Lifestyle
These are the most fascinating L.A. museums you've never heard of
Todd Lerew is curious. He likes lists. And he doesn’t like doing things halfway.
This is why he collects pictorial maps, why he has visited 248 public libraries in Los Angeles County and 401 of the 483 municipalities in California. It’s why he recently joined the Fraternal Order of Eagles, the Elks, Moose International, Oddfellows and about 50 other clubs — so many that he had to get a separate wallet for membership cards.
This may seem like a lot of projects for one 37-year-old, who calls them “acts of compulsive nerdiness.” But those interests pale next to Lerew’s passion for unsung museums and collections.
That’s the subject of his new book, “Also on View: Unique and Unexpected Museums of Greater Los Angeles,” published this week by Angel City Press at Los Angeles Public Library.
The volume, an illustrated exploration of 64 museums whose names you are unlikely to know, draws on a decade of research and stands as a challenge to all Angelenos who think they have a handle on the local cultural landscape.
Skid Row History Museum & Archive, from top; Skateboarding Hall of Fame Skateboard Museum in Simi Valley; and Finnish Folk Art Museum in Pasadena. (Ryan Schude)
These are ventures — often one-person crusades — that celebrate fast food, Finnish folk art, Skid Row, skateboarding, vertebrate zoology and more. Yes, the Museum of Jurassic Technology in Culver City is here. Yes, the U.S. Navy Seabee Museum in Port Hueneme and the Cucamonga Service Station Museum too.
The Museum of the Republic of Vietnam in Westminster? The Parsonage of Aimee Semple McPherson in Echo Park? The Historical Glass Museum in Redlands? Lerew and photographer Ryan Schude visited them all.
“There’s nothing you can say about museums that’s true of all of them,” Lerew said one recent morning. “And you can find them everywhere you look.”
Indeed, he spoke near the Long Beach waterfront, surrounded by unremarkable skyscrapers and zero foot traffic. But a block away stands the Outer Limits Tattoo and Museum, opened in 1927.
This was first of two stops where Lerew planned to deliver copies of the new book to people who are in it.
The oldest operating tattoo shop in the U.S.
Clockwise from top left, at Outer Limits Tattoo and Museum in Long Beach: veteran tattoo artist Kari Barba, tattoo designs on display, a jacket from Bert Grimm’s Famous Tattoo Studio and a display case of flash and tools. (Ryan Schude)
Inside Outer Limits, founder and tattoo artist Kari Barba, 64, eagerly unwrapped a copy of the book. Barba, a celebrated tattoo artist and industry pioneer who runs a second tattoo location in Costa Mesa, said she bought the Long Beach space 20 years ago because “I was really hurt by the idea that the history of the building would be lost.”
Barba led Lerew and a visitor through the restored rooms; the tables and modern tools now in use; the antique tools; the stencils of anchors, hearts and dragons; the old photos of inked sailors at the long-gone Pike amusement park; a hand-painted window that workers found hidden in a wall; and, in one corner, a mysterious covered vat.
“You’ve got to see the vaseline before we go,” Lerew said.
So Barba and Lerew stepped to the vat and uncovered it, revealing a glutinous stew of rags and vaseline, once integral to the tattoo process; the stew’s age and precise contents are uncertain.
“I don’t know what’s in there. I’m not reaching in to find out,” Barba said.
“Distinctive smell, also,” said Lerew, leaning to sniff.
What shapes a compulsive collector?
Lerew, who lives with his wife in Lincoln Heights, grew up in rural South Dakota. His family made regular trips to roadside attractions such as the faux cowboy town at Buffalo Ridge and the Corn Palace in Mitchell, where something about “the curious, the unique and the obscure” got under Lerew’s skin.
After graduating from Hampshire College in Massachusetts, he came west in 2009 and went to grad school at CalArts, focusing on experimental music composition. But his attention strayed, a trait that became a professional asset when the Library Foundation of Los Angeles hired Lerew as program manager in 2015.
Todd Lerew, author of the book “Also on View,” about small and surprising museum in Greater Los Angeles, shows the map full of museum locations that he keeps on his phone.
(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)
In his off hours, he’d check out other libraries and museums — often six or seven in a day, all logged on a spreadsheet. To find them all, he’d check Boris Stanic’s guidebook, “Museum Companion to Los Angeles,” as well as scanning the web and talking to friends and strangers.
In 2016, after months of hearing from Lerew about his weekend explorations of obscure collections and archives around Southern California, the foundation’s president, Ken Brecher, assigned Lerew to curate an exhibition on local collectors that became “21 Collections: Every Object Has a Story.”
“I’ve always collected experiences of one kind or another,” Lerew said. “I was just exploring because I had a private interest and obsession in finding new and unique places and people. It kind of got formalized when i started working on that exhibition.”
What makes a museum?
Lerew said he’s eager to see just about any place that calls itself a museum, whether or not it has nonprofit status or academic credentials or a permanent home. He’s also drawn to spaces that might not call themselves museums but often behave like them, including park visitor centers or college art galleries.
When it comes to selfie-driven exercises like the nationwide Museum of Ice Cream chain (which had an L.A. pop-up location in 2017), he’s not so interested.
And in every museum, he considers the source carefully. At most historical museums in the U.S., he said, “It’s the white people’s history of that area,” omitting much and perhaps whitewashing much else.
“You just have to be aware, when you’re going to these places, of who is telling the story,” he said. “There are more stories out there, always.”
By the time his “Collections” show went up in the Central Library in 2018, Lerew had scouted more than 600 locations, enlisting collections that included paper airplanes (from the Getty), typewriters (from Tom Hanks), candy wrappers and birds’ nests. From that project came a self-published book, an Instagram campaign (@museumaday) and now the new volume, coffee table-ready.
By hand, she re-creates key moments in Black history
A “Black Lives Matter” diorama created by Karen Collins.
(Ryan Schude)
“Oh, big pictures!” Karen Collins said when Lerew arrived at her home in Compton and handed her the book. “I don’t know why, but I was picturing something small.”
Small, after all, is Collins’ specialty. Around her living room, miniature dioramas of crucial moments in Black American history took up much of the horizontal space. A “Black Lives Matter” triptych, made for the Central Library’s “21 Collections” exhibition, sat above the fireplace.
Collins, 73, a retired preschool teacher, creates the dioramas, making and arranging miniatures within shadow boxes made by her husband, Eddie Lewis. She started about 30 years ago, after her son was sent to prison as a 12th-grader and she felt “ready to die.”
She pushed grief back by resolving to portray key figures and moments in Black history, to inspire and educate grade-school children, “and let them know, you can get over anything. … The art saved my life.”
Karen Collins and her African American Miniature Museum, a collection of Black history dioramas she made and keeps in her Compton home, are featured in “Also on View,” Todd Lerew’s book about small and surprising museums in Greater Los Angeles.
(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)
There have been dozens of dioramas since then, depicting scenes from the Middle Passage to Harriet Tubman, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., Thurgood Marshall, Colin Powell, the Obama inauguration, Compton Cowboys and Kendrick Lamar.
For years, Collins and her husband brought shadow boxes — their mobile museum — to schools and community events. Lerew spotted her work on display in Leimert Park.
Lerew: “How many of these have you made over the years?”
Collins: “A lot. Because I give them away.”
Beyond Lerew’s Central Library exhibition and book, Collins has been commissioned by the Autry Museum (where several dioramas are part of the permanent exhibition “Imagined Wests”), profiled by national media outlets and chosen to provide a Google doodle for the 60th anniversary of the Greensboro, N.C., civil rights sit-ins. Her son, still incarcerated, “is proud of me,” she said.
Now she’s working on a coloring book and hoping to find “a stable place for this museum to be … for our children to see their worth,” she told Lerew.
“It’s a really tricky thing,” Lerew said later, “when it’s one person’s passion project. … I can’t say what might happen for Karen’s collection. I have hopes. Time will tell.”
Is Lerew done with little museums now? Absolutely not.
Beyond those in the book, he’s put another 700-plus large and small Southern California museums onto an everymuseum.la website, now live.
Then there’s the other list on his phone, where he has keyed in all the unseen museums he wants to visit. Worldwide. There are 3,231 of them.
Lifestyle
‘How to Rule the World’ explores education and power at Stanford University
Students walk on the Stanford University campus on March 14, 2019, in Stanford, Calif.
Ben Margot/AP
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Ben Margot/AP
When Theo Baker arrived at Stanford University a few years ago, he joined the student newspaper, following the path of his journalist parents, Peter Baker, a White House correspondent for The New York Times, and Susan Glasser, a writer for The New Yorker.
Through his reporting as a student journalist, he eventually broke a story about manipulated data in Stanford President Marc Tessier-Lavigne’s neuroscience research that helped lead to the university president’s resignation.
Theo Baker’s book, How to Rule the World: An Education in Power at Stanford University was released May 19. In it, Baker describes Stanford as a place where proximity to Silicon Valley gives rise to a parallel system of influence, recruitment and money, with investors looking to identify promising students almost as soon as they arrive on campus.
He told Morning Edition host Steve Inskeep there was “a sort of Stanford inside Stanford,” where elite students are drawn into an “alternate reality” of excess and access to cut corners.
In the interview, he discusses how Stanford is not just a university but also a pipeline where status and power can matter as much as ideas.
We reached out to Stanford University for comment and have not heard back.
Listen to the interview by clicking play on the blue box above.
Lifestyle
OTB Takes Full Control of Viktor & Rolf
Lifestyle
How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet
The scoreboard shows the results of the women’s singles final match between Iga Swiatek of Poland and Amanda Anisimova of the U.S. at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London, Saturday, July 12, 2025.
Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
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Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
Fifteen points in tennis? Nice. Thirty, 40 — even better. Advantage — that sounds good. “Love” — that also must be great, right? Well, not quite.
As the French Open rolls on and Serena Williams has announced her return to the sport, maybe you’ve been paying a little more attention to tennis. The sport’s scoring system is notably distinct, and can sometimes be hard to grasp for newcomers. But even tennis aficionados might not know why, or how, “love” became the unmistakable callout for zero points. For this installment of NPR’s Word of the Week, we’re exploring how a word that signifies trailing behind got such a sweet name.
“Love” comes from the heart — or an egg?
It’s hard to pinpoint when the first tennis ball went over the net. Tennis is a derivative of lots of other sports, such as “jeu de paume,” a handball game played in France, said JT Buzanga, the collections manager at the International Tennis Hall of Fame museum.

But tennis became a patented, official sport in 1874, said Steve Flink, a journalist whose tennis coverage got him inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It has retained its unique, mysterious scoring system ever since.
“By and large, the original system has held up almost entirely,” Flink said.
The use of “love” goes back to the late 18th century, said Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer. But it was used earlier than that in card games such as whist and bridge. Before the term made its way to tennis, the sport favored plain old “nothing,” or “nil,” he said.
Why love in the first place, though? Historians don’t really know for sure, but there are a few theories.
The French could have something to do with it. Some historians believe “love” derives from “l’oeuf,” which means “the egg” in French. Because eggs are shaped like zeros, terms such as “goose egg” and “duck’s egg” have been used in other contexts to mean zero, Sheidlower said.
It’s also possible English speakers mispronounced l’oeuf as “love.” But Sheidlower isn’t convinced that’s the answer.
“It’s the French equivalent of an English expression. But since that expression doesn’t appear in French, the French word wouldn’t have been used,” he said.
To be sure, France has had a lot of influence on tennis culture, Buzanga said. For example, “deuce” or a game tied at 40 points, comes from the French word for “two”: “deux.” But he prefers another prominent theory: that “love” comes from the idiom “for the love of the game.” Even if a player hasn’t scored, it doesn’t matter, because their heart is in it. It’s the theory Sheidlower said is the most plausible, because the idiom was used by the English before tennis was popularized.

Another variation of the “love of the game” theory is that the word could have come from the Dutch “lof,” or “honor” — or the Latin “amare,” meaning “to love,” Flink said.
But if tennis’ “love” doesn’t come from a French word, the theory at least has a French sensibility.
“I think the ‘for the love of the game’ is kind of romantic,” Buzanga said.
“Love” probably isn’t going anywhere
Tennis used to be a sport of leisure. The style of play has changed a lot over the years; players are more athletic and competitive, for instance, Flink said. But the rules of the sport are more steadfast, he said.
“There’s this incredible, enduring respect for tradition in tennis,” he said. “Changes are not made easily.”
There has been one major change in modern history: the tie-break. Matches can go on and on because players have to score two consecutive points to break a deuce, or by two games to break a tied set. But the onset of television meant matches would have to get shorter if the sport wanted to capture a larger audience, Flink said.

Change even came for “love.” An alternative sprouted up in the 1970s, and is still used today: “bagel,” named for its zero shape, Sheidlower said. Novices may say “zero,” and insiders will understand what they mean, but they “will needle them about it,” Flink said.
But “love” still prevails.
“People kind of like it,” Flink said. “It’s different. Why say zero when you can say love?”
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