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L.A. Affairs: I've miss L.A. The wildfires caused me to revisit the love I lost

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L.A. Affairs: I've miss L.A. The wildfires caused me to revisit the love I lost

We used to drive up the coast on a motorcycle. Me, with my arms tightly wrapped around him and my earbuds in, listening to Puccini and singing “O mio babbino caro” on the back of the bike, as I watched the glitter on the Pacific, the palm trees, the surfers and people at the beaches, some jogging, others waiting for valet parking services. I was a woman in my early 20s.

We met at Greg and Yvonne’s dinner party on Buchanan Street in San Francisco. When I arrived, Yvonne, who’s from Paris, whispered in my ear, “We invited two bachelors. You can pick and choose one.”

In those days, I didn’t even know yet what a bachelor was. Eric’s eyes were glued on me all night. Before I left, he said, “If you ever come to L.A., call me” and then handed me his number. I called him a few months later from San Francisco and went to visit him for three days, just before my friend at the time, Hélène, an au pair from Lyon, France, and I left the U.S. to return to Europe.

The January wildfires in L.A. have made me revisit my entire relationship with Eric, the good and the bad, and those first three days after he picked me up from the Burbank airport in his convertible. During my visit, he gave me his room, with the checkered flannel sheets on the bed, and slept on the couch. (His sister, Tina, also was visiting from Seattle with her fiancé.)

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Eric took me to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Rodeo Drive, Hollywood, Venice and up the coast to Malibu to meet Dori and Larry, who had a house on Big Rock. He was so grateful that I didn’t want to go to Disneyland and preferred having a picnic at the beach instead. Then he showed me Las Virgenes Road, and we drove through the tunnel and then on Mulholland Drive toward Topanga Canyon.

He loved Richard Bach’s “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” and gave me a copy of it.

Later, when I moved in with him in a house in the San Fernando Valley, we went to eat at a little fish place on Topanga Canyon Boulevard, where I had toasted marshmallows for the first time. We also sometimes dined at the Reel Inn and Moonshadows, but Geoffrey’s in Malibu was my favorite.

Sitting in this elevated space overlooking the blue ocean felt like being in the South of France, and the food was presented artistically. There, Eric took a photograph of my reflection on a glass table. I was reminded of Erich Fromm’s “The Art of Loving,” which I read when I was 15. “Love isn’t something natural. Rather, it requires discipline, concentration, patience, faith and the overcoming of narcissism.”

In 2002, Eric died of an aneurysm when he was 49. He was buried in Glen Haven & Sholom Memorial Park in Sylmar, where the Hurst fire was recently contained. When I saw the flames and smoke of the fires on the screen from thousands of miles away, it felt as though I had lost Eric all over again. Silent tears turned into sobs as video showed the damage along Pacific Coast Highway. These sobs came from deep within.

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I had built my life on this love, living in L.A. for nearly half my years. I studied at Santa Monica College and UCLA, and then took up American studies in Berlin and analyzed “Mildred Pierce,” watching Joan Crawford gaze hopelessly at the Pacific before being saved by an L.A. police officer.

So I’ve been looking at old photographs and letters. There was the one from Eric from May 5, 1987.

“It is evening now, and the sky is a beautiful, strange shade of purple above, fading to silver in the west, then to a soft gold color on the horizon,” he wrote.

“There is a bright half-moon shining directly above. An airplane crosses the face of the moon, and I can see the people silhouetted in the windows. It turns, and makes its way east across the desert, toward the night. It’s quiet again.”

Eric and I didn’t even make it to three years, but we decided to take a trip to Hawaii to have a memorable longer separation before we parted for good. When we returned from our trip, he couldn’t take me to Los Angeles International Airport for my flight to Stuttgart, Germany. His mom had been hospitalized due to a brain tumor, and so he had to rush to Seattle.

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I still remember our trip well, that crispy ahi with pineapple salsa, the rainbows in Kauai and the sweet smell of the orchids and plumeria of the leis.

During our separation, Eric sent me a letter: “The reason I haven’t called is not because I don’t like you but because it would be so hard to talk to you. I think all we would do is cry and not get anything said. Hopefully, we’ll be able to talk soon. I had a wonderful time with you in Hawaii. I will never forget it.”

Recently, I called Geoffrey’s from Le Havre, France, where I live, to check if it was still standing. I was so relieved when the woman on the phone said, “We’re still cleaning up today but will reopen tomorrow.”

“Is it possible to get there on PCH?” I asked.

“You have to take the 101,” she said.

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When I heard 101, I felt like being home again in L.A. These were my streets, the city I had lived in for longer than my hometown, the city that shaped me, but I don’t think I will ever have that sensation again, that feeling when I arrived at LAX, seeing the flickering lights of Los Angeles and its grids, thinking that the world was full of possibilities and knowing Eric was waiting there for me.

Although so many years have passed, I still see him in my mind, feeding seagulls at Zuma Beach, as I watch the gulls over the gray-green English Channel. And I think how we drove on California 118, me holding the steering wheel, my hair blowing in the wind as he tried to hold it back, cheerfully chatting away. When I hear one of Eric’s favorite songs, “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong, I feel he’s still somewhere out there, trying to tell me he loves me.

The author is a freelance writer and art critic. She has written for The Times, various L.A. art magazines and the Times of Israel. She lives in Le Havre, France. She’s on Instagram: @simonesuzannekussatz

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.

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We debate: what’s the worst Christmas movie? : Pop Culture Happy Hour

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We debate: what’s the worst Christmas movie?  : Pop Culture Happy Hour

Andrew Lincoln in Love Actually.

Working Title/Maximum Films/Alamy


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Working Title/Maximum Films/Alamy

‘Tis the season you’ll find plenty of good holiday movies – films that can be counted upon to deliver warmth and cheer. And bad holiday movies? They can be fun in their own way. So we’re debating: what’s the worst Christmas movie of all time? We’ll talk about Love Actually, Jingle All The Way, I Believe In Santa, and Scrooge & Marley.

Follow Pop Culture Happy Hour on Letterboxd at letterboxd.com/nprpopculture

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Academic lectures have invaded L.A. bars and tickets are selling out in minutes

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Academic lectures have invaded L.A. bars and tickets are selling out in minutes

On a nippy Monday night at the Zebulon in Frogtown, a man wearing a Jason Voorhees T-shirt steps onto a purple-lighted stage and stands next to a drum set. Audience members, seated in neat rows and cradling cocktails, enthusiastically applaud.

Then they look toward a glowing projector screen. Some clutch their pens, ready to take notes.

“In cinema, three elements can move: objects, the camera itself and the audience’s point of attention,” Drew McClellan says to the crowd before showing an example on the projector screen. The clip is a memorable scene from Jordan’s Peele’s 2017 film, “Get Out,” when the protagonist (Daniel Kaluuya) goes out for a late-night smoke and sees the groundskeeper sprinting toward him — in the direction of the camera and the viewer — before abruptly changing direction at the last second.

During his talk, McClellan screened several movie clips to illustrate key points.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

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“Someone running at you full speed with perfect track form, you can’t tell me that’s not terrifying,” McClellan says laughing with the audience.

McClellan is an adjunct professor at the USC School of Cinematic Arts and the cinematic arts department chair at the Los Angeles County High School for the Arts (LACHSA). He’s presenting on two of the seven core visual components of cinema — tone and movement — as part of Lectures on Tap, an event series that turns neighborhood bars and venues into makeshift classrooms. Attendees hear thought-provoking talks from experts on wide-ranging topics such as Taylor Swift’s use of storytelling in her music, how AI technology is being used to detect cardiovascular diseases, the psychology of deception and the quest for alien megastructures — all in a fun, low-stakes environment. And rest assured: No grades are given. It’s a formula that’s been working.

“I hunted for these tickets,” says Noa Kretchmer, 30, who’s attended multiple Lectures on Tap events since it debuted in Los Angeles in August. “They sell out within less than an hour.”

Wife-and-husband duo Felecia and Ty Freely dreamed up Lectures on Tap last summer after moving to New York City where Ty was studying psychology at Columbia University. Hungry to find a community of people who were just as “nerdy” as they are, they decided to create a laidback space where people could enjoy engaging lectures typically reserved for college lecture halls and conferences.

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Felecia Freely, professor Drew McClellan and Ty Freely photographed post-lecture at Zebulon.

Founders Felecia and Ty Freely pose for a photo with Drew McClellan (center) after his presentation.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

“At the end of every lecture, people always come up to us and [say] “I hated college when I was in it, but now that I’m not, I would love to come to a lecture and have access to these experts without having to feel pressured to get a good grade,’” says Felecia, who makes “brainy content” on social media, like explaining the phenomenon of closed-eye visualizations.

Lectures on Tap, which also hosts events in San Francisco, Boston and Chicago, is the latest iteration of gatherings that pair alcoholic beverages with academic talks. Other similar events include Profs and Pints, which launched in 2017 in Washington, D.C., and Nerd Nite, which came to L.A. in 2011 and takes place at a brewery in Glendale. At a time when the federal government is moving closer to dismantling the U.S. Department of Education, AI is impacting people’s ability to think critically, attention spans are shrinking and literacy rates are down, events like Lectures on Tap are becoming more than just a place to learn about an interesting new topic.

“I think folks are passionate about keeping intellectualism alive especially in this age that is kind of demonizing that,” Felecia says. “We’re in the age of people not trusting experts so everyone out there who still does wants to be in a room with their people.”

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“And there are a lot of them,” adds Ty. “It is actually alive and well, just maybe not mainstream.”

“In a weird way, this is kind of counterculture,” Felecia chimes in.

Wensu Ng on stage for Lectures On Tap at Zebulon.

Wensu Ng introduces the speaker for the night.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

During his presentation, McClellan broke down key film concepts in layman’s terms for the diverse audience who were mostly composed of film lovers and people who were simply interested in the topic. (Though there were some writers in the crowd as well.) To illustrate his points, he played several movie clips including the 1931 version of “Frankenstein” and Juan Carlos Fresnadillo’s “28 Weeks Later,” both of which made several people in the audience, including myself, jump in fear.

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“This is how you scare the crap out of people,” he said while explaining why seeing a lighted-up character staring into an abyss of darkness is impactful.

Though some patrons like to go to Lectures on Tap events for specific topics they find interesting, others say they would attend regardless of the subject matter.

“I felt really comfortable and I loved the social aspect of it,” says Andrew Guerrero, 26, in between sips of wine. “It felt more like a communal vibe, but at the same time, I miss learning.”

Spectators experience professor Drew McClellan's lecture at Zebulon.

Attendees mingle at the bar.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

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He adds, “I can absorb [the information] more because I’m not pressured to really retain it and because of that, I actually do retain it.”

After weeks of trying to secure tickets, which cost $35, Ieva Vizgirdaite took her fiancé, Drake Garber, to the event to celebrate his birthday.

“I didn’t go to college so I don’t have any prior experience with lecturing,” says Garber, 29, adding that he’s interested in film production and is a “big horror fan.” But the fact that “I get to sit and learn about something that I love doing with a pint? Like, that’s amazing.”

The relaxed environment allows the speakers to let their guard down as well.

“I can play with certain elements that I maybe haven’t used in the classroom,” says McClellan, who made jokes throughout his presentation. “It’s definitely looser and getting around people who’ve been drinking, they’ll ask more questions and different types of questions.”

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Spectators experience professor Drew McClellan's lecture at Zebulon.

“It’s kind of like mushing up the education into your applesauce — mushing it up in the beer,” says Drew McClellan.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

After the talk is over, bar staff quickly remove the rows of chairs and clear the stage for a concert that’s happening next. Several Lectures on Tap attendees, including the founders, transition to the back patio to mingle. McClellan stays after to answer more questions over drinks.

“This is a nontraditional environment to be enjoying yourself but also learning at the same time,” he says. “It’s kind of like mushing up the education into your applesauce — mushing it up in the beer.”

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Zac Brown shares his harrowing childhood story on ‘Love & Fear’

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Zac Brown shares his harrowing childhood story on ‘Love & Fear’

Zac Brown

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Tyler Lord/Master of None

Zac Brown is best known for celebrating simple pleasures. As his most popular song puts it, all he needs is “a little bit of chicken fried, cold beer on a Friday night, a pair of jeans that fit just right, and the radio on.”

Now, he’s telling a darker story.

The Zac Brown Band’s new album draws partly from Brown’s youth growing up outside Atlanta. “Unless someone knows me very well and is very close to me, I haven’t shared a lot of what drove me into music,” he told Morning Edition.

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Brown recalled that both his mother and stepfather lived with mental illness. “I grew up in a really crazy environment, in and out of battered women’s shelters,” he said. “And as a kid, trying to make sense of that, trying to protect my mom, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my house or whatever, that drove me into music.”

He left home young. Brown said he was playing coffeehouses at 14 and touring by 17. Those early experiences, he added, helped him find his voice. “It gave me my resilience. It gave me my resolve,” he said. “The level of empathy that I am able to hold, it can be kind of crippling in a way, but I think it really serves me well as an artist. Those were all gifts, but you don’t know them at the time.”

That desire to draw inspiration out of that dark backstory explains the tone of songs like “Butterfly,” his duet with Dolly Parton.

Other songs build on elaborate harmonies, which come from another side of his youth. “I grew up as a choir nerd,” he admitted. “The vocal arrangement for me is always my favorite part.”

Brown said he worked with a 20-piece choir on this album, including the standout track “Animal.”

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“When you can wrap the right story with the right melody with the right harmony … that’s how you get that visceral feeling. That’s how you get the chill bumps,” he said “I long to hear things that really move me.”

“Love & Fear” was released on December 5 — the same day the Zac Brown Band played its first of several concerts at The Sphere, the giant performance space in Las Vegas.

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