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L.A. Affairs: Nothing scared me more than intimacy — except L.A. freeways. But I had to face them both

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L.A. Affairs: Nothing scared me more than intimacy — except L.A. freeways. But I had to face them both

The first time I ever drove on the freeway was to tell my girlfriend that I loved her. At this point, I had lived in L.A. for four years. “You can’t not drive in L.A.,” everyone said when I moved here. But I worked from home and lived relatively close to most of my friends. I had Lyft and Uber, a TAP card and a borderline unhinged love of walking. My excuse was that I didn’t have a car and couldn’t afford to buy one, which wasn’t a lie. But the real reason was I was scared of driving and I had decided to succumb to that fear.

I wasn’t always an anxious driver. Growing up in Massachusetts, I got my license at 16 and cruised around in my grandma’s 1979 Peugeot that had one working door and wouldn’t have passed a safety inspection. But I felt invincible. Then I grew into a neurotic adult with an ever-growing list of rational and irrational fears — from weird headaches and mold to running into casual acquaintances at the grocery store.

In my early 30s, I developed a terrible phobia of flying. “It’s so much safer than driving in a car!” people said to comfort me. So I did some research. This did not assuage my fear of flying, but it did succeed in making me also afraid of driving. I lived in New York City at the time, where being a nondriver was easy. In L.A., it was less easy, but I made it work.

When I was single, I appreciated that dating apps let me sort potential matches by location. I set my limit to “within five miles” from my apartment in West Hollywood and tried to manifest an ideal partner who would live within this perfectly reasonable radius. This proved somewhat complicated. My first boyfriend in L.A. moved from Los Feliz to Eagle Rock six months into our relationship, and we broke up. There were other issues, but the distance was the final straw.

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I did eventually get a car but was restricted by my intense fear of the massive, sprawling conduits of chaos known as the L.A. freeways. Lanes come and go. Exits appear out of nowhere. And everyone drives like they’re auditioning for “The Fast and the Furious.” So I took surface streets everywhere, even when it doubled my driving time. I became pretty comfortable behind the wheel as long as I remained in my little bubble of safety. Then I fell in love.

Spencer and I met 14 years ago through a close mutual friend when we both lived in Brooklyn. Our friend had talked her up so much that I was nervous to meet her as if she were a celebrity, but she immediately made me feel at ease. She’s confident and comfortable in her skin but also exudes a warmth that makes people feel secure. At the time, I was newly sober, and feeling comfortable — especially around someone I’d just met — was rare.

Not long after we met she moved to Philly, and our lives went in different directions. She was starting med school. I was writing for an addiction website and doing stand-up comedy. She was living with her long-term girlfriend. I was trying to date the most emotionally unavailable people I could find, which my therapist (and every self-help book in Barnes & Noble) attributed to a fear of intimacy.

A decade later, we both ended up in Los Angeles. She had broken up with her girlfriend and was a resident at UCLA. I was taking screenwriting classes and walking everywhere. We texted a few times to hang out, but then the COVID-19 pandemic hit, keeping her busy in the hospital and me busy at home spraying my groceries with Clorox. Multiple vaccines later, we finally met up at the AMC theater at the Century City mall. Just as I remembered, she felt like home.

Over the next few months, we went to about nine movies together, our hands occasionally touching in a shared bucket of popcorn, before I finally got the courage to tell her I had developed feelings for her. We’d become close friends at this point, and the stakes felt alarmingly high. Also, she was emotionally available. Uncharted territory for me.

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“I like like you,” I said one night while we were on my couch watching “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” My voice was shaking and also muffled, because I was hiding under a blanket.

This confession was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot of scary things — gotten sober, did stand-up in front of my entire family (don’t recommend this), come out as queer to a bunch of conservative Midwesterners on a study-abroad trip (one girl took a selfie with me and sent it to her mom with the note, “I met a bisexual and she’s really nice!”). But I learned in recovery that sometimes when something is scary, we are meant to run toward it rather than away from it. That night, Spencer pulled the blanket off my head and told me she felt the same.

This beautiful, confident “Curb”-loving doctor did have one red flag. She lived in Santa Monica, at the end of a six-mile stretch on the 10 Freeway. On side streets, getting from my apartment to hers could take up to an hour or longer in traffic. After a few months, we were seeing each other so often that the commute had become unmanageable.

Also unmanageable were my feelings. One night, about four months into our relationship, I told two close friends that I loved Spencer but was scared to tell her. The absence of these words had become a weight between us, triggering insecurities and petty fights. My friends urged me to tell her and thought I should do it that night (we’d been watching “Yellowjackets” and were feeling a little dramatic). I felt emboldened. But it was 10 p.m. on a work night and it would take 45 minutes to get to her house by my usual route.

I called her. “I’m coming over!” I said. Twenty minutes later, I was merging onto the 10. I drove too slowly, got off at the wrong exit and gripped the steering wheel so hard my fingers went numb. But when I got to Spencer’s apartment, I was bolstered by adrenaline and the rush of having conquered my fear. I had driven on the 10 — at night. I could survive anything. I told her I loved her. She said it back. I didn’t even hide under a blanket.

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This was two years ago. Since then, I’ve driven on the 10 hundreds of times between Spencer’s apartment and mine. Now we live together, which significantly cuts down on the commute. I still prefer a side street, but I’ll take the freeway if I have to. Since mastering the 10, I’ve also braved the 5 Freeway, the 101 Freeway and even the 405 Freeway. Spencer always tells me I’m “brave.” I’m starting to believe her.

The author is an L.A.-based writer, editor and comedian and co-host of the podcast “All My Only Children.” She’s on Instagram and Threads: @maywilkerson

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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Meow Wolf taps famed L.A. animation house for its new Los Angeles venue

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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.”

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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.”

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“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.

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“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.”

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Appeals court denies Trump’s request to halt removal of his name from the Kennedy Center

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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.

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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.

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A meal with an animated Mona Lisa? Immersive dining goes high tech — but will L.A. eat it up?

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A meal with an animated Mona Lisa? Immersive dining goes high tech — but will L.A. eat it up?

My dinner course is served. It is a Campbell’s-inspired soup can, lightly angled so strands of broccoli are peeking out. I lift the can to uncover a slow-braised short rib and mashed potatoes. An American dish to represent an American artist, here Andy Warhol.

The room is overtaken with projections, scenes of bustling New York traffic paired with bachelor-pad-like guitar riffs. Shown on a wall above a dinner table is a selection of Warhol silkscreens. It’s a Friday night in West Hollywood, and I’m surrounded by a mix of out-of-towners and those celebrating an anniversary. And while this is a special occasion, we’re urged to get a little messy with our food — to use our hands, to paint with a salad, to draw on a cookie.

The main course: A tomato soup can? “7 Paintings” is an immersive event that occasionally hides dishes in artist-inspired presentations.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

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Play is the primary side dish at “7 Paintings,” a tech-infused dinner theater that aims to be a crash course in fine art. That selection of veggies paired with multiple mini cups of colorful dressings? Guests are encouraged to mix and match the vinaigrettes into a mess of hues, a nod to abstractionist Jackson Pollock. And yellowfin tuna with dashes of avocado and taro chips? That’s an edible tribute to Banksy, of course. What does raw fish have to do with stenciled street art? It’s bold, heavily angled and has a short shelf life? Maybe? Perhaps don’t overthink it.

Even the paper is edible.

Even the paper is edible.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

“Have you ever eaten a painting before?” says Nadine Beshir, the Dubai-based creator of “7 Paintings.” “We try to get people out of their comfort zones and eating paper. I want to bring out the child in them.”

“7 Paintings,” held at Sunset House L.A. through the end of August, is the latest example of immersive dining to arrive in this city. These experiences often involve guest participation and are accentuated with advanced multimedia technology and sometimes theatrical elements.

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Worldwide, there have been standouts. For instance, Eatrenalin at Germany’s Europa-Park, a dining room-meets-ride where participants are whisked around the space on trackless “floating chairs,” has just received a coveted Michelin star. Ibiza’s Sublimotion has similar haute ambitions, pairing 12 diners together in a room that will come alive with otherworldly projections and performers. At times, diners will win don virtual reality headgear.

But tech-driven immersive dining experiences have never quite taken off in Los Angeles as a trend. Last year, the Gallery, where fantastical cityscapes and projections surrounded downtown L.A. diners, stood just a couple months before the concept was abandoned.

A dinner event titled "7 Paintings" is a 7-course meal with projections

“7 Paintings” pairs food with art and music. It’s “fun dining, not fine dining,” says its founder.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Bartender Luca Famulari shakes a cocktail at the immersive dining event.

Bartender Luca Famulari shakes a cocktail at the immersive dining event.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

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“The economics of a restaurant are not the same as the economics of theater and the challenge of combining the two lies in thinking outside the box with respect to pricing and cost structure, such that the customer perceives high value from both the food and the experience,” says the Gallery co-founder Daren Ulmer.

Entrepreneurs keep aiming for that careful balance. “Le Petit Chef and Friends” is currently running at Tangier at downtown’s Hotel Figueroa, an event in which a fully animated film is projected on our plates and tables. Long-running pop-up event Fork N’ Film leans more dinner and movie, pairing dishes directly inspired by what is happening on screen. Upcoming films include “Ratatouille” and “Lilo and Stitch.”

The field comes with challenges. “The costs are very high,” says Joanna Garner, an immersive designer and former creative director with experiential art firm Meow Wolf. Garner has been experimenting herself with communal, immersive dinner events, and her next, the flirtatious “Please Open Your Mouth,” is set for July 11. (No tech there, as Garner is after a more sensual, adult-focused gathering.) Tickets for her event are $150 and a spot in the “7 Paintings” dining room runs $175, priced on par with a number of city’s most acclaimed restaurants.

There is also the reality that all public dining is in some fashion immersive, usually requiring varying combinations of engagement, communication and presentation. And then, are all these added elements distracting?

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An animated Mona Lisa sits on the wall as guests enjoy their meals.

An animated Mona Lisa sits on the wall as guests enjoy their meals. Throughout the dinner, the painting provides factoids on various artists.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Throughout “7 Paintings,” for instance, an animated Mona Lisa, situated on the wall next to the main dinner table, will provide brief biographical details of each artist represented.

“Being able to nail the food, and nail the story, those are two very difficult threads to weave,” Garner says. “I do think, ultimately, people come to a dinner table to talk to the people at the table and to have intimate experiences. To have an experience where you’re constantly being taken away from the food, I’m not so sure if that’s what people are looking for.”

Food is framed as a star of “7 Paintings” but tasting it is just one component. At one point, we must uncover a cheese course in a tiny treasure chest, the code for the lock hidden in the projections (don’t stress, it’s not a hard puzzle). Beshir highlights the Pollock-inspired salad course, which is accentuated with a jazz soundtrack, as the thesis of the evening.

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1 A guest uses a silicon brush to apply sauces onto an entree, a nod to abstractionist Jackson Pollock.

2 Projections fill up the dining table during meals.

1. A guest uses a silicon brush to apply sauces onto an entree, a nod to abstractionist Jackson Pollock. 2. Projections fill up the dining table during meals.

“This course is really about getting people to free their minds from preconceived ideas,” Beshir says. “Like, you have to eat with a fork and knife, or the salad comes and then the dressing. No, the dressing comes and then the salad, and it’s trying with big brushes to paint the way he did. A lot of people do not understand Abstract Expressionism, and they think it’s people just splashing colors around. But when you understand the link between the rhythm of the music and painting, you live it. We give you time to paint with your salad dressing.”

In L.A., Beshir has partnered with nightlife impresario Kim Kelly, who is plotting a “Sleep No More”-inspired walk-around theatrical show for the Sunset House venue later this year. “7 Paintings,” however, is fully seated, and purposefully a little silly. Beshir and Kelly have been evolving it during its L.A. run, recently adding a stronger painting component by giving guests their own canvas to work on throughout the evening. Each night crowns a winner.

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“Everyone comes over to look at their art,” Kelly says. “It just kind of changed the whole thing, to be honest. People are now being creative throughout the entire evening. Instead of just watching and occasionally painting, you’re now painting the whole time.”

As for what, perhaps, soba noodles with edamame and mushrooms have to do with Pablo Picasso, or why Salvador Dali gets an unexpected dessert course of a white chocolate potato souffle, Beshir clarifies the goal of the evening. While the animated Mona Lisa will provide backstories on each painter, this isn’t an educational night. “It’s fun dining, not fine dining,” Beshir says.

And by the end of my night, strangers were socializing, showing off their painted cookie creations, sharing Banksy tidbits and asking for recommendations on various vinaigrette combinations. Ultimately, it’s an evening of discovery, packed with surprises like finding an entire course hidden under a canvas.

Two men smile as they dine at a dinner event

Darryl Mayes of Charlotte, N.C., left, and Taylor Smith of North Hollywood, right, uncover their course.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

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“We try not to have too much sophistication, like fried ants or something. I’m personally very adventurous in how I eat, but if I want to have this in 100 cities around the world, I cannot be too meticulous.”

And Beshir has big goals.

“I want this be your movie and dinner thing,” Beshir says. “I want people to be waiting for our next show, and to be able to afford to come every couple months.”

And to come home not with leftovers, but perhaps a painting of their own.

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