appeals judges wrote: “Appellants, however, have failed to support this assertion with any specific facts or evidence. They offer only the conclusory assertions of the Kennedy Center’s Executive Director that were made in a factually unsupported declaration.” The center’s current executive director, Matt Floca, specializes in physical plant management.

The presiding judge in the case, Christopher R. Cooper, has ordered that the center provide him a status report on the center’s operation and programming before the end of this month. As of Wednesday, the center’s calendar lists a small roster of programs, including outdoor free movie screenings, workshops for children, and five free live performances in July on its Millennium Stage. In the past, the Kennedy Center presented over 2,000 arts and education events each year, including free daily Millennium Stage performances.

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