Lifestyle
Trump’s name must come off of the Kennedy Center, judge rules
Julia Demaree Nikhinson/AP
A federal judge has blocked President Trump from adding his name to the Kennedy Center, saying that the Washington, D.C. arts complex was named for the late president John F. Kennedy. In a ruling on Friday, the judge also temporarily blocked the administration from closing the Kennedy Center for a planned two-year renovation that was slated to begin in July.
U.S. District Court Judge Christopher Cooper wrote in his ruling that: “The Kennedy Center’s organic statute makes crystal clear that the Center is to be named for President Kennedy, and it cannot bear any other formal name or public memorial based on the Board’s unilateral say-so. Congress gave the Kennedy Center its name, and only Congress can change it.”
A Kennedy Center spokesperson told NPR in an email Friday afternoon that it will appeal the decision. Roma Daravi, vice president of public relations for the complex, wrote: “We will review the decision carefully though the reality remains — the Center requires an urgent and significant restoration – a truth that even the plaintiff acknowledges. With $257 million secured by President Trump and approved by Congress, the resources are in place and we remain committed to pursuing every lawful avenue to ensure the Trump Kennedy Center is restored as a national cultural landmark for all Americans to enjoy.”
NPR has requested comment from the White House, but did not receive an immediate reply.
As part of his ruling, Judge Cooper ordered that all signage and online materials referring to the “Donald J. Trump and John F. Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts,” the “Trump Kennedy Center,” or anything similar must be removed within 14 days.
The judge also blocked, for now, plans to close the Kennedy Center for two years of renovations. Trump and the center’s current voting board members – all of whom were selected by the president, who also became chairman of the center last year – had planned to start the renovations in early July, just after the 250th anniversary celebrations. In his 94-page ruling, Judge Cooper called the renovation plans “murky,” and wrote: “None of the board members had sufficient information in advance of the March 16 meeting to make a well-considered decision to close the center.” The center has been winding down its programming and has already dismissed most of its programming staff.
Referring to a Truth Social post written by President Trump in February, the judge also wrote: “There was no ‘one year review of the Trump Kennedy Center, that has taken place with Contractors, Musical Experts, Art Institutions, and other Advisors and Consultants, deciding between’ complete and partial closure, as President Trump claimed.”
Cooper’s ruling resulted from a lawsuit filed in March by Rep. Joyce Beatty of Ohio, an ex-officio member of the Kennedy Center board whose voting rights there were stripped last year.
The ruling does not prevent the Kennedy Center’s board from a future closure, but the judge said that it should do so only after the board has “sufficient information to make a considered, independent decision, taking account of its obligation to both maintain and operate a premiere arts venue and its solemn duty to memorialize a fallen President.”
Three years after my second divorce, with the help of a dating app, I went on 53 first dates in one summer. Fifty-three times, I put on my first-date uniform (nice but not trying too hard), flat-ironed my hair and texted my date itinerary to my friend Karen to make it easier for the FBI to track my whereabouts just in case this was the internet date that finally went wrong.
I had a system. The system involved a spreadsheet. I kept track of what I wore and what stories we shared to avoid repeating myself in case there was a second or third date. There were exploratory follow-up dates, but it usually only took one to know.
The coffees and lunches and dinners of that season flicker in my mind like a rom-com video montage. There were some average dates, plenty of nice-guy, zero-chemistry dates, but a few stand out.
Here are the notables.
There was the extremely tall, minor league baseball player I met at BJ’s in Burbank. He said no more than four words to me the entire meal, but managed to chat up our waitress. I believe he walked me to my car and went back for her number.
The quiet and irritable TV editor I met at Guelaguetza on Olympic Boulevard. We ordered the chicken mole and chapulines. During the meal, he had a panic attack and excused himself to call his therapist. He actually told me this.
The experimental-video director with the white faux hawk I met at Go Get Em Tiger in East Hollywood. He spent the date in an hourlong monologue about his ex-wife Julia, stopping only to show me many, many photos of Julia.
A young man, originally from Phoenix, asked to meet at Soot Bull Jip on 8th Street. A struggling writer-actor-production assistant, he confided that he had looked up my name on Internet Movie Database and noticed that I was a producer. He then proceeded to pitch me an animated children’s show about singing giraffes. He also asked for a ride to Vons. I declined both.
The screenwriter I met at République who, based on his startling non-resemblance to his photo, had obviously posted a picture of someone else on his profile. He brought me three mixed CDs of music based on what he “knew” I would like. It was all Radiohead and Elliott Smith. I adjusted my dating profile because I was apparently coming off as depressed.
There was the nervous and uptight English tutor, with a script in turn-around and a famous roommate, that I met at a Starbucks in Koreatown. This guy corrected my grammar within the first five minutes of our introduction. Then, he proceeded to inform me that rather than be put off by this, I should be grateful for the new information so I could fix my error and not appear to be uneducated.
The trendy, bearded sports photographer I met for a late-night dinner at Fred 62 in Los Feliz. I had high hopes for this guy, and we made plans for a second date. But then things started unraveling once we realized I had already dated his younger brother.
There was also the suave (Hand kiss? Really?) and extremely tan French tennis pro I crossed La Cienega Boulevard for and met for lunch at Thai Vegan in Santa Monica. He was on a nonstop series of calls on his cellphone during the entire meal and then asked for a second date. I said, “Non, merci.”
When describing these guys to Karen, I used their identifying traits to label them. (Stalker Creep. Dude Looks Like a Lady. Mom Jeans Guy.) Like an FNG in Vietnam, it was better not to learn their names.
Due to a story he had shared with me via email, date No. 53 was identified as Naked Drummer. I tried to reserve judgment. Before Naked Drummer came to meet me for our first date, he called at the last minute and said the following:
“I want to recap. I just turned 30. I am currently living with my mother. I play guitar in an alternative folk band. I have a semi-crappy temp job at Disney with no benefits. I drive a green ’97 Plymouth Grand Voyager minivan that smells like weed. If you would like to change your mind about this whole dinner thing, now is your chance.” He described himself as tall, dark and tall.
For some reason, I broke many of my first date “safety rules” with Naked Drummer. I gave him my address. I let him pick me up. When he came to get me, I let him into my apartment. We went for dinner at Noshi Sushi on Beverly Boulevard. None of that is prudent behavior, and I do not recommend any of it except the chu toro.
Naked Drummer was a funny, smart, nice Jewish boy who had been touring in bands in that Grand Voyager since college graduation. On the first date, we bonded over takuwan rolls and our histories as teenage goths. My goth uniform included black Maybelline eyeliner I used a lighter to heat the tip with before application. His goth uniform included an olive-green trench coat he borrowed from his mom. We were a match made in Joy Division heaven. He confided he was an Insane Clown Posse Juggalo, I intimated I was in the Kiss Army. (We were both lying about those last two.)
Reader, I married him.
The author is a former writer, director and producer for television. She and Mr. Rosenberg live in South Pasadena. She’s on Instagram: @smacksy.
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
Poppy Liu wants to remind you how revolutionary I Love Boosters is : Bullseye with Jesse Thorn
I Love Boosters starts like a fun heist movie. There’s a gang of cool ladies from the Bay Area who steal clothes from high-end designers and sell them at a steep discount to their friends and neighbors. But I Love Boosters is also a Boots Riley movie. The film is surreal and bombastic, branching out in a thousand directions and traversing a dozen genres. So it can’t really stay a heist movie.
Poppy Liu drives that change more than pretty much any other character in the film. She plays Jianhu, a garment worker in China who joins the gang and brings with her a bonkers new wrinkle to the story. It’s a role Poppy was made for. She’s made her career playing confident, somewhat unhinged weirdos. She was cast in a lead role in the 2019 sitcom Sunnyside, had other parts on Better Call Saul, The After Party, and Hacks.
Liu joins us to talk about starring in I Love Boosters and the message that she hopes audiences take away from the film. She also chats with us about her upbringing in Minnesota, how she got into comedy acting, her role on Hacks, and much more.
The problem is not where to find photos on Route 66. The problem is putting down the camera, especially during this centennial year, when the road is dressed up with more lights, banners, murals and fresh paint than it has seen for decades.
Stories, photos and travel recommendations from America’s Mother Road
Travelers may be tempted to just keep snapping. But for better results on every level, say hello and ask questions first. Here are a few more photo tips along with an east-to-west gallery of what our photographers and I found on the road:
- You can’t be everywhere at dusk, when the neon signs blaze, so be strategic (and maybe plan for an early dinner or a late one).
- Use a solid tripod (for long exposures), stay off the road, and be sure to try a variety of exposure times. (Neon is tricky.)
- If you see a roadside image that needs your attention, pull over, park legally and step away from the vehicle. The result will be better and all will be safer.
- Besides the freedom of road-tripping, the spirit of Route 66 is about independent businesses bucking the odds on the road less traveled. If we all take pictures without spending, those businesses won’t last long.
Views from Navy Pier in Chicago.
Millennium Park in Chicago.
Route 66 begins in downtown Chicago at Adams Street and Michigan Avenue. Early alignments put it on Jackson Boulevard. Signs mark the spot across the street from the Art Institute of Chicago.
Art Institute of Chicago.
Cigars and Stripes BBQ in Berwyn, Ill., features a Muffler Man smoking a cigar and holding a jumbo bottle of barbecue sauce.
The Gemini Giant stands along Route 66 in Wilmington, Ill.
Atlanta, Ill., is home to the American Giants Museum — which celebrates the Muffler Men and Uniroyal Gals that were common roadside advertising features in the middle 20th century.
Springfield, Ill., is home to the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum and Library. Exhibits takes Lincoln from his Illinois childhood through to the Civil War and his assassination in 1865.
A barn along Route 66 near Carlinville, Ill.
The Wagon Wheel Motel on Route 66 in Cuba, Mo.
The Route 66 Car Museum’s collection includes about 70 vehicles, especially American and European sports cars. Pictured is a 1967 Pontiac Bonneville.
Gary’s Gay Parita, once a service station, won fame over the decades for its hosts’ hospitality. It’s still a popular stop, 25 miles west of Springfield, Mo.
Rockwood Motor Court in Springfield, Mo., dates to 1929. It has been restored and continues to operate.
The Meadow Gold District in Tulsa, Okla.
This fiberglass Rosie the Riveter figure went up on 11th Street in Tulsa in 2025.
Buck Atom’s Cosmic Curios occupies a former service station on 11th Street — a.k.a. Route 66 — in Tulsa.
Soda pop bottles line the walls of Pops 66 in Arcadia, Okla.
A car travels down a stretch of the Meadow Gold District in Tulsa, Okla.
The Cyrus Avery Centennial Plaza features a bronze sculpture called “East Meets West,” just off the now-closed Cyrus Avery Route 66 Memorial Bridge.
The Round Barn in Arcadia, Okla., stands along Route 66.
National Route 66 Museum and Elk City Museum Complex, Elk City, Okla.
The fastidiously restored U-Drop Inn, a Streamline Moderne filling station and cafe in Shamrock, Texas, is one of the architectural standouts of Route 66. It doesn’t sell gas, though.
Visitors to the Cadillac Ranch art installation in Amarillo, Texas, are allowed to spray-paint the 10 Cadillacs half-buried in the ground there.
The Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas, celebrates the halfway point along Route 66 between Chicago and Los Angeles.
A license plate spotted in Albuquerque.
La Cita, a sombrero-topped restaurant, is one of the most popular eateries in Tucumcari, N.M. It was founded in 1940 and moved to its current location in 1961.
Motel Safari in Tucumcari, N.M., is one among a handful in town that have renovated and upgraded to attract contemporary travelers along Route 66.
Michela Franceschilli and her mom, Carla, came from Rome for their second trip exploring Route 66. They are standing by the Blue Swallow Motel, in Tucumcari, N.M.
From Old Highway 66 near Laguna, N.M., Casa Blanca Road leads to Enchanted Mesa and Acoma Village.
The exterior of Duran Central Pharmacy in Albuquerque.
The combination plate, Christmas-style, at Duran Central Pharmacy.
El Vado Motel is a rescue-and-recovery story on Central Avenue in Albuquerque.
Signs and murals line the roadside as Old Highway 66 passes through Grants, N.M.
The West Theatre in Grants, N.M.
The Painted Desert Trading Post stand west of Chambers, Ariz. The restored building and a stretch of old Route 66 are on private property behind a gate. Travelers call or text a number on the gate to ask for access.
Signage along old Route 66 in Holbrook, Ariz.
The Painted Desert portion of Petrified Forest National Park includes broad vistas and richly varied mineral colors.
Scenes from Route 66 in Williams, Ariz.
Angel & Vilma Delgadillo’s Original Route 66 Gift Shop on Route 66 through Seligman, Ariz.
Aztec Motel and Creative Space in Seligman, Ariz.
Route 66 merch in Seligman, Ariz.
Tin Can Alley is a compound of five rental Airstream trailers in Kingman, Ariz.
The stretch of old Route 66 between Kingman and Topock in western Arizona is known as “Arizona Sidewinder” for its 191 turns, often without guardrails. The old mining town of Oatman, known for its feral donkeys, is on the way.
Oatman, Ariz., is known for its roaming burros, Old West-style storefronts and busy weekends. It stands on a curvy stretch of Route 66 that attracts many motorcyclists and off-road enthusiasts.
El Rancho Motel Sign on the outskirts of Barstow, Calif.
Wigwam Motel off Route 66.
The iconic Roy’s sign stands over old Route 66 at Amboy, Calif., in San Bernardino County. These days Roy’s operates as a gas station, gift shop and snack bar, not a cafe or motel.
The fiberglass statue known as Chicken Boy stands on the roof of artist, designer and gallerist Amy Inouye’s studio on Figueroa Street in Highland Park.
The interior of the Magic Lamp Inn.
The Magic Lamp Inn in Rancho Cucamonga.
Mitla’s Cafe in San Bernardino.
Foothill Drive-In sign on the campus of Azusa Pacific University.
A portion of Route 66 that runs parallel with I-15.
Signs of Route 66 through the town of Oro Grande, Calif.
Elmer’s Bottle Tree Ranch.
The interior of the Formosa Cafe in West Hollywood.
The historic train car at the Formosa Cafe.
Mel’s Drive-In diner in Santa Monica.
Route 66 memorabilia at Mel’s Drive-in diner.
Route 66 Burger at Mel’s Drive-In, a popular stop for Route 66 travelers.
The Santa Monica Pier, which marks the western end of Route 66.
Memorabilia for sale on the Santa Monica Pier.
Scenes from the Santa Monica Pier and the end of Route 66.
A sign marking the end of Route 66 on the Santa Monica Pier.
The entrance to the Santa Monica Pier.
The Santa Monica Pier at dusk.
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