connection

“The World Cup is ruining my life,” a neighbor recently said with a laugh. “I’m supposed to be working; instead I’m watching World Cup. I’m supposed to be doing chores; instead I am watching World Cup.”

I laughed in guilty recognition. We had met on the street by chance while I was walking the dog. Having just spent the last two hours watching, then celebrating Lionel Messi’s hat trick during Argentina’s first-game victory over Algeria, I had less than an hour to get back in time to watch Austria play Jordan.

That was on Day 6, and it’s only gotten worse. If I had to calculate my own ratio of work done to soccer watched … well, as I am not a sports reporter, I don’t think my editor would be thrilled. (Though I’m sure she appreciated the England/Congo updates I provided as I finished this piece.)

Like millions worldwide, my family and I have been deeply, and in our case, weirdly, engrossed in this year’s games. “Weirdly” because we do not follow men’s soccer. The World Cup is different, of course — going in, I figured I would check out the U.S., keep an eye on Messi, then tune into the final few games. Perhaps my husband would join (but only if he at least pretended to understand the offside rule), but with our two oldest children out of the house, it is, with the exception of the Super Bowl, unheard of for our family to concurrently view any sporting event in real time.

Until this World Cup. I’m not quite sure how it happened, but suddenly we’ve got game times written onto our calendar. Entire days have been spent in front of the TV with at least one child and the others watching from their homes, our family texts studded with “are you watching…?,” “did you just see that?” and, of course, “OMG MESSI!”

(I would attempt to calculate my recent ratio of chores done to Messi videos watched if I weren’t legitimately concerned that my family would have me committed.)

The fact that my son and his girlfriend live in Kansas City certainly helped spark our newfound fascination. Yes, Los Angeles is also a host city, but L.A. hosts so many things; inevitably we were mostly concerned about what it would do to the traffic. KC, on the other hand, is the smallest and most unlikely of the host cities, and over the last few years we have seen — on visits and through my son’s accounts — all the construction, effort and can-do spirit that has gone into preparing for the event.

We were thrilled when it was announced that Argentina, England, the Netherlands and Algeria would be based in or near KC. We wanted the city to shine, and it has — from nearby Lawrence’s enthusiastic adoption of Algeria to Messi’s historic hat trick at Kansas City Stadium.

Team USA defender Mark McKenzie, left, and Turkey midfielder Baris Alper Yilmaz in the World Cup match at Los Angeles Stadium on June 25.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

But it’s more than vicarious Midwestern pride. When our older daughter began texting out missives from the earliest games and our son sent pictures of fans streaming into Kansas City Stadium, we started watching as a way to stay connected.

First, as a family, and then to our country and the rest of world.

The games have been inevitably exciting, especially as now that they’re in the knockout round, but the overall sensation was unexpected relief, a soul-soothing balm.

At a time when the news cycle seems to serve up nothing but conflict, crisis and woe, the World Cup offers shelter, a truly international event in which conflict is defined by long-term sports rivalries and questionable referee decisions.

We want our national or preferred teams to win, of course, but no matter the outcome, it’s impossible not to be thrilled by the sight of phenomenal play, underdog tenacity and so many adoring and enthusiastic fans.

Soccer is called the beautiful game for many reasons, and hours/days/weeks of sustained beauty is impossible to resist. Even social media has surrendered to spectacular highlights along with tales of Japan supporters cleaning up stadiums, fans of the victorious consoling fans of the defeated and Europeans discovering the glories of free refills and ranch dressing.

None of this changes the realities we face in America and the rest of the world. Grocery and gas prices remain catastrophically high; Iran continues to contradict U.S. claims of diplomatic resolution to an unpopular war. The unnecessarily revamped reflecting pool in Washington remains a swamp of algae and tourist arrests, as the semiquincentennial struggles under the weight of our president’s self-centered hubris.

But for a few blessed weeks, the World Cup offers inspiration, escape and cultural healing.

It has also, thus far, escaped President Trump’s so often internationally insulting social-media notice and more importantly, his presence. Historically, the leaders of host countries attend the opening match; Trump has, apparently, been too busy (including planning and attending the UFC Freedom 250 cage match recently held on the South Lawn.)

Given his tendency to suck the oxygen out of any room (like his recent reception at Game 3 of the NBA Finals in New York), it’s definitely for the best. If nothing else, the World Cup has given us a chance to take a break from politics and talk instead about Messi, France’s Kylian Mbappé, England’s Harry Kane and all the amazing goalkeepers, including Cape Verde’s now-iconic Vozinha.

Never before have I so understood the therapeutic power of sport.

Who wouldn’t want to at least take a break from rising measles cases, the latest federal or Supreme Court decisions and primary tea-leaf readings to lose themselves in a game where exquisitely patient passing suddenly bursts into spectacular feats of speed and footwork? Where a well-defended ball can suddenly become a goal with a nearly undetectable flick of a foot, or a perfectly placed shot blocked by a goalie’s incredible ability to launch into space? Where an outcome that seems assured can be overturned in the final minutes to the collective roar of an international cast of thousands?

Vozinha of Cape Verde makes a save during the World Cup match between Spain and Cape Verde at Atlanta Stadium on June 15.

(Justin Setterfield / Getty Images)

Like many Americans, I have been occasionally embarrassed by the World Cup’s exposure of my world-geography ignorance — I know where Bosnia and Herzegovina lies on a map, but until recently, I couldn’t place Cape Verde, Curacao or, if I’m being completely honest, Cote d’Ivoire.

Isn’t it wonderful, though, to have a reason to reacquaint yourself with a world map that isn’t related to war, natural or man-made disaster or economic and political tension? The current U.S. administration may seem to be at odds with just about everyone, but visiting World Cup fans are here to remind us of all we share, beneath our crazy wigs and face paint, our cheers, groans and chants.

And we, as hosts, have shown them that America is so much more than the sum of our current government’s policies and posturing.

Watching all this happen, in real time, has been magical, miraculous and magnetic.

Not every moment, of course. Various visa issues created unnecessary and embarrassing drama; high ticket prices and transportation issues were blamed for empty seats at some of the early games. Members of the Iranian team and its coaching staff criticized the way they were treated (though the team left a handwritten note in the dressing room of Los Angeles Stadium, thanking L.A. for its hospitality). The controversial hydration breaks, and the extra commercials they accommodate, can be irritating (though when it’s close to 100 degrees in many stadiums, quite necessary). And though it didn’t matter in terms of standing, watching the U.S. lose to Turkey wasn’t much fun for American fans (though the Turkish exuberance was pretty infectious).

Overall, the 2026 World Cup has done exactly what it was supposed to do: create, in this country, a stage for the finest teams and players in the world’s most popular sport and, more important, carve out five weeks in which we can all spend a few hours removed from the political and cultural divisiveness that threatens to define us.

It’s space in which we can cheer, gasp and leap out of seats along with our families, friends and all the millions we will never meet but to whom we are connected all the same.

Now if you’ll excuse me, the next game is about to start.

Glaciers aren’t stationary. Immense and imposing, formed through the downward trajectory of water from mountains as it collects and freezes, they have always moved. Now, however, they’re leaving. The demise of glaciers is a fact inherent in all the bad news about the effects of climate change on what once seemed permanent. But for Icelanders, whose connection to glaciers is ancient and mythic, our human epoch has become an extended hospice for the landscape of their lives.

Somehow, though, Sara Dosa’s documentary on this matter, “Time and Water,” avoids playing like a funeral in waiting. Built around Icelandic writer Andri Snær Magnason’s voiced lamentations on a vanishing frozen world, along with archival footage of his family, it’s no simple howl of grief, even when it takes us to a publicly held memorial in 2019 for Iceland’s Ok glacier, the first such “death” diagnosis in the country’s history. Rather, Dosa’s film is a meditation on change — both the kind that we accept with a heavy heart and something more general. “Time and Water” is a curiously vibrant elegy, teeming with appreciation for the intimate majesty that is all life, generational and geologic.

Dosa has finessed this emotional-meets-elemental space before in her Academy Award-nominated 2022 documentary “Fire of Love,” about married volcanologists Katia and Maurice Krafft. That was a wonderfully eccentric romance forged in molten lava. Here, she’s in a collaboration of sorts with her subjects, both human and elemental. Magnason’s opening narration over spectacular footage of glaciers — up close and from far away — gently informs us that we’re watching a time capsule, one where the bonds of family and environment are intertwined.

We learn how Iceland’s glaciers, essentially rivers of varying pace, begat their unique ecosystems, but also how they provided the breathtaking terrain upon which Magnason’s grandparents Hulda and Árni fell in love. (Grandma Hulda was the first woman to fly in Iceland, itself a very cool fact.) The onset of dementia in Árni spurs his grandson to consider what’s lost when the markers of memory depart. “Time and Water” touches on the epic verse called rimurs, passed down via chanted song by Icelandic women, their descriptive, sorrowful tales like dispatches from previous ages.

“Tone poem” is an overused term in cinema, but the humbling “Time and Water,” graced with a playful, atmospheric Dan Deacon score, earns that distinction. Naturally, it helps that you can never tire of all the air-crisped glacier imagery, captured digitally and in 16mm. Folded into the cozy slide-show vibe of Magnason’s home videos and the carefully chosen archival footage, the movie plays like a scrapbook portrait in which home just happens to boast the grandest of backyards.

How much longer will Icelanders enjoy it? The glaciers are predicted to be gone within 200 years. That’s an eternity or a drip, depending on whose survival we’re talking about. Still, “Time and Water” collapses the notion that we are somehow separate from these ancient, essential formations: an encouraging hello to the future from inside a sobering goodbye.

On a Thursday night in West Hollywood, a sleek, multi-level townhome is filled with stylish guests holding fragrance vials the way partygoers cling to cocktails. They raise scents to their noses as they mingle and float through the space.

In one nook, two well-known faces in the fragrance community, Tishni Weerasinghe (@thatbrownperfumegirl) and Chase Chapman (@thescentchase), host stations with their favorite home scents — pre-bedtime spritzes to everyday comforts for working from home — as a small group leans in, asking questions and noting which scents resonate. Inhaling the blend of white musk, floral notes and amber of Rouat Al Musk by Lattafa, a $16 fragrance from Weerasinghe’s collection, attendees oooh and nod in enthusiastic approval.

In another corner, guests try fragrance pairings, scents expertly paired with drinks, letting the aroma and flavors mingle through their senses. Outside on the rooftop, the crowd spills into smaller conversations over refreshments and city views.

Sarah Bowen, co-founder of the Smellers Club, sniffs a fragrance.

This is the Smellers Club. To an outsider, it might seem like a gathering centered around a niche fixation, but within this world, fragrance is much more expansive. Here, it’s a bridge between people, a tool for self-expression, a way to understand your own taste and increasingly, a reason to connect. The night’s gathering is taking place in the home of Daniel Scott and Ronn Richardson, the duo behind the fine home fragrance line Space.

Some guests are simply scent-curious, while others have deep roots in the world of fragrance. One attendee, Jess Blaise, the co-founder of Haitian Spotlight LA, credits her Haitian heritage and the fragrance rituals modeled by her mother for her connection to scent. She recently purchased a bottle of Carnal Flower by Frederic Malle for her personal collection, a luxe tuberose known for its white floral profile and appeal among niche collectors. Of her culture, she explains, “Part of your presentation — of dressing up — is your scent.”

The gathering was hosted in the home of Daniel Scott, left, and Ronn Richardson, co-founders of the home fragrance brand Space. Space offers a range of luxury home fragrances and candles.

Across Los Angeles, fragrance clubs are transforming what was once a solo ritual into something communal. From rooftop gatherings in West Hollywood to casual park meetups further east, these hangouts tap into a growing desire for laid-back, low-stimulation ways to spend time together, offering an alternative to the usual rotation of restaurants, bars and crowded nights out.

Reverie of Scent turns a small nook of Elysian Park into a mini fragrance lounge on Saturday mornings once a month. Founded in November 2025 by Marian Botrous, with support from her husband, Errol, and her sister, Marlene, the club started with just four members at the first meetup. By their sixth gathering this past April, attendance had quintupled, with a mix of regulars and newcomers at every session.

“It’s a huge world,” Botrous says of perfume. “Exploring it together makes it more interesting.”

Fragrance lovers hang out on the rooftop at Smellers Club’s West Hollywood gathering.

At her picnic-like gatherings, attendees show up with blankets, snacks and scents to swap or discuss. With 2-milliliter samples running up to $12, “collecting new scents gets expensive fast,” Bostrous says. “Our meetups make it accessible and fun.”

There’s a mix of casual socializing and structured discussion — conversations have explored the motivations behind wearing fragrance, from seduction to personal comfort, as well as the cultural impact of certain perfumes, like Chanel No. 5 and its connection to Marilyn Monroe and old-school luxury glamour. At one meetup, a member brought in a fragrance called Scentless Apprentice, inspired by the novel “Perfume: The Story of a Murderer” by Patrick Süskind (which Kurt Cobain loved so much that he wrote the Nirvana song “Scentless Apprentice”).

Artist Megan Lindeman, who founded Silverlake Scent Club in August 2025, is also bringing people together to explore scent as a shared social experience. Lindeman says she was inspired by Los Angeles’ broader scent culture and a curiosity about what it would feel like to center smell in a communal setting. The group meets monthly in her Silver Lake backyard, where attendees explore fragrance as both material and memory.

Black Girl Perfume Club was founded in 2023 by Taylyn Washington-Harmon, launching online before expanding into in-person meetups. Across Substack, Instagram and IRL gatherings, it brings together fragrance lovers and newcomers eager to deepen their understanding in an interactive way. “I started the club back when fragrance’s popularity was still pretty niche, and now seeing it move into the mainstream is really exciting,” says Washington-Harmon. As interest grows, she hopes more people will also explore the range of artistry produced by Black-owned fragrance lines.

Back at the house in West Hollywood, people continue to vibe at the event led by Sarah Bowens and Jon Kidd, Los Angeles natives and the duo behind the Smellers Club, launched in January. They’re siblings-in-law who grew up together in the church and are quick to note that their respective partners, Zana and Zion, are unofficial team members and rock-star supporters.

Jess Blaise tests out a scent by Selnu.

Between the both of them, Kidd brings the “fraghead” energy — a name for fragrance devotees who bring a passion and certain fluency of fragrance culture. Bowens, who comes from an events background, heads curation and considers herself more in the beginning stages of her fragrance journey.

When they first started hosting these events, Bowens wasn’t sure how captivating they’d be. “I was like, can people really sit here for hours and talk about fragrance?” she says. She got her answer quickly, watching guests chat, laugh and dive into lively conversations for hours.

Kidd points to wine and book clubs as “event muses” for the Smellers Club. “At a certain point, it stops being about the books or the wine — and for us, even the fragrances,” he says. “It becomes about the people.”

Chase Chapman sets up scents from his personal collection of fragrances for guests to discover at the Smellers Club gathering.

As people navigate adulthood and personal growth cycles, challenging habits and shedding old identities, there are a few underlying questions: Who am I, really? What do I actually like? And what feels good and in alignment with being at ease? Fragrance communities can be a surprisingly grounding place to explore these existential meditations. Bowens, for example, was recently drawn to strawberry-forward Fruits of Love by Dossier, which surprised her since she considered herself someone who didn’t like fruity scents. Such realizations are familiar in the community: You can miss out on something satisfying simply because it doesn’t match your predefined tastes.

Farah Elawamry, a fragrance-focused content creator known as Farah’s Thoughts, has examined fragrance marketing and its ties to rigid gender norms, explaining that “the iris note is always given to women’s fragrances and orris is always given to the masculine fragrance genre, and they’re literally the same note — one is the root, one is the flower.” Once you start diving into the history and psychology of fragrances, she says “you begin to question what you actually like versus what marketing people are telling you to enjoy.”

Compared with the typical nightlife scene in Los Angeles, attendee Shaunt Kludjian says gatherings like these feel more intentional. “This turned out to be better than the clubs in L.A.” he says. “Everyone’s just vibing and connecting over scent.” Kludjian is founder of the Los Angeles candle company Whiff and came to the event to network. Frustrated by traditional candle formats, he launched a line of portable candles packaged in small, tuna-like tins designed to make “home follow you wherever you go.”

As Kidd looks around and watches strangers become friends over a sniff of musk or jasmine, he reflects on part of the magic of the Smellers Club and other fragrance communities.

“Fragrance is a portal to your memory,” he says. “So by coming to something curated that’s a wonderful night, you’re ingraining a memory.”

What started as a question of what smells good has become something else — small moments of recognition between many people who, just hours earlier, had been total strangers. Maybe that’s the point. The bottles will get put away. Everyone will return to their separate corners of the city. But the feeling of being seen, of finding your people — even briefly — sticks with you long after the scents dissipate.

The internet’s most controversial looksmaxxer is in hot water again.

Clavicular, born Braden Eric Peters, has been charged in Florida’s Miami-Dade County in connection with a video that circulated on social media showing an alligator, which appeared to be dead already, being shot repeatedly in the Everglades. Two others are also facing charges in connection with the incident: Andrew Morales, 22, known online by the moniker “Cuban Tarzan,” and Yabdiel Anibal Cotto Torres, 26, who goes by “Baby Alien.”

Peters is facing a misdemeanor charge of unlawfully discharging a firearm in a public place, according to court records obtained by The Times. The Miami-Dade state attorney’s office filed the charges April 29.

Steven Kramer and Jeffrey Neiman, attorneys for Peters, told The Times in a text message, “Our client has been summoned to appear for a misdemeanor charge that stems from following the instructions of a licensed airboat guide. He relied on that guidance. No animals or people were harmed. We are confident that once the full picture is understood, people will see this for what it is.”

The shooting took place at the Everglades and Francis S. Taylor Wildlife Management Area boat ramp dock on or about March 26, court records said. The video shows the men aboard an airboat firing at the alligator more than a dozen times.

“Yeah, it’s definitely dead,” Peters is heard saying after firing.

Shortly after the video went live on social media, the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission announced it had launched an investigation into the incident.

“Florida’s wildlife and waterways deserve respect, not content farming,” Lt. Gov. Jay Collins said March 26 on X. “Under my watch, anyone who abuses wildlife in Florida will be held accountable to the fullest extent of the law.”

Morales’ attorney Richard Cooper emailed The Times a statement Wednesday. “We urge the public not to rush to judgment. Importantly, there is no allegation that any animal was injured, and the available evidence does not support the sensationalized narrative that has circulated online,” the statement read. “My client relied on information and guidance provided by those in authority and had no criminal intent.”

An arraignment has been scheduled for May 20.

The face of “looksmaxxing,” a subculture hyperfocused on taking extreme measures to perfect one’s physical appearance, Peters has admitted in interviews that he uses appetite-supressing and performance-enhancing drugs, as well as recreational party drugs, and has said he chisels his face by smashing his bones with a hammer.

The same week Peters’ alligator video caught the authorities’ attention, the manosphere influencer was arrested on suspicion of misdemeanor battery. He was taken into custody on a warrant issued by the Osceola County Sheriff’s Office and released soon after on bond. Police allege that in February the 20-year-old internet celebrity instigated a fight between his girlfriend, Violet Lentz, 24, and a 19-year-old influencer at a Kissimmee, Fla., short-term rental. That incident was also live streamed to his hundreds of thousands of followers.

Then in April, Peters was live streaming from a Miami nightclub when he appeared to overdose on camera. In the video, Peters is seen taking a swig of an unknown substance and then subsequently starting to mumble, sway and close his eyes as the camera panned away.

TMZ obtained the audio from a 911 call alerting emergency services to the possible overdose of a 20-year-old man. Additional videos, taken by bystanders, showed Peters being carried out of the nightclub.

A source close to Peters told The Times that he was hospitalized for the overdose and checked himself out the following morning. Within hours of his release from the hospital, he was back on streaming platform Kick and telling his followers he would be out at a nightclub that night to promote its grand opening.

WASHINGTON — Amid growing national security concerns, the FBI said Tuesday that it has launched a broad investigation in the deaths or disappearances of at least 10 scientists and staff connected to highly sensitive research, including four from the Los Angeles area.

“The FBI is spearheading the effort to look for connections into the missing and deceased scientists. We are working with the Department of Energy, Department of War, and with our state and state and local law enforcement partners to find answers,” the agency said in a statement.

The FBI’s announcement comes after the House Oversight Committee announced that it would investigate reports of the disappearance and deaths of the scientists, sending letters seeking information from the agencies involved in the federal inquiry as well as NASA, which owns the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in La Cañada Flintridge, where three of the missing or dead scientists worked.

“If the reports are accurate, these deaths and disappearances may represent a grave threat to U.S. national security and to U.S. personnel with access to scientific secrets,” Reps. James Comer (R-Ky.), chairman of the committee, and Eric Burlison (R-Mo.) wrote in the letters.

President Trump told reporters last week that he had been briefed on the missing and dead scientists, which he described as “pretty serious stuff.” He said at the time that he expected answers on whether the deaths were connected “in the next week and a half.”

Michael David Hicks, who studied comets and asteroids at JPL, was the first of the scientists who disappeared or died. He died on July 30, 2023, at the age of 59. No cause of death was disclosed.

A year later, JPL physicist Frank Maiwald died at 61, with no cause of death disclosed.

Two other Los Angeles scientists are part of the string of deaths and disappearances.

On June 22, 2025, Monica Jacinto Reza, a materials scientist at JPL, disappeared while on a hike near Mt. Waterman in the San Gabriel Mountains.

On Feb. 16, Caltech astrophysicist Carl Grillmair was fatally shot on the porch of his Llano home. The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s department arrested Freddy Snyder, 29, in connection with the shooting. Snyder had been arrested in December on suspicion of trespassing on Grillmair’s property.

Snyder has been charged with murder.

There is no evidence at this point that the deaths and disappearances, which occurred over a span of four years, are connected.

A spokesperson for NASA, which owns JPL, said in a statement on X that the agency is “coordinating and cooperating with the relevant agencies in relation to the missing scientists.

“At this time, nothing related to NASA indicates a national security threat,” agency spokesperson Bethany Stevens wrote. “The agency is committed to transparency and will provide more information as able.”

Representatives from Caltech did not immediately respond to a request for comment.