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'Saturday Night' feeds on the energy, and insanity, of the very first 'SNL' episode

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'Saturday Night' feeds on the energy, and insanity, of the very first 'SNL' episode

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‘Saturday Night’ feeds on the energy, and insanity, of the first ever ‘SNL’ broadcast : NPR



‘Saturday Night’ feeds on the energy, and insanity, of the first ever ‘SNL’ broadcast This expertly cast film captures the rehearsals and the logistics that lead up to opening night. It’s a nonstop joy ride — and a testament to the adage that the show must go on.

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L.A. Affairs: He hadn't dated since 1989. Did a relationship with him stand a chance?

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L.A. Affairs: He hadn't dated since 1989. Did a relationship with him stand a chance?

“I don’t want to go.”

“I get it.”

I was on the phone with my emotional support friend Jill, who was trying to pump me up to meet someone new despite her awareness of my latest soul-crushing connections. “You have had a challenging run lately, but you never know when it might turn around,” she said.

The idealist in me wanted to believe Jill could be right, but the realist in me wasn’t convinced. Despite delving into the app dating world in my early 50s with zero expectations and vowing not to be attached to any specific outcomes, I had grown weary from the process. But I was wearing heels and makeup and I’d blown out my hair in an effort that had felt Herculean ever since COVID. It would have been a shame for it all to go to waste.

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I was meeting a date at Hugo’s in West Hollywood at 5:30 p.m. I left late because I was procrastinating, and then, thanks to L.A. traffic, got there at 5:45 p.m.

When I finally arrived after texting to let him know of my delay, I rushed up, trying to pull myself together. “I am so sorry.”

“Hi, you made it.” He got up for a quick hug and then walked behind me as I tried to figure out what was happening. He pulled my chair out for me. I acted as though this was an everyday occurrence. It definitely was not.

I had quickly learned to be prepared for dates to look worse than their worst profile picture; he looked even better than his best picture. The cynic in me was still on high alert for the red flags that were inevitably coming, but he was warm, with an easygoing demeanor, and very comfortable in his own skin. It turns out he was a very sought-after golf instructor who luckily didn’t care that I had never played.

“I like that you just reached over and ate one of my potatoes.” He was smiling and seemed genuinely pleased that I had done so. I hadn’t even realized I had scarfed down one of his potatoes, let alone without asking.

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“I never do that. I must feel comfortable,” I said. Someone eating off my plate definitely annoyed me in most situations, but this felt different. I’m pretty sure I would have given him all of my potatoes had he maneuvered his fork in my direction. After he went to put money in the parking meter and actually came back, I was relieved. He later told me he was relieved I was still there when he returned.

“Am I talking too much?” I asked. I sometimes did that when I had nervous energy. “Not at all. I like learning about you,” he said.

He told me he had been in an almost 25-year marriage and, other than a few recent Bumble dates, he hadn’t dated since 1989. When he said he had no idea what he was doing, I told him I had been dating a lot recently and he was doing better than 99.9% of the men out there. I told him I hadn’t been in a relationship in almost 20 years, having prioritized my career for many years.

I was used to being interrogated about never having been married, but he didn’t seem to judge my choices. I told him about some of the most egregious dating offenses I had endured: he who suggested that we dine and dash and didn’t seem to be kidding, he who asked for business contacts after I declined a second date, he who took home my leftovers on the first date, he who contorted his body to go in for a kiss as I very pointedly went in for a hug. I could’ve continued late into the night.

He laughed and told me about his more run-of-the-mill dates, with whom he just hadn’t felt any romantic connection. One had cats, which would have been problematic since he was highly allergic. One might have been a hoarder.

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It was quickly evident that we shared a similar sense of humor and prioritized the same attributes, such as honesty, kindness and a propensity for always trying to do the right thing. I also was pleasantly surprised that he ordered an iced tea; I had stopped drinking alcohol a month before.

He told me he went on Bumble on a whim because it scared him, which I admired. It was endearing that he had stepped outside his comfort zone, especially after not having dated since he was 21. After talking for more than three hours, he walked me to my car.

He gave me a quick hug, opened my car door and said, “Talk to you soon” — and then quickly walked away after patting me on the shoulder. It was the best first date I’d ever had, but the “Talk to you soon” really threw me. Was this a blow-off?

Later, while I was obsessively pondering whether I would ever hear from him again, he texted to make sure I got home safely. “I failed to tell you how great you looked tonight. I hope you can forgive me. I’m falling on my sword.” This could have felt cheesy, and yet I melted, a testament to his genuineness.

The next day I went on a horrible first coffee date that had been previously scheduled. It lasted 40 minutes, about 37 minutes too long. When I got to my car, I found Mr. Perfect First Date had texted again. “I’m sure there’s some stupid rule about texting you today, but I wanted you to know I had a really good time last night,” he wrote.

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“In that case, should I have waited at least five hours to text you back?” I replied.

“Ha, yes, and I shouldn’t be sending you this response right now.”

“Should we agree that we don’t have to play by any rules?” I asked.

I was so tired from all the complicated dating noise that seemed to persist even at my age, so I was relieved he wasn’t playing games.

“Yes, please, “ he replied.

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“Perfect, we just solved all the world’s problems.”

I didn’t hear from him for a couple of hours and then: “The next challenge is me asking you out again. Forward of me I know.”

“Let me think about it,” I teased. I let about a minute pass. “Kidding, yes, that would be lovely.”

“Phew, I was worried.”

We still don’t play by any rules. And I still don’t know anything about golf.

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The author is new to writing after more than 20 years as a creative executive in the entertainment industry. She lives in Los Angeles with Mr. Perfect First Date. She’s on Instagram: @jobethplatt

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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Powerhouse classical music producer Adam Abeshouse dies at 63

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Powerhouse classical music producer Adam Abeshouse dies at 63

Classical music producer Adam Abeshouse was diagnosed with bile duct cancer last spring. His clients — including Simone Dinnerstein, Jeremy Denk, Joshua Bell and Lara Downes — organized a concert at his home studio to bid farewell.

Rick Marino/Abeshouse Productions


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Rick Marino/Abeshouse Productions

Renowned classical music producer Adam Abeshouse has died.

Over a career that lasted more than 30 years, Abeshouse made hundreds of records with some of classical music’s biggest stars. He won two Grammy awards, including Classical Producer of the Year in 1999.

Abeshouse died Thursday at his home in Westchester, N.Y. He was 63. His death was confirmed to NPR by his studio engineer.

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Early in 2024, he had been diagnosed with bile duct cancer, and the disease swiftly metastasized. He was a producer who inspired great love and loyalty with the artists he worked with. Shortly before the end of his life, a dozen of his celebrity clients came together to perform for Abeshouse one last time, in a private concert at his home studio.

Adam Abeshouse understood musicians because he was a musician himself.

Born on Long Island in 1961, he began playing violin in the third grade. He studied at New York University and the Manhattan School of Music, and performed for years before and after he began producing other musicians, including such groups as the Orchestra of St. Luke’s and the Metropolitan String Quartet.

His career as a producer started with making audition tapes for friends in a small basement studio Abeshouse built himself.

“I found that I was really good coaching people through the process,” he told NPR. “This rhythm isn’t right; this line would speak much better if you aimed for this note. You try to find the essence of the music that you’re playing.”

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Abeshouse said he wanted his clients to feel safe and loved during the pressure of recording sessions.

“I didn’t care about mistakes because we could always edit that out,” he said. “And to see people come in at the beginning — they were kind of nervous at the beginning. And there was always a point where you could see a change, where people would relax. You could see it and you could hear it.”

“We’ve made many many recordings together,” violinist Joshua Bell told NPR. “I’ve spent many hours with him in the studios, doing a process which is usually excruciating for me. But with him it always became a fun time together. Those moments have been so precious to me.”

Bell spoke to NPR during the farewell concert organized by another of Abeshouse’s celebrity clients, pianist Lara Downes. Musicians flew in from all over the world to be there, including Jeremy Denk, the MacArthur “genius grant” winning pianist.

“Adam has a combination of exactitude and patience,” Denk said. “That’s extremely essential for this kind of work. He’s also pretty interested in the individual character of each musician — what they’re trying to say, and what they’re after, what their dreams and goals in life are in a certain way.”

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Denk performed an Ives sonata. The string trio Time for Three played an original composition entitled “Joy.” Abeshouse produced a record with the group performing with the Philadelphia Orchestra. The recording won two Grammys and Abeshouse said the project was one of the highlights of his career.

Time for Three’s violinist and vocalist Nick Kendall said Adam Abeshouse was the most selfless and talented producer the group had ever worked with.

“What he said to us before we saw him last is a reflection of how he is selfless,” said Kendall. “Before we left, he said, ‘Boys, just continue listening to each other.’ That hit us huge, and will always live with us.”

In 2002, Adam Abeshouse founded the Classical Recording Foundation to help artists record music they were passionate about but might not have economic appeal. Because he said, “Recordings are just as important an art form as live performance.”

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Obama Jokes About Trump Wearing Adult Diapers

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