Cat

Thirty years ago, comedian and actor Tig Notaro didn’t have a clear direction in life, so she followed some childhood friends who wanted to get into entertainment to Los Angeles. Secretly wanting to do stand-up, Notaro decided to try her luck at various outlets in town, which became the start of her successful career.

“I stayed on my friends’ couch near the Hollywood Improv on Melrose, and a couple months later, got my own studio apartment in the Miracle Mile area,” Notaro says. “I love all the options for everything in L.A. — the entertainment, the restaurants. I like to stay active. So many people love the hiking options in Los Angeles, and I’m one of them.”

In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.

Notaro appears in Season 3 of Apple TV’s “The Morning Show” and is a series regular on Paramount+’s “Star Trek: Starfleet Academy,” as she was on “Star Trek: Discovery.” She’s also a touring stand-up comic and hosts “Handsome,” a comedy podcast, with Fortune Feimster and Mae Martin. The trio will be taping a live show May 4 at the Wiltern with the cast of Netflix’s “The Hunting Wives.” The live shows include interviews, but also “incorporate some ridiculous things,” she says. For example, upon hearing that some of the hosts always wanted to learn to tap dance, Notaro “hired a tap instructor to come to our live show in Austin and teach us how to tap dance in front of the audience.”

Notaro lives near Hollywood with her wife, actor Stephanie Allynne, their 9-year-old fraternal twin boys, Max and Finn, and three cats, Fluff, Linus and Skip. When she’s not touring, her ideal Sundays include sampling vegan restaurants, wandering through bookstores or museums, and doing something physically active with the family.

This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.

6 a.m.: Up with the kids

Because we have active children, we still wake up at 6 a.m. or 6:30 a.m. on Sunday, but there’s not as much of a rush to get going. Stephanie and I will often have coffee and chat in the living room together. I love that part of the day. Stephanie may cook breakfast, but Max and Finn are pretty self-sufficient and can make certain little meals for themselves. Max is really starting to take an interest in cooking, so he’d make breakfast for himself. Our family is vegan, but he eats eggs, so he makes himself an egg sandwich with avocado a lot of times.

9 a.m.: Daily morning walk

After breakfast, we usually have a morning walk around our neighborhood. That’s a daily thing I like to do, regardless of what’s going on. Now that I’m not touring as much, tennis is back on the schedule. So I’d go to Plummer Park in West Hollywood and play for a while, then join the family for lunch.

11:30 a.m.: Hike with a side of chickpea sandwich

I love Trails, a cafe in Griffith Park, where you can eat outdoors. It serves simple food, and has good vegan options. I usually get their chickpea salad sandwich. The food there is great. Afterward, we’d visit Griffith Observatory, where there’s lots to see. There are lots of great trails in the park, so we’d go for an hour hike before leaving.

3 p.m.: Browse the shelves for rock biographies

Bookstores are fun, so we’d head downtown for the Last Bookstore, which is in a historic building with lots of vintage books. I really love all things plant-based, and I’m a very big music fanatic. So I love to look for vegan books, nutrition books, rock biographies and autobiographies. It’s just fun to browse around the stacks.

If we didn’t go to the bookstore, we’d probably go to LACMA. Our sons are huge fans of art and want to go for each new exhibit. They love Hockney, Basquiat and Picasso, to name a few.

4 p.m.: Cuddle with cuties at a cat cafe

We’d then make a quick stop at [Crumbs & Whiskers], a kitten and cat cafe on Melrose for coffee, snacks and to pet the cats. It’s best to make reservations in advance. There’s cats all around the place that need to be adopted. You can visit and pet them, or find a new roommate. I’d love to take some home, but we already have three.

5:30 p.m. Italian or sushi, but make it vegan

We’re an early dinner family. One restaurant we like is Pura Vita in West Hollywood. It’s the greatest vegan Italian food, and for non-vegans, nobody ever knows the difference. It’s the first 100% plant-based Italian restaurant in the United States. They make an incredible kale salad and I love the San Gennaro pizza. It’s got cashew mozzarella, tomato sauce, Italian sausage crumble and more.

Then there’s Planta in Marina del Rey. It’s right on the harbor and you can sit outside and look at the boats coming in and out. They have sushi, salads and other plant-based entrees. They’ve got a really great spicy tuna roll that’s made out of watermelon. They are magicians.

Or there’s Crossroads Kitchen in West Hollywood. They play the best classic rock, and the atmosphere is upscale, fine dining. The appetizers that we always get are called Moroccan Cigars, which are vegan meat substitutes fried in a rolled batter. I really like the grilled lion’s mane steak, their mushroom steak with truffle potatoes, or the scallopini Milanese, that has a chicken or tofu option. I get the chicken with arugula on top. I always love to have a decaf espresso with dessert, which is either a brownie sundae or banana pudding.

7:30 p.m.: Comfort watch or word games

After dinner, the kids often like to watch an episode of “Friends,” a show that all ages enjoy, sports or “The Simpsons.” Or we’d play a game where each of us will add a word to a sentence and create a weird or funny long sentence until one of our sons says period. Then they’ll try and remember the whole sentence and repeat it back.

9:30 p.m.: Bubble bath then bed

The boys usually go to bed at 8:30 p.m. and bedtime for us is 9:30 p.m. Stephanie and I would read or chat. I like to take a bubble bath, if people must know. The best Sundays for me mean finding a good balance of relaxing and being active. I feel very lucky that my family and I can do those things together.

Gregg Foreman, the founder of the influential blues-punk band the Delta 72 and a longtime collaborator with Cat Power and other acts, has died. He was 53.

News of Foreman’s death on Tuesday was confirmed by Cat Power’s label, Matador Records. No cause of death was given.

Foreman, born in Philadelphia, formed the Delta 72 in Washington, D.C., in the mid-’90s, putting a soulfully-scuzzy blues twist on the city’s post-hardcore sound of the era. Foreman was a distinctly charismatic frontman, pairing the flamboyant stage presence of his beloved ‘60s and ‘70s R&B acts with the live-wire tension of punk. The band released three albums before dissolving in 2001.

For two decades, he played in Cat Power’s backing ensemble, the Dirty Delta Blues band, and became the project’s musical director. He also collaborated with Pink Mountaintops, Suicide’s Alan Vega and Martin Rev, the Gossip, Lydia Lunch and Death Valley Girls, along with singer-songwriters Lucinda Williams and Linda Perry.

Outside of his live-band career, Foreman was a prolific DJ and a deeply knowledgeable music journalist. He most recently played on Cat Power’s “Redux,” January’s three-song EP celebrating the 20th anniversary of the band’s beloved LP “The Greatest.”

Music and cultural figures like director Jim Jarmusch, Kid Congo Powers, and Cold Cave’s Wesley Eisold mourned Foreman’s death on social media. Eisold wrote on Instagram that “Like others, he bounced in and out of our lives and changed each one he visited. For better or for worse, he lived a life that others only claim to have lived and he was one of one. His love for music was as genuine as the pain he harbored.”

The co-creators of the new Prime Video series “Kevin” tried to make the show “as personal as possible,” says Joe Wengert, explaining that he and Aubrey Plaza looked back to the end of their relationship nearly two decades ago for inspiration. Then, Wengert says, they focused on “the emotional story and investing in the inner lives” of the main characters. (Plaza’s production partner, Dan Murphy, was a third co-creator.)

And, Plaza adds, they strived to give the show a real “groundedness” in its specific New York neighborhood — Astoria, Queens, where she and Wengert lived together — while also “infusing some of my film nerdiness and love of New York films.” There’s even a rooftop scene that’s a homage to Al Pacino’s first leading film role, in “The Panic in Needle Park.”

OK, so all of that’s totally true, but “Kevin” is mostly a silly, raunchy animated series with a star-studded comedy cast about talking animals and their escapades in a life generally free of human owners.

The show opens with a couple, Dan (Mike Mitchell) and Dana (Plaza), breaking up and their cat, Kevin (Jason Schwartzman), deciding he’s done with both humans and will find his own way in the world.

“Joe and I were talking and realized we both weirdly wanted to do a cat comedy, and he had this idea and I loved it,” Plaza says, explaining that when they broke up, Kevin and another cat, Howard, passively went with Wengert. (Howard died relatively young, but, spoiler alert, Plaza says a cat named Howard will make an appearance as a tribute.)

“Joe was then doing a lot of comedy about being a single guy with cats.”

Wengert, who serves as showrunner, says the breakup was “a significant moment in my life” and he wanted to explore that, but a sad man going off to reconnect with his friends was not as funny as this concept. “The idea of this just made us laugh,” he says.

The real Kevin was a homebody, not a cat who looked longingly out the window, Wengert says, adding that he always felt bad for Kevin: “You could have been with Aubrey Plaza but you’re stuck with me in my studio apartment.”

In the series, Kevin soon lands at an animal rescue where he falls in with Cupcake (Whoopi Goldberg), a self-declared feral cat with a kinky and rebellious side; Armando (John Waters), an aristocratic cat with a haughty attitude; Judy (Aparna Nancherla), a cat with gross eye infections who is way more upbeat and hopeful about the world than she should be; and a shrill and bossy dog named Brandi (Amy Sedaris), who runs the human Seth (Gil Ozeri) — ostensibly the operator of the shelter.

After his owners break up, Kevin decides to stay at an animal shelter, where he makes friends with a rag-tag group of cats, dogs and other animals.

(Courtesy of Prime)

“This idea of fending for yourself and trusting your instincts is part of checking off boxes to show you have lived a quote unquote real life,” says Schwartzman, briefly growing philosophical about what intrigued him about playing a neurotic cat.

The cats encounter plenty of other animals on their adventures, from a drunk spider to a deer that gets hit by a car and curses out the driver. “That made me laugh out loud,” says Plaza, who also voices numerous animals, including the spider and a pitbull love interest for Cupcake. “I’ve always wanted a love story with Whoopi Goldberg,” she adds.

(Wengert voices a parrot named Paco, among others, and says there’s talk of adding a tortoise.)

One secondary character is a horse named Patti Lupony, who, naturally, is voiced by Patti LuPone. She’s part of a stacked guest star roster that includes Addison Rae, Cary Elwes, Charles Melton, Nicole Byer, Jim O’Heir, Maria Bamford, Quinta Brunson and Tig Notaro. Many of the actors, including Schwartzman, Waters, LuPone and O’Heir, are Plaza’s friends.

“I like to do things that people don’t expect me to be in, and this is definitely one of them,” says Waters, adding that “Armando is not a real fan of humans, and as a human, I’m not a real fan of cats.”

Still, Waters, who prefers dogs, says he was easily able to get into Armando’s skin. “I’m a Method actor, so I was crawling around the floor,” he jokes, before adding, “If I was a cat, I would probably act like Armando.”

For what it’s worth, Schwartzman also owns dogs, though he’s quick to point out that growing up in Los Angeles, he volunteered at a cat shelter, and these days Plaza actually owns a dog, too. But as anyone who has seen her in “Parks and Recreation” or other roles would surmise, Plaza says, “I have cat-like tendencies and relate more to cats.”

Plaza and Wengert also incorporated the actors’ sensibilities and personalities.

“We would change things on the fly based on the actor’s input,” Wengert says.

Plaza says that Waters is known for being provocative and loves reading tabloids but that he asked to tone down Armando’s snide put-downs of celebrities. “I felt ill at ease about them,” Waters says. “I’ve gotten away with my career for 50 years because I’m not mean. My specialty is praising things other people hate, not the other way around.”

Wengert says the change “forced us to dig deeper and find something more unique in the character, so I’m happy that he asked us to make the change.”

(He adds that he expected Goldberg to object more “because we gave her so many outrageous lines” but she rarely did, except “to pitch something that was even funnier that worked better.”)

Plaza knew Kevin’s neuroses fit Schwartzman but also that he could bring his own touches while improvising. “He’s really funny about his own body,” she says. “We were hanging out once and he just said, ‘Feel this, my leg is really heavy.’ So we put that in for Kevin.”

Schwartzman says, seemingly seriously, “Wow, I don’t have a memory of that exact moment, but it is true that my leg does feel heavy.” And he adds that his friendship with Plaza enabled him to feel comfortable throwing out ideas during recording, adding that the improvising and tweaking went both ways, with the writers constantly adding new ideas. “It was a collaboration and an evolution,” he says.

The writers room is stacked with people who, like Plaza and Wengert, hail from the Upright Citizens Brigade improv world. (Wengert, who also imported writers he’d worked with on Netflix’s “Big Mouth,” was running the UCB school when they met.) “Our sense of humor is very aligned,” Plaza says.

While Plaza loves how “freeing” animation is — “your imagination can run totally wild” — she says that even though it’s out of character for her, she’d play the “bad cop” in the writers room. Wengert says one day she brought Schwartzman in and he and the writers pitched some wild ideas that made them say, “What the f— is going on.”

“We’re just building the world, so you need some rules, otherwise all the inanimate objects can start talking,” Plaza says. “When things started getting too crazy, I’d say, ‘Let’s rein it in.’”

The example Wengert gives is that they can briefly have a talking pizza slice (it is New York, after all) but they don’t want it to become close friends with Kevin in a major plotline.

But if they get to produce a second season — the scripts are already written — Plaza says the leash will get looser “and it will get more insane.”

Sana* is a 27-year-old woman living with her roommate, Fatemeh, in a two-bedroom apartment in western Tehran. The economics master’s student and risk control analyst at an investment firm had already survived the June 2025 Israel-Iran war. When the latest war began in late February, she promised herself she would not run away from the city again. As told to Ariya Farahand. 

The night before the war, every piece of news arriving on my phone had two possibilities: Either they strike, or they don’t. I stayed up late, waiting. Previously, the strikes had come around midnight, so I kept watching. When nothing happened, I put on some Persian music, poured myself a drink to take the edge off, and went to bed. I told myself the night had passed without an attack.

I was wrong.

It was 9:40am on February 28 when the first missiles hit Tehran. I was caught between sleep and wakefulness in my apartment in the west of the city. My neighbourhood hadn’t been targeted yet. I hadn’t heard any explosions. I didn’t know what to expect.

My phone began chiming with text messages I couldn’t bring myself to get up and check. When it started ringing, I realised that it was urgent. It was my boyfriend, his shaky voice enquiring if I was OK. Before I could answer, he blurted out: “They struck. They attacked.”

He didn’t need to elaborate further.

Within minutes, my mother, my father and my younger sister were calling from Sari, 250 kilometres (155 miles) north in Mazandaran province, where they’re based, begging me to leave the capital. I stared at my cat, Fandogh (Hazelnut). She stared back. I made myself a promise: No matter what happens, I am not leaving Tehran.

The 12-day war last June had broken something in me. On its third day, my family’s pressure forced me out of the city. The drive to Sari was miserable, and my parents’ house was crowded; none of us found peace. This time, I refused. My boyfriend urged me to go somewhere safer. I said no.

By mid-afternoon, my roommate Fatemeh had finally made it home from work, the gridlock traffic making her typical hour-and-a-half journey take four hours. She walked in, still wearing her coat, sat down in the middle of the living room, and wept – the first explosion, she told me, had hit right near her office.

Routine

The war settled into a grim routine. We learned to anticipate strikes during certain windows: early morning, the afternoon, and after 11 at night. The bombings were never predictable enough to be safe, but those were the hours we instinctively braced. We relied on supermarket deliveries to avoid going outside. If we absolutely needed something, we made a frantic dash to the shops and rushed straight back.

The internet was another kind of suffocation. When friends who had emigrated abroad heard there was “no internet”, they assumed it meant social media was blocked. But, for most people, it was a total blackout – we couldn’t even load Google. We kept buying virtual private networks (VPNs) that would work for a day and then stop. My daily life ran on podcasts and YouTube. Now there was nothing. I downloaded foreign TV series from local servers that were still operating just to keep my mind occupied. I read. I found a copy of Baghdad Diaries (a 2003 book recounting the war in Iraq), and its mirroring of my own reality sent a chill through me. You could write a whole book, I kept thinking, about what we were living through.

March 16 was one of the worst nights of my life – though it had started gently enough.

At my friends’ urging, I had gone to a nearby cafe that evening, the first time in weeks that anything felt briefly, superficially normal. I got home about 9pm, did some light cleaning, and was asleep by 11.

At 2:30 in the morning, a massive explosion tore through the silence. The force of it jolted me upright. Fatemeh was already awake. We stumbled into the hallway, peered out the window – and then an intense flash of light flooded the apartment, followed by a blast so violent we both screamed. Still in our pyjamas, without stopping to grab our phones, we sprinted down the fire escape to the lowest level of the parking garage. Several neighbours were already there.

Seven or eight more explosions followed. They were bombing near Mehrabad airport, close to us. I genuinely thought I was going to die.

When I finally went back upstairs, my cat was hiding in the wardrobe, trembling. My family and boyfriend had been calling and texting, without response, for hours, watching the news reports about strikes near the airport and imagining the worst. Guilt washed over me for leaving my cat behind. I called everyone to say I was alive.

Attempting normality

I felt like a refugee in my own city.

The days had already been darkening before that night. One day, an oil depot was struck. I had stepped out to do some shopping at the corner of the street. I stopped and looked up. It was the middle of the day, but the sky had turned black. Pitch black. Like the end of the world.

April 4 was my first day back in the office – and the day we would find out whether our contracts were being renewed or not. When I arrived, a colleague was already standing in the hallway, termination letter in hand, crying about how she would pay her rent, how she was supposed to find work in the middle of a war. I will never forget her tears. By midday, half the staff – 18 out of 41 – had been laid off. Nobody did any work.

I kept my job. Three days later, on my commute home, the streets were nearly empty – a journey that once took more than an hour took less than 20 minutes. The only queues were at petrol stations, snaking down deserted roads, after US President Donald Trump threatened to strike Iran’s energy infrastructure and destroy our “whole civilisation”. In the lift, my neighbour stepped in, carrying two large packs of bottled water and talked anxiously about pooling money for a building generator. That night, Fatemeh went to bed early, claiming she didn’t care about any of it. She had been biting her nails all evening. She showered before bed – so that she would be clean, she told me, if the water was cut off after an attack.

When the ceasefire was announced, I couldn’t believe it. I waited for the denial that never came. When it was finally clear the war was on pause, it felt as though a 100-kilogramme weight had been lifted from my chest.

I pulled the blanket over my head, but found I still couldn’t sleep. What happens next?

The first thing I did the following morning was book an appointment to get my hair cut and my nails done. The second thing I did was buy a high-grade VPN – expensive, about $4 a gigabyte — and scroll through Instagram for the first time in weeks.

Small things. The kind that makes you feel human again.

*The names used in this article are pseudonyms chosen for security reasons

There is no such thing as a day of rest for artist Kenny Scharf, not even Sunday. “I wake up super early. It’s still dark outside,” the Los Angeles native says.

Rising before the sun anchors his active day. “I always have to keep moving,” Scharf says. “Otherwise, I’ll get very depressed.”

An avid hiker and swimmer, Scharf, 67, also maintains a disciplined yoga practice and cycles daily from his Culver City home to his Inglewood studio. There almost everything serves as a canvas, including painted trash doubling as decor and the silkscreened couch on which he’s seated.

In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.

“I don’t like to waste good paint and silkscreen ink. Why wash it? We apply it everywhere until we use it up,” Scharf says.

Scharf, who grew up in the Valley before making his way to New York City, first gained acclaim in the ‘80s East Village art scene alongside his friends and contemporaries Jean-Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring, his former roommate. The trio also befriended Andy Warhol, who predicted Scharf’s fame.

Renowned for his self-coined “pop surrealism,” Scharf often populates his bold, colorful work with grinning cartoon faces, elastic blobs, and sci-fi creatures floating through cosmic landscapes. Anxieties about overconsumption and environmental degradation lie beneath the playfulness.

Like their creator, Scharf’s works are always on the move, either rolling down the street on the cars he’s painted — featured in his recently published book “Karbombz!” — or traveling to forthcoming exhibitions in Wuhan, Tokyo and Paris.

This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.

5:30 a.m.: Wake up and feed the cats.

My cats, Cutie and Socks — one’s a tabby and the other is a tuxedo cat — wake me up by mewing and walking on me. They’re like, “Hey, I’m hungry.” So I get up and crack open the cans. They like that disgusting, smelly canned food. And then they go out into the yard.

I got the cats because I went to New York for a show. I was gone for five days and I live next to a park, so there are a lot of animals. I came back and my entire house was overrun by mice. I was like, “What the hell am I gonna do? I need cats.” The mice are gone and now I have these cats. They’re so cute and so much fun. They take over my life.

6 a.m.: Detox

I make lemon and hot water. It’s a good way to start the day and clear out the toxins. Right now, I have a lot of citrus because Ed Ruscha’s studio is across the street from my house, and in the back of the studio he has a citrus farm. I go there, especially during this time of year, and get bags of citrus. It’s like a farm community in the middle of L.A. I love L.A. because you can surround yourself with trees and gardens and kind of pretend that you’re not living in a giant metropolitan area.

8:30 a.m.: Iyengar yoga

An Iyengar yoga instructor comes to my house. I find Iyengar is great for aging. You use ropes and gravity to hang and do different things, using your body weight so you can relax into the positions. I also have a swing to go upside down on. When people walk into my living room, they go, “What’s going on here?” because of the ropes on the wall.

In the summer, I’ll go to the beach in Venice and swim in the ocean. It’s wonderful when I’m out in the water. It’s cathartic and cleansing, and sometimes I see dolphins. I’ll go early in the morning before the crowds come.

11:30 a.m.: Mar Vista Farmers’ Market

It’s fun to go there with my daughter Zena, who’s a chef, and my grandkids. We stroll around and get food. All the food stands are delicious. I grew up here in L.A., so I’m into Mexican food. I don’t really want to eat American food. I’m not into hamburgers. I want all the stuff with the culture. I like hot and spicy.

I also buy apples and berries, whatever I can’t grow, because I grow my own food at home.

And I buy stuff from an Indian man who sells Chyawanprash, which is kind of a jam. It’s really concentrated and like an elixir. He also sells Shilajit, which almost looks like tar. You put a little bit under your tongue and it dissolves, and it’s got like every single mineral in it.

2 p.m.: Painting at the studio

I’m painting seven days a week, but I really love coming here on Sundays because nobody’s here and the phone doesn’t ring. Sometimes, my granddaughter, Lua, will come. She paints. Upstairs at the studio I have a little painting area with easels for my grandkids, but my grandson, Jet, isn’t that into painting. I do my work, and Lua’s up there keeping herself busy painting, and it’s great.

Kenny Scharf in his paint-splattered studio he bikes to every day.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

5 p.m.: Hike

The easiest one is right behind my house. It goes up to the top of the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook where the [Culver City] Stairs go. It’s one of the best views in all of L.A. You can see from the airport to the ocean, downtown, Mount Baldy. You can see almost all the way to Palm Springs, Mount San Gorgonio. The view is amazing.

We also hike a lot in Kenneth Hahn [State Recreation Area].

My grandkids often like to go on a waterfall hike, so there are a couple in Malibu. There are also a couple over in the San Gabriel [Mountains]. We’ll get into the car and drive an hour and hike.

6:30 p.m.: Dinner at a restaurant

Zena, Lua and Jet live close to me, so we have dinner together at least three or four times a week. Because Zena’s a chef, we don’t go out to eat that often, but sometimes we go to a restaurant called Madre that I love. It’s on National [Boulevard]. The food is so good. They often have squash blossoms. They fry them and put a little cheese in them.

I also love Gjelina in Venice. Sometimes I take people from Europe there because it is quintessential California. All the food they make is from the farmers market, so you get a tomato salad with incredible tomatoes.

8 p.m.: Read

I just finished Patti Smith’s latest book, “Bread of Angels.” It’s beautiful. I love her. I saw her perform at Disney Hall recently, and she was selling this book. I actually saw her perform at the Santa Monica Civic [Auditorium] when I was 19. I’d been wanting to move to New York for a lot of reasons, but when I saw her performance, it was, “I’m moving there.” There was so much energy in her.

9 p.m.: Bedtime

Usually I’m in bed by 9 and asleep by 10. When I was young, I was very involved in nightlife. I was working in nightclubs, all of my friends were in nightclubs, so I lived that big time. But now I’m jaded. I don’t want to sound above it all, but I don’t see anything going on that I’m getting excited about the way it was. And I’m not a nostalgic person, so I choose not to go out. I’m happier getting a good night’s sleep.