Lifestyle
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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.
Lifestyle
‘The Invite’ is a marriage comedy with sex and heart
Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: It’s hot when a man drives to me. But would this new guy make the trek from the Valley?
I met Dan on Hinge.
He lives in Woodland Hills, and I live in Venice. In Los Angeles, this is considered a long-distance relationship. In another city it might be nothing. Here, it’s a factor.
But I believe that with the right person, you can make anything work, so I stay open. I’m a native New Yorker, and if I were living in Brooklyn and a guy lived on the Upper West Side, that would be a 45-minute subway ride, which is truly nothing in New York. So with that same logic, I try to have flexibility with men in L.A.
When we started planning our first date, Dan suggested three options: a hike on mushrooms, a wine tasting or a walk on the beach.
A hike on mushrooms is something I’d only do with someone I already trust, not someone I just met online. I don’t do first-date hikes because I don’t like feeling trapped if the guy’s a dud. So I chose the wine tasting.
Then I learned the wine tasting was in West Hills.
On a Friday night, driving there from Venice would be insane. So I said I didn’t want to meet there because of the traffic. He suggested Malibu. That was also not ideal on a Friday.
I was getting annoyed — this was a pink flag because in my dating world, the guy is supposed to come to the woman’s neighborhood in the early days. I’ve gone out with plenty of men from the Valley who effortlessly suggested they come to me. It’s not rare or impossible.
I suggested he come to the Westside. I didn’t specifically say Venice, and in hindsight, I probably should have. He landed on Brentwood, which was manageable for both of us. On our first date, we met at an Irish pub on Wilshire Boulevard. He was cuter and more interesting than I had expected, and with the Guinness flowing, we had fun.
When I got home, he texted me: “Well, I like you 🙂 Less the tik tok and the lack of rock music in your life, but it’s not a deal breaker — there are other qualities 🙂 What are your thoughts?”
I noticed the slight negativity but was mostly dazzled that a man texted immediately after the date to say he liked me. In the modern dating economy, this felt rare.
The next day, both of our evening plans fell through, so we made a last-minute date. The wine tasting he originally suggested still sounded like fun, and although it meant me driving to the Valley, I was up for it now that we’d met.
We sipped flights at Malibu Wines & Beer Garden in its airy, romantic courtyard and played a flirty version of Truth or Dare. Halfway through, he dared me to kiss him.
We ended with sushi on Ventura Boulevard and a short make-out session in his car. He invited me to Thanksgiving at his uncle’s, which felt too soon, but also sweet.
After the second date, he texted and said he had his kids that week and was also hosting an event on Thursday, so his only day to meet was Wednesday. I said great.
On Tuesday night, he checked if we were still on, and I said yes.
Then he texted: “I’m flexible on time but not on location. I have a big event on Thursday, hopefully you can come to me again.”
My stomach tightened. This again?
So I texted back: “I drove to you last time, which was a bit of an exception for me especially in the early days, but the wine tasting location sounded special. Usually guys come to my area. How about we switch it up this time?”
He replied: “I appreciate the effort! Because of my event, I’d rather be close to a computer just if needed … Here is what i offer:
— I’ll come to your area anytime next week/end
— Lunch/dinner on me
I want to continue where we stopped last time 😉 No pressure of course, but let’s snuggle”
I responded: “Ok let’s meet next week. Snuggles sound nice … let’s see what happens …”
Then he wrote: “So I won’t see you tomorrow?”
I replied: “Unless you wanna come to me and bring your laptop along, let’s rain check until you have more flexibility.”
He said: “Dang, you are hard. I’ll let you know tomorrow around midday if it’s ok.”
And then — surprise — he decided to come.
He drove to Venice for a 5 p.m. date. He said his ETA was 5 p.m., and it ended up being 5:25 p.m., typical 405 Freeway.
When he showed up, he was in a cranky mood. On our way to KazuNori in Marina del Rey, I thanked him for picking me up and told him I think it’s hot when the guy comes to the girl.
“You’re just saying that because you want me to come to you more,” he said, not playfully, but aggressively.
That was basically the end for me. But there I was, in his car, heading to dinner. So I stayed pleasant and tried to make the best of it.
I shared that in the early stages of dating, I find it’s good etiquette for the guy to come to the woman’s neighborhood. He immediately disagreed and started ranting about how dating rules are ridiculous and how they swing in women’s favor. He resented paying for dates and declared he wasn’t looking to “sponsor a woman’s life.”
“If women want equality and equal rights,” he said, “then it should apply all across the board, including dating, and the man shouldn’t have to pay.”
I said women don’t actually have equal rights because we get paid less than men and often receive lower salaries than men in the same position.
I tried to change the subject and reset the mood, but he insisted we keep hashing it out.
I tried to explain masculine/feminine dynamics: providing and protecting, giving and receiving.
“What does the man get out of this arrangement?” he asked.
It was like watching someone’s personality warp into Mr. Hyde. Then he brought up another point: He’s a single dad of two kids, so he gets tired; and because I don’t have kids, that should factor into who drives where.
At this point, I was barely engaging and focused on eating my hand rolls, and I couldn’t wait to get home.
The check came, and I happily split it, wanting nothing further from him.
In the car back to my place, he remarked: “It’s obvious we’re never gonna see each other again.”
Obvious, but did it need to be stated?
Then he showed me a Spotify playlist he’d made for me of his favorite electronic music, because he knows I like EDM.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s how I show interest. Through things like this, not who drives to who,” he replied.
When I got out of the car, we wished each other luck, and I headed inside and shut the door.
Two hours later, he sent me the playlist. I’ve yet to listen to it.
It wasn’t the distance that ruined it. It was the resentment. I’m not looking for a man who feels burdened by the effort. I’m looking for a man who sees the value of courting a woman in the first place.
The author is a writer, comedian and former psychologist who lives in Venice. She is the creator of the new vertical series “Manfari.” She’s on Instagram: @solange_neue and @manfari.show.
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
Smithsonian chief emphasizes ‘accuracy and integrity’ after White House report
Lonnie Bunch III is the 14th Secretary of the Smithsonian. He’s pictured above in September 2017.
J. Scott Applewhite/AP
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J. Scott Applewhite/AP
In a memo addressed to staffers sent Tuesday, the secretary of the Smithsonian, Lonnie G. Bunch III, defended the institution after the White House issued a 162-page report that characterizes the National Museum of American History as a place which has become “subject to institutional capture by a radical, activist ideology that is fundamentally opposed to telling the noble, honest story of the great country we know and love.”
In his email, which NPR has obtained, Bunch wrote in part: “While there will always be room for improvement, this report is not a fair characterization of the work and totality of the National Museum of American History. At the Smithsonian, our work is driven by scholarship, accuracy and an uncompromising commitment to tell the fullness of America’s story. As public servants and the keepers of this institution, we are charged with helping a nation find understanding, hope and clarity and as part of that duty, we are dedicated to excellence, reflection and growth.”

He continued: “We remain focused on what grounds us: a steadfast commitment to scholarship, nonpartisanship, independence, accuracy and integrity. For nearly 180 years, the Smithsonian has worked alongside partners across government — from the White House to Congress to our governing Board of Regents — guided by our enduring mission to increase and diffuse knowledge. That purpose remains: to pursue knowledge with rigor and to serve the American public with clarity and care.”
The White House report was issued on July 4 by the Domestic Policy Council under the title “Saving America’s Story: How Ideological Capture at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History Erases Our Heritage.”

The council faults the National Museum of American History on a multitude of fronts, saying it underemphasized the Founding Fathers and early colonial and Revolutionary history; was not sufficiently celebratory of the country’s 250th anniversary; and that it engaged in “anti-white,” “illegal alien” and transgender activism.
It also accuses the museum of trying to “indoctrinate” teachers and students through its exhibitions, programming and teaching resources.
In the report, the council also specifically criticizes museum director Anthea Hartig, who has led the National Museum of American History since 2019 and is concurrently the president of the Organization of American Historians, calling her “an activist advancing an ideological agenda contradictory to the museum’s founding purpose of fostering patriotism.”

The Trump administration has made the Smithsonian museums one of its primary targets in its efforts to reshape cultural narratives to align with its viewpoints. In August 2025, the White House requested a “comprehensive internal review” of eight Smithsonian museums, including the National Museum of American History, following an executive order issued by President Trump in March 2025 in which he called for the removal of “improper ideology” from the Smithsonian’s offerings.
According to the Smithsonian’s charter, all of its 21 museums, 14 education and research centers, and the National Zoo are meant to be run independently of the federal government. The Smithsonian is overseen by Bunch and a board of regents, which includes Vice President Vance, Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts and other members appointed by Congress.
In an interview with NBC’s Meet the Press on Sunday, Bunch spoke about the Smithsonian’s 250th anniversary special exhibition at the Smithsonian Castle, which is called “American Aspirations.”
He told NBC: “It’s really important for people to understand that America is much an ideal as it is a place, that it’s a series of aspirations that have really shaped who this country is. And so for me, what is so powerful is to say, ‘Let us honor the words of Thomas Jefferson and the founders, but let us use those to challenge us to be better.’”
Jennifer Vanasco edited this story.

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