friend

Dominic Perfetti is a 6-foot-7 starting basketball player for St. John Bosco. Even more impressive is that he’s one of the top high school lacrosse players in the nation and has committed to Syracuse.

He became interested in lacrosse when a friend gave him a stick when he was 6 years old. He started fooling around with it and has been playing lacrosse ever since. He got so good that top programs on the East Coast reached out. And he’s been playing for a club team, too.

He’s so tall as a defender that it makes him a unique player.

“I might be the tallest lacrosse player in history,” Perfetti joked.

His size, combined with 6-9 Christian Collins and 7-1 Howie Wu, gives St. John Bosco a formidable trio in basketball. If his team is busy in the basketball playoffs, he’ll also try to play lacrosse simultaneously for the Braves.

He’ll gladly demonstrate his shooting ability in lacrosse if anyone presents him with a stick and ball. And he can dunk, too.

This is a daily look at the positive happenings in high school sports. To submit any news, please email [email protected].

When Nancy Pelosi first ran for Congress, she was one of 14 candidates, the front-runner and a target.

At the time, Pelosi was little known to San Francisco voters. But she was already a fixture in national politics. She was a major Democratic fundraiser, who helped lure the party’s 1984 national convention to her adopted home town. She served as head of California’s Democratic Party and hosted a salon that was a must-stop for any politician passing through.

She was the chosen successor of Rep. Sala Burton, a short-timer who took over the House seat held for decades by her late husband, Philip, and who delivered a personal benediction from her deathbed.

But at age 49, Pelosi had never held public office — she was too busy raising five kids, on top of all that political moving and shaking — and opponents made light of role as hostess. “The party girl for the party,” they dubbed her, a taunt that blared from billboards around town.

She obviously showed them.

Pelosi not only made history, becoming the nation’s first female speaker of the House. She became the party’s spine and its sinew, holding together the Democrat’s many warring factions and standing firm at times the more timorous were prepared to back down.

The Affordable Care Act — President Obama’s signature achievement — would never have passed if Pelosi had not insisted on pressing on when many, including some in the White House, wished to surrender.

She played a significant role in twice helping rescue the country from economic collapse — the first time in 2009 amid the Great Recession, then in 2020 during the shutdown caused by the COVID-19 pandemic — mustering recalcitrant Democrats to ensure House passage.

“She will go down in history as one of the most important speakers,” James Thurber, a congressional expert at Washington’s American University, said. “She knew the rules, she knew the process, she knew the personalities of the key players, and she knew how to work the system.”

Pelosi’s announcement Thursday that she will not seek reelection — at age 85, after 38 years in Congress — came as no surprise. She saw firsthand the ravages that consumed her friend and former neighbor, Dianne Feinstein. (Pelosi’s eldest daughter, Nancy, was a last caretaker for the late senator.)

She was not about to repeat that final, sad act.

Pelosi, who was first elected in 1987, once said she never expected to serve in Congress more than 10 years. She recalled seeing a geriatric House member hobbling on a cane and telling a colleague, “It’s never going to be me. I’m not staying around that long.”

(She never used a cane, but did give up her trademark stiletto heels for a time after suffering a fall last December and undergoing hip replacement surgery.)

Pelosi had intended to retire sooner, anticipating Hillary Clinton would be elected president in 2016 and seeing that as a logical, and fitting, end point to her trailblazing political career. “I have things to do. Books to write; places to go; grandchildren, first and foremost, to love,” she said in a 2018 interview.

However, she was determined to stymie President Trump in his first term and stuck around, emerging as one of his chief nemeses. After Joe Biden was elected, Pelosi finally yielded the speaker’s gavel in November 2022.

But she remained a substantive figure, still wielding enormous power behind the scenes. Among other quiet maneuvers, she was instrumental in helping ease aside Biden after his disastrous debate performance sent Democrats into a panic. He was a personal friend, and long-ago guest at her political salon, but Pelosi anticipated a down-ticket disaster if Biden remained the party’s nominee. So, in her estimation, he had to go.

It was the kind of ruthlessness that gave Pelosi great pride; she boasted of a reptilian cold-bloodedness and, indeed, though she shared the liberal leanings of her hometown, Pelosi was no ideologue. That’s what made her a superb deal-maker and legislative tactician, along with the personal touch she brought to her leadership.

“She had a will of steel, but she also had a lot of grace and warmth,” said Thurber, “and that’s not always the case with speakers.”

History-making aside, Pelosi left an enduring mark on San Francisco, the place she moved to from Baltimore as a young mother with her husband, Paul, a financier and real estate investor. She brought home billions of dollars for earthquake safety, re-purposing old military facilities — the former Presidio Army base is a spectacular park — funding AIDS research and treatment, expanding public transit and countless other programs.

Her work in the 1980s and 1990s on AIDS funding was crucial in helping move discussion of the disease from the shadows — where it was viewed as a plague that mainly struck gay men and drug users — to a pressing national concern.

In the process, she become a San Francisco institution, as venerated as the Golden Gate Bridge and beloved as the city’s tangy sourdough bread.

“She’s an icon,” said Aaron Peskin, a former San Francisco County supervisor and 2024 candidate for mayor. “She walks into a room, people left, right and center, old, young, white, Black, Chinese stand on their feet. She’s one of the greatest speakers we have ever had and this town understands that.”

Pelosi grew up in Baltimore in a political family. He father, Tommy D’Alesandro, was a Democratic New Deal congressman, who went on to serve three terms as mayor. “Little Nancy” stuffed envelopes — as her own children would — passed out ballots and often traveled by her father’s side to campaign events. (D’Alesandro went on to serve three terms as mayor; Pelosi’s brother, Tommy III, held the job for a single term.)

David Axelrod, who saw Pelosi up close while serving as a top aide in the Obama White House, said he once asked her what she learned growing up in such a political household. “She didn’t skip a beat,” Axelrod said. “She said, ‘I learned how to count.’ ”

Meaning when to call the roll on a key legislative vote and when to cut her losses in the face of inevitable defeat.

Pelosi is still so popular in San Francisco she could well have eked out yet another reelection victory in 2026, despite facing the first serious challenge since that first run for Congress. But the campaign would have been brutal and potentially quite ugly.

More than just about anyone, Pelosi knows how to read a political situation with dispassion, detachment and cold-eyed calculation.

She knew it was time.

On an overcast morning in September, Hector Alessandro Negrete left his beloved Los Angeles — the city he was brought to at 3 months old — and headed down Interstate 5 to Mexico, the only country where he held a passport.

It was a place that, to him, had “always felt like both a wound and a possibility.”

Negrete, 43, sat in the passenger seat as a friend steered the car south and two more friends in another car followed. He had condensed his life to three full suitcases and his dachshund mix, Lorca.

They pulled over at the beach in San Clemente. Angel Martinez, his soon-to-be former roommate, is deeply spiritual, and his favorite prayer spot is the ocean, so he prayed that Negrete would be blessed and protected — and Lorca too — as they began a new stage in their lives.

On the near-empty beach, the friends embraced and wiped away tears. Martinez handed Negrete a small watermelon.

As instructed, Negrete walked to the edge of the water, said his own prayer and, as a gift of thanks to the cosmos, plopped it into a crashing wave.

Negrete, holding a drink, embraces his friend Angel Martinez as they visit a drag club in Tijuana after leaving Los Angeles a day earlier.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Negrete doesn’t call it self-deportation.

“Self-repatriation,” he said. “I refuse to use this administration’s language.”

President Trump had been in office just over a month when Negrete decided he would return to Mexico. Methodical by nature, he approached the decision like any other — by researching, organizing and planning.

Negrete secured three forms of Mexican identification: his voter credential, a renewed passport and a card akin to a Social Security ID.

He registered Lorca as an emotional support animal, paid for a vaccine card and a certificate of good health, and crate-trained her in a TSA-approved carrier.

He announced his decision to leave in June on his Substack newsletter: “If you’re thinking, ‘Alessandro’s giving up,’ look deeper. I am choosing freedom. For the first time, I feel unshackled from the expectations of waiting.”

Negrete walks the streets of Boyle Heights while shopping for moving supplies after deciding he would leave the U.S. on his own terms.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Negrete had grown tired of wishing for immigration reform. He had built his career advocating for immigrants such as himself, including stints as statewide coordinator for the Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund, or MALDEF, and as executive director for the California Immigrant Youth Justice Alliance.

He said his work had helped legalize street vending in Los Angeles and he assisted the office of then-California Atty. Gen. Kamala Harris in securing the release of a young woman from immigration detention. He was the first openly undocumented and LGBTQ+ person on the Boyle Heights Neighborhood Council.

Under previous administrations, Negrete’s political work had felt like a shield against deportation. Even during Trump’s first term, Negrete had marched at rallies denouncing his immigration policies.

But that was before the new Immigration and Customs Enforcement patrols that tore into Southern California during Trump’s second term. On June 6, as anti-ICE protesters took to the streets, Negrete rushed to downtown Los Angeles when fellow activists told him street medics were needed.

“One of my homies said, ‘Hey fool, what are you doing here?’” he recalled. Seeing Los Angeles police officers advancing on the crowd, he realized that no amount of public support could protect him.

He fled. “Thank God I left.”

Negrete, in red, with his friends and colleagues at a farewell party and yard sale in August.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

In mid-August, Negrete hosted a yard sale and going away party. The flier was tongue-in-cheek: “Everything must go! Including me!”

His red T-shirt stated plainly, “I AM UNDOCUMENTED,” and his aviator sunglasses hid the occasional tears. Tattoos dotted his extremities, including an anchor on his right leg with the words “I refuse to sink.”

“I think it hit me when I started packing my stuff today,” he told a former colleague, Shruti Garg, who had arrived early.

“But the way you’ve invited everyone to join you is so beautiful,” she replied.

One table held American pop-culture knickknacks — sippy cups with Ghostface from the movie “Scream,” collectible Mickey Mouse ears, a Detective Batman purse shaped like a comic book, another purse shaped like the locker from the ‘90s cartoon “Daria.”

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Negrete said the items reminded him of his youth and represented the gothic, quirky aspects of his personality.

“I was born in Mexico, but I don’t know Mexico,” he said. “So I’m leaving the American parts of me that are no longer going to serve me.”

The back yard slowly filled with loved ones from Negrete’s various social circles. There was his mostly queer softball team — the Peacocks — his running group, his chosen family and his blood family.

Negrete’s close friend Joel Menjivar looked solemn.

“I’m scared it’s going to start a movement,” he said. “Undocumented or DACA friends who are talented and integral to the fabric of L.A. might get ideas to leave.”

Another friend, Mario Mariscal, said he took Negrete’s decision the hardest, though at first he didn’t believe Negrete was serious. More than once he asked, “You really want to give up everything you’ve built here for a new start in Mexico?”

Eventually, Negrete had to tell Mariscal that his questions weren’t helpful. During a deeper conversation about his decision, Negrete shared that he was tired of living with the constant fear of getting picked up, herded into an unmarked van and taken away.

“I just kept telling him, ‘That’s not going to happen to you,’” Mariscal said. “But the more this administration keeps doing it, the more it’s in our face, the more we’re seeing every horror story about that, it became clear that, you know what, you do have a point. You do have to do what’s right for you.”

Negrete continues packing for his move to Mexico as roommate Martinez works at their Boyle Heights home.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Negrete is cognizant of the privilege that makes his departure different from that of many other immigrants. He is white-passing, fluent in Spanish and English, and moved with $10,000 in savings.

In June, he was hired as executive director of a U.S.-based nonprofit, Old School Hub, that works to combat ageism around the world. The role allowed him to live wherever he wanted.

He decided to settle in Guadalajara, a growing technology hub, with historic buildings featuring Gothic architecture that he found beautiful. It also helped that Guadalajara has one of the country’s most vibrant LGBTQ+ scenes and is a four-hour drive from Puerto Vallarta, a renowned queer resort destination.

As Negrete began his new job while still in L.A., he picked a moving date — Sept. 4 — and booked a two-week Airbnb near the baseball stadium.

That Guadalajara’s team, the Charros de Jalisco, wore Dodger blue felt like a good omen.

On the day he left the United States, Negrete and Martinez hold a prayer at the beach in San Clemente in which Negrete offers thanks to the universe with an offering of a watermelon.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

On the drive toward the border, messages poured into Negrete’s phone.

“I’m sending you all my love Alessandro,” one read. “Cuídate. [Take care.] Know that even though you’re far away from home, you carry us with you.”

“Todo te va a salir bien,” read another. Everything will go well for you, it said. “Spread your wings and flyyyyy.”

Afraid of being stopped and detained at the airport, as has happened to other immigrants attempting to leave the country, Negrete preferred to drive to Tijuana and then fly to Guadalajara.

Negrete’s driver, his friend Jorge Leonardo, turned into a parking lot at the sign reading “LAST USA EXIT.”

Negrete put on his black felt tejana hat and called Iris Rodriguez, who was in the companion car. He asked her to cross on foot with him.

Negrete walks his last few steps on American soil as he enters Mexico en route to Guadalajara, his new home.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

“I don’t want to go alone,” he said.

“We’re still on American soil,” Leonardo said. “You can still change your mind.”

Negrete ignored him.

“See y’all on the other side,” he said as he hopped out of the car.

He and Rodriguez stopped for photos in front of a sign with an arrow pointing “To Mexico.” Around a corner, the border came into full view — a metal turnstile with layers of concertina wire above it.

The line for Mexicanos was unceremoniously quick. The immigration agent barely glanced at Negrete’s passport before waving him through.

On the other side, a busker sang “Piano Man” by Billy Joel in perfect English.

“Welcome to the motherland,” Rodriguez told him. Negrete let out a deep breath.

Negrete tours downtown Guadalajara, where he now lives.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Negrete’s immediate family members, and almost all of his extended family, live in the U.S.

He was born in Manzanillo, Colima, in 1982. Three months later, the family relocated to Los Angeles, where his parents had two more children.

At 17, Negrete was one of two students in his graduating class at Roosevelt High School to get into UC Berkeley. That’s when he found out he didn’t have papers.

His parents had divorced and his father married a U.S. citizen, obtaining a green card when Negrete was at Roosevelt. They began the legalization process for Negrete in 1999, he said, but two years later he came out to his family as gay.

His father was unsupportive and refused to continue seeking to adjust his immigration status. By the time they mended their relationship, it was too late. Negrete had aged out of the pathway at 21.

In 2008, Negrete said, he was arrested for driving while under the influence of alcohol. Four years later, President Obama established the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, program to protect immigrants who were brought to the U.S. as children. Negrete failed to qualify because of the DUI.

He said he got his record expunged in 2016, but — again — it was too late.

The following year, Trump began unwinding DACA, shutting out new generations of would-be recipients, including Negrete.

Negrete waited until his last night in the U.S. to tell his mother, who now lives in Colorado, that he was leaving. He had grown tired of friends and other family members begging him to change his mind.

He had partially hinged his decision on the fact that his mom was in remission from her third bout with cancer and had just obtained legal residency. With life more stable for her, he could finally seek stability for himself.

“You taught me to dream,” Negrete recalled telling her. “This is me dreaming. I want to see the world.”

She cried and scolded him, promising to visit and repeating what she had said when he came out to her all those years before: “I wish you told me sooner.”

At a hotel in Tijuana, Negrete’s emotions finally caught up with him.

The day after Negrete and his three friends left L.A., three more friends surprised him by arriving in Tijuana for a final Friday night out together. One of them presented a gift he had put together with help from Negrete’s entire social circle — a video with loved ones sharing messages of encouragement.

Negrete shares a tearful moment with his friend Joel Menjivar, who gifted him a self-produced video of friends and colleagues offering good wishes.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

In Negrete’s hotel room, as he and his friends watched, the mood grew sentimental.

“You’re basically the one that formed the family friend tree,” one friend said in her clip. “Friendships do not die out in distance.”

Negrete sobbed. “Yes! Friendships don’t have borders,” he said.

“Every single one of you has said this hasn’t hit y’all, like it’s a mini vacation,” he said. “I want to think of it as an extended vacation.”

“This isn’t goodbye, this is we’ll see each other soon,” he continued.

Off his soapbox, Negrete then chided his friends for making him cry before heading to a drag show.

Negrete had a habit of leaving social gatherings abruptly. His friends joked that they would refer to him as “catch me on the 101” because every time he disappeared during a night out, they would open Apple’s Find My app and see him on the freeway heading home.

“We’re not gonna catch him on the 101 no more,” Martinez said.

The last few flights of stairs lead Iris Rodriguez and Negrete to his Airbnb apartment in Guadalajara.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

On the flight to Guadalajara, Negrete’s heart raced and he began to hyperventilate. The anxiety attack caught him off guard.

Negrete had worked hard to show his friends and family that he was happy, because he didn’t want them to think he had doubts — and he had none. But he began to worry about the unknown and to mourn his former dreams of gaining legal status and running for public office.

“It hit me all at once,” he recounted. “I am three hours away from a whole new life that I don’t know. I left everything and I don’t know what’s next.”

Many deep breaths by Negrete later, the plane descended through the clouds, revealing vibrant green fields and a cantaloupe-hued sunset.

Negrete tests the bed at his temporary home in Guadalajara.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Inside the Airbnb, he was surprised to find a clothesline instead of a dryer. Noticing the blue 5-gallon jug of water in the kitchen, he remarked that he would have to remember tap water wasn’t safe to cook with. But alongside the new was something familiar: The view from his 11–story apartment showed off a sprawling metropolis dotted with trees, some of them palms.

The next day started off like any Sunday, with a trip to Walmart and drag brunch.

Negrete marveled at the cost of a large carton of egg whites ($1) and was shocked to see eggs stored at room temperature, liquid laundry detergent in bags and only single-ply toilet paper. He treated himself to a Darth Vader coffee mug and a teapot featuring characters from “The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

After brunch, it was time to play tourist. Negrete was accompanied by Rodriguez, who stayed with him for the first two weeks, and a new friend, Alejandro Preciado, whom he had met at Coachella in April and happened to be a Guadajalara local.

Negrete tours downtown Guadalajara. He was drawn to the city, in part, by its Gothic architecture.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Their first stop was the city’s Spanish Renaissance cathedral, where Negrete said a quick prayer to the Virgin Mary at his mother’s request. Negrete treated his friends to an electric carriage ride around the historic buildings, where he excitedly pointed out the Gothic architecture, then they bought aguas frescas and walked through an open-air market, chatting in an English-heavy Spanglish.

“I’m trying to look at how people dress,” Negrete said, suddenly self-conscious about his short shorts. “I’m pretty sure I stand out.”

After dinner, Negrete was booking an Uber back to his Airbnb when a message popped up: “We’ve detected unusual activity.”

The app didn’t know he had moved.

Before he arrived in Guadalajara, Negrete had already joined an intramural baseball team and a running club. Practices began days after his arrival.

Negrete enjoys a view of the sprawling hills of Guadalajara.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Within a month, he moved into an apartment, visited Mexico City and reconnected with aunts in Mexico City and Guadalajara he hadn’t seen in decades.

He reflected on the small joys of greeting neighborhood señoras on morning dog walks, discovering the depths of Mexican cuisine and the peace of mind that came with no longer feeling like a target — though he’ll still freeze at the sight of police lights.

Still, Negrete remained glued to U.S. politics. In late September, the federal government detailed plans to begin processing initial DACA applications for the first time in four years. Had Negrete stayed in the U.S., he would have finally qualified for a reprieve.

He isn’t regretful.

Lorca greets Negrete as he arrives home after touring Guadalajara.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

His new dreams are wide-ranging. He wants to buy a house in Rosarito, where friends and family from L.A. could visit him. He wants to travel the world, starting with a trip to Spain. And he wants to help U.S. organizations build resources for other immigrants who are considering repatriating.

The goal isn’t to encourage people to leave, he said, but to show them they have agency.

“I actually did it,” he said. “I did it, and I’m OK.”

Now, he said, Mexico feels like an estranged relative that he’s getting to know again.

Where can I host a big birthday party on a restaurant patio or rent out a bar during the day? That’s not outrageously expensive? — Kristen Silva

Here’s what we suggest:

First and foremost, I respect — and deeply relate to — your desire to celebrate your birthday on a budget. It’s tough right now. The good news, though, is that L.A. is brimming with delicious restaurants and aesthetic bars that go easy on the pockets — both for you and your guests. And some even allow you to bring your own birthday cake.

For a laid-back spot where you and your friends can sit at picnic tables and enjoy juicy pastrami sandwiches, loaded French fries and refreshing cocktails, check out Johnny’s in West Adams. Senior food editor Danielle Dorsey recommends the spot in a guide to West Adams, calling the umbrella-dotted parking lot patio “the perfect al fresco setting.” Because Johnny’s has a walk-up service counter, its easy for your guests to come and go as they please. Plus, you won’t have to worry about the headache of trying to split the bill at the end of the night. Reservations are only necessary if you’re looking to rent out the space, but there is a $35 cake fee.

If you don’t mind being indoors, my colleague Deborah Vankin suggests Far Bar in Little Tokyo, where she celebrated her birthday on the mezzanine with about 50 friends. “It was a cozy, but still roomy space that felt festive and provided the best people watching below,” she says. “The price was beyond reasonable and, afterwards, a group of us walked down the street for dessert and karaoke.” If you’re open to hosting your party on a slower night (not Friday or Saturday), a manager told me you can avoid rental fees. (FYI: There’s also a narrow outdoor seating area here, but Vankin says it’s not great for parties.)

Music lovers will appreciate Zizou, a vibey French-Moroccan restaurant nestled in Lincoln Heights. Owned by two lifelong friends from France, Zizou features a stunning vintage sound system, where DJs can be found spinning jazz, French hip-hop, South African rhythms and other global sounds on the weekends. My friend Tori Johnson hosted her birthday party on the starlit patio earlier this year. “We were able to invite friends post-dinner to come and have wine with us until the restaurant closed,” she tells me. “It felt intimate and just what I was looking for for my 31st birthday.” For parties of eight or more, there’s a $75 minimum per person for seated dining, but no minimum if you’re planning to just chill at the bar or near the sound system. You can either bring your own cake at no additional cost or order Zizou’s house-made French apple tart for dessert. And don’t worry, the servers won’t look at you with disdain if you ask for separate checks — at least from my experience.

Another worthy option is Everson Royce, which deputy food editor Betty Hallock calls “one of the best bars in the city (with great food),” and I can’t agree more. This spot is popular because of its happy hour and its breezy outdoor patio. “It’s like being in a friend’s backyard, with picnic tables, string lights and a vine-wrapped tree, except you’re in the middle of downtown,” Hallock reports in a guide to the most picturesque restaurant patios in L.A. An Everson Royce staffer told me that you can book a normal reservation for up to 100 people — yes, you read that correctly — and that the restaurant doesn’t charge extra fees or require any deposits. Staff will even split the checks for each of your guests.

In the mood for dancing? Start your night with focaccia-style pan pizzas at De La Nonna, then head next door to the Let’s Go! Disco & Cocktail Club. I DJed a wedding here last year and it was a seamless transition, sweating out the delectable pizza at the Italian-inspired nightclub where 1970s disco hits (and related genres) are the soundscape. Reservations are highly recommended. For 20 guests, De La Nonna requires its prix fixe menu with optional drink packages, but 30 or more guests are considered a “partial buyout,” so both are required. There’s also a room fee. If you’re still in the mood for partying once the cocktail den closes at 1 a.m., then walk across the street to EightyTwo, an arcade bar with dozens of pinball machines and classic video games. (Note: De La Nonna charges a $20 cake fee.)

If these spots don’t satisfy your needs, some of my food colleagues also suggested Le Great Outdoor in Santa Monica, Mr. T in Hollywood, Good Neighbor Bar in Altadena and Benny Boy Brewing in Lincoln Heights — all of which have a patio.

As you can see, there are loads of options depending on what type of food, vibe and part of L.A. you prefer. Wherever you end up, I hope you have a wonderful time and, most importantly, that you have a great birthday and year ahead.

A few months ago, my younger daughter, Darby, and I were settling into our seats at the local AMC. As the previews rolled, she gasped. “I know that voice,” she said. “That’s Aidan. Mom, that’s Aidan.”

I looked up just in time to see a familiar shock of brown curls. It was indeed Aidan Delbis, former member of the Falcon Players at Crescenta Valley High School in La Crescenta, a kid I had seen perform alongside my daughter in countless student plays.

Only now he was seated at a kitchen table with Jesse Plemons and Emma Stone as the words “Bugonia” and then “directed by Yorgos Lanthimos” flashed across the screen.

“Did you not know?” I asked my daughter. CV is a fine public school with a good theater program, but it isn’t exactly an incubator for nepo babies and aspiring stars. That one of their own had stepped off last year’s graduation stage and into a major film production should have been very big news long before a trailer hit theaters.

“No,” she said, furiously messaging various friends. “But now they will.”

Now they will indeed. When he joined the cast of “Bugonia,” Delbis didn’t just become a part of Lanthimos’ highly anticipated remake of Jang Joon-hwan’s 2003 black comedy “Save the Green Planet!” He also entered the mythology of which Hollywood dreams are made: A 17-year old sends in his first-ever open-call submission and lands a major role in a very big movie.

With a script by Will Tracy and obvious Oscar potential, “Bugonia” had its world premiere in August at this year’s Venice Film Festival before launching onto the festival circuit, including screenings in Toronto and New York, in preparation for its release this Friday. A slightly absurdist, darkly funny thriller with political undertones, it revolves around the kidnapping of a pharmaceutical company’s CEO, Michelle (Stone), by wild-eyed conspiracy theorist Teddy (Plemons) and his loyal cousin Don (Delbis).

From left, Emma Stone, Aidan Delbis and Jesse Plemons in the movie “Bugonia.”

(Atsushi Nishijima / Focus Features)

Teddy believes Michelle is an alien sent to destroy Earth. Don believes in Teddy. Though he falls in with Teddy’s plans, he often questions them, serving as a continual reminder that even within Teddy’s paranoid view of the universe, there is such a thing as going too far. Don is, in many ways, the heart of the film.

He is also, like the actor who plays him, autistic.

Delbis — who chooses to self-describe as autistic rather than neurodivergent — is not someone who has long nursed dreams of stardom. He took drama classes all through high school, but it wasn’t until his junior year, Delbis says, “that I started to get more into the process. I found the general process of acting, of understanding and investing in different personalities, to be fun and sometimes scary.”

Still, he says, “I wasn’t really sure that I wanted it to be my main career. But it so happened that this happened while I was in high school, and here we are.”

Here is the Four Seasons on a very rainy October afternoon where Delbis, now 19, has just finished his first solo photo shoot and is sitting, fortified by Goldfish crackers (his go-to-snack), for his first long one-on-one interview. He went to some of the film festivals and just returned from “Bugonia’s” London premiere, where he signed autographs on the red carpet and enjoyed flying first class. His parents, Katy and David Delbis, are seated nearby, as is his access and creative coach, Elaine Hall.

Delbis is a tall, good-natured young man who speaks with a distinctive cadence and in an unwaveringly calm tone. Aside from a habit of repeating himself as he searches for what he wants to say next, he seems more comfortable discussing his experience with filmmaking than many of the dozens of more experienced actors I have interviewed in this very hotel over the years.

“We should try to be more empathetic to people with different worldviews because you never really know what those people are going through,” Delbis says. “The movie feels very relevant to that theme.”

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

“It all started,” he says, “when my mom was friends with this agent, April, and one day she sent Mom an audition that seemed pretty promising, so I submitted for that. And they really liked it and called me back.”

It actually started a bit further back than that. With Plemons and Stone already cast, Lanthimos had decided that he wanted a nonprofessional actor to play Don.

“We went really wide in trying to find someone really special,” the Greek-born director of “The Favourite” and “Poor Things” says in a phone interview. “With these two experienced actors, I wanted to bring in a different dynamic. As we looked at people, I felt that the character would be more interesting if he was neurodivergent.”

Casting director Jennifer Venditti put out an open call, which April Smallwood of Spotlight Development saw and sent to Delbis’ mother, Katy.

“A happy-go-lucky young man, neurodivergent — it practically described Aidan,” Katy says in a later interview. La Crescenta may not be an industry hub, but, like many in L.A., the Delbis family has a Hollywood connection. Aidan’s older brother, Tristan (who is also neurodivergent), works at a movie theater; father David is about to retire after years at the Writers Guild Health Fund; and Katy, a self-described “creative,” has done some acting herself. But no one saw film-acting as a potential career for Aidan, who was set to take a gap year after high school. And, Katy says, she had no idea what sort of movie it was for. “It said for a ‘big film,’ but they always say that.”

She thought of it a bit like the time Delbis, a member of the high school track team, decided he also wanted to try out for basketball. “As I drove him to the school,” Katy said, “I told him that he might not get on since there were a lot of kids who had been playing basketball for years, which he had not. He said, ‘Mom, I just want to see what it’s like.’”

Now Delbis wanted to see what it would be like to audition for a “big film.”

Aidan Delbis in the movie “Bugonia.”

(Atsushi Nishijima / Focus Features)

He had recently performed the Vincent Price monologue from “Thriller” for the school talent show, which Katy filmed on her phone, so Smallwood submitted that. Venditti called Smallwood the next day and met with Delbis over Zoom. Thus began a monthslong process of meetings, rehearsals and auditions.

“We focused on him right away,” Venditti says. “He seemed to have it all. And he was very committed.”

“I was really unaware of how big a project it was,” Delbis said. “I had never seen a film by Yorgos.”

In March, Lanthimos, Stone and Plemons were in L.A. for the Oscars, so they all met with Delbis and came away impressed.

Lanthimos thought of casting a neurodivergent actor in a part because it would bring a natural clarity and unfiltered unpredictability to the role. He didn’t consider it any more challenging than working with any other actor. And when he met Delbis, Lanthimos says, “I just thought: That’s him.”

“Just from watching that first tape, you could see there was something so magnetic about him,” said Stone during a recent phone interview. (She is also a producer on the film.) “Don is the audience’s window, the one who can see through the charade.”

Still, there were many more steps to take.

“It’s a big leap for any nonprofessional,” Stone says. “It’s a big part in what is essentially a three-hander.”

From left, director Yorgos Lanthimos, Emma Stone, Aidan Delbis and Jesse Plemons at the Venice Film Festival, where “Bugonia” had its world premiere in August.

(Alessandra Tarantino / Invision / AP)

For an autistic actor, it’s an even bigger leap. As talented as Delbis might be, he also had to be able to handle the pressures, boredom and chaos of a film set. Venditti reached out to Hall. The founder of the Miracle Project and mother to a now-adult neurodivergent son, Hall is an acting coach who has worked for more than 20 years to increase the presence and understanding of neurodivergent and disabled people. She is often asked to gauge the ability of actors to take on a certain role — their ease with the material, their physical stamina, their level of independence and their emotional accessibility.

Delbis, she says, ticked all the boxes. He loves horror films, he was on the track team and he was, at the time, about to travel without his parents on a school trip to Sweden.

He is, as he says himself, “a low-key guy,” so Hall gave him some exercises to help him portray more extreme emotions and prepare him for when other cast members might do the same. (One subsequent rehearsal involved a scene in which one of the actors screamed repeatedly.)

Often, Hall says, perfecting these exercises can take weeks; Delbis, working with his mother, did it in a weekend. She also helped him prepare for his meeting with and then chemistry read with Plemons.

Delbis says he was “a bit nervous, though I don’t know why.” He did not recognize Plemons’ name or his face. “I had watched ‘Breaking Bad,’ but I didn’t realize Jesse played Todd. Halfway through [the read], I told him he looked like Todd and he said, ‘That’s because I played him.’ I’ve seen him in other things since then,” Delbis adds. “He’s a very solid actor.”

More important, he says, “Jesse seemed to me to be a very cool guy.”

That feeling is mutual. “When we brought Aidan in, I was excited and a little nervous,” Plemons says during a phone call from London. They started with one of the more extreme scenes from the film. “I was finding my feet too. When it became apparent that he was going to be fine with the darker scenes, I said, ‘This is him; this is Don.’”

While all this was happening, Delbis was finishing his senior year, which included a starring role in a production of “Almost Maine.” “It was not overly hard,” he says, but sometimes it was a lot. “I did one read and then I had to go to rehearsal for the play.”

Venditti remembers that day very well. “Here we were being so careful, treating him like he was fragile and not wanting to overload him,” she says laughing, “and he’s just calmly multitasking.”

When Delbis got the role in May, he and his family signed a nondisclosure agreement, which is why none of his friends knew his news after graduation, and Delbis and his family flew to the U.K. to begin filming. It was a tough secret for his parents to keep. But “any time it looked like I might slip,” Katy says, “Aidan shut me down.” He celebrated his 18th birthday near the set outside of Windsor, where production ran for three months before moving for two weeks in Atlanta.

Hall was hired to be Delbis’ on-set access and creative coach, a job she believes she has invented, meant to make the experience for neurodivergent and disabled actors easier. She suggested that Lanthimos and Tracy simplify Delbis’ script pages, stripping down the description of action “so he wouldn’t get stuck thinking he had to do exactly what was on the page,” she says, which they were happy to do.

“We didn’t want to put any limits on him,” Lanthimos says.

Delbis chose most of his costumes (except a beekeeping suit, motivated by the plot, which he says “was very hot”), which mirrored his own wardrobe preferences down to the horror film t-shirts and mismatched socks. Even the food Teddy and Don eat during the film reflects Delbis’ taste: mac ’n’ cheese, taquitos, spaghetti.

Hall ensured Delbis had extra time before filming, during which she could help him prepare with rehearsal and centering exercises. She visited the set before he arrived so she could tell him exactly what to expect and worked with the production team to ensure that he had his own space between takes. “They built us a little house, with horror posters on the wall and stuffed animals that looked like his cats,” she says. As there were no Goldfish available in the U.K., the production had them flown in.

“Having Elaine there was amazing,” Venditti says. “The idea of having someone to act as eyes and ears of what people are actually experiencing on set, I think it’s groundbreaking. I don’t know why we haven’t done it before.”

Delbis spent a fair amount of time with Plemons, who Hall said occasionally stepped in to help if she had to be away from set.

“We did a decent amount of goofing around,” Delbis says. “The bond that developed between us occurred quite naturally. I consider Jesse a friend.”

For his part, Plemons enjoyed being around someone who spoke his mind.

“I so appreciated Aidan’s inability to tell a lie,” Plemons says. “On a set, you spend so much time waiting around, and he would say, ‘What are we doing? What is taking so long?’ Which was exactly what I was thinking. He’s a very smart, sensitive, self-assured guy, and if you’re unclear in what you’re saying, he will let you know.”

“Aidan is just so funny,” says his “Bugonia” co-star Emma Stone. “We spent a lot of time together in a basement and Aidan had so many jokes about that.”

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Stone says that while she and Delbis had a friendly rapport, she hung back a little when they weren’t shooting. “I didn’t want to form the same kind of bond Aidan had with Jesse because [in the film] it’s them against me and I didn’t want to do too much to mess with that.”

But, the two-time Oscar winner says, “Aidan is just so funny. He was on a jag during the kidnapping scene. We spent a lot of time together in a basement and Aidan had so many jokes about that.”

“I went through all of ‘Bugonia’ thinking I had never seen Emma in anything,” Delbis says. “Then I realized my parents had shown me a clip of a woman getting very involved in a birthday card — ‘Pocketful of Sunshine’ — and that was from ‘Easy A.’”

When he was filming, Delbis was all business. Several of the takes which he ad-libbed made it into the film and Delbis is proud of that.

“Despite being in more extreme situations than I’ve been in, there’s something of Don’s emotion and struggles that did feel very familiar to me,” he says. “Feelings of great distress and helplessness and conflictedness and confusion. I have felt that in classes in high school.”

“Aidan has great instincts,” Lanthimos says. “In a scene toward the end [of the film], he was so moving, it was the first time I have ever teared up on set.

There were difficult days — one moment with Plemons, Delbis says, took many takes. “It was hot AF and involved me getting more worked up that I am used to getting,” he remembers. But he appreciated Lanthimos’ willingness to let him try things. “In one scene, Jesse throws a chair and I thought that seemed pretty cool. So at the end of the day, they let me throw a chair. I hope that makes it into the outtakes reel.”

He was also very pleased when the crew threw him a s’mores party at the end of filming. “There was a fire pit on set that looked perfect for s’mores,” he says. “And I told them that, so it was my idea to have a s’mores party.”

Delbis is happy with how the film turned out, including his performance. “I think I looked pretty baller in that suit,” he says of one scene. Though he doesn’t have an opinion on the authenticity debate — whether autistic actors should always be the ones to play autistic characters — he thinks it’s “cool that writers and directors are starting to be more conscientious and give more realistic and respectful depictions of neurodivergent people and characters.”

He is more concerned that audiences understand what he thinks is the most important message of the movie.

“We should try to be more empathetic to people with different worldviews because you never really know what those people are going through,” he says. “The movie feels very relevant to that theme. God knows, people aren’t always willing to be tolerant.”

Imagine losing your home and belongings to a wildfire, then losing your best friend when he was killed by a suspected driver under the influence, all happening within months of each other.

Max Meier, a star defensive tackle for Loyola High who has committed to Stanford, dealt with that kind of awful adversity this year, losing his family home in the Palisades fire, then losing classmate Braun Levi in May when he was hit by a car while walking on a Manhattan Beach street.

To hear Meier’s response and wisdom while dealing with two tragedies offers hope for the future.

“I think in this life, everyone has demons in the closet,” Meier said. “Everyone has bad things that happen But we realize in these moments, as horrible as they are, losing your things in a fire, they’re replaceable, but losing someone who was like an older brother, can’t replace that. He’s somebody I’ll be be chasing to live like he did. As a teenager it was tough, but you learn about life and how every day you have to give it your all. I’ve actually started to live my life more fully and started to live every day the best I can.”

As a football player, at 6 feet 5 and 250 pounds, Meier is enjoying his best season as a senior with 9 1/2 sacks, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Loyola lost close to a dozen players who abandoned the program one by one in the offseason. They gave up, thinking the Cubs were not going to be good or leaving because they disliked something. Those who stayed had to place their trust in themselves.

“There’s no better motivator knowing every single person left and you’re the ones left,” he said. “This summer, we’re like, ‘There’s 10 games left and you’re either going to give up or let’s show everyone what we got and why they wrote us off.’ We have some problems. Every team does. We’re really motivated to show what we can do.”

Playing at SoFi Stadium on Oct 19 and coming away with a 13-10 upset victory over Gardena Serra was a moment Meier and his teammates will cherish. The Cubs lost to Bishop Amat 30-14 on Friday night and are 4-4 and 1-2 in the Mission League.

“Warming up under all those seats is just ridiculous,” he said. “I thought it was the most awesome thing. That turf was super fast. You could hear things super loud and it gave you an idea what a college stadium might feel like, I thought it was the best experience all time. It was a thing on my bucket list. Getting a sack at SoFi never thought of something I want to do, but I did it. It was cool.”

Since Meier lost his home, he was eligible to switch schools this year and play immediately. His two sisters graduated from Palisades. He has friends at Palisades. But he was never leaving Loyola.

Everyone, from parents to classmates to alumni, banded together to help those affected by the fire. They provided food, clothing and emotional support.

“After the fires, I realized how special it is,” he said. “All that’s left in my closet is from Loyola. They’re the most amazing people to me.”

So understand what you’re getting each time you face Loyola this season — a team dedicated to each other and having each other’s backs. And in Meier, the Cubs have someone who’s going to represent Loyola values for years to come.

“Breathing on this earth is a humble thing,” Meier said.

At the highly anticipated Clare V. sample sale last month at Row DTLA, designer Clare Vivier exuded calm as she walked through the packed aisles, smiling and offering assistance while hundreds of frenzied shoppers snatched up her discounted handbags, colorful accessories and apparel. (Shout-out to the stranger who offered me tips on how to clean my ink-stained Clare V. leather wallet from a few years back!) So when we chatted recently about her ideal Sunday in Los Angeles, I couldn’t resist asking Vivier where she likes to shop when she has a day off.

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 love to shop for vintage goods,” Vivier said. “My go-to vintage shop is Luxe de Ville in Echo Park on Sunset. And just two doors down, there’s another great vintage store, Wilder. In Atwater, there’s the Curatorial Dept. on Glendale Boulevard and the Gift of Garb consignment shop in Silver Lake is wonderful — it’s like having your own private the Real Real, which I love.”

As for her perfect Sunday, she’ll stick close to Glendale, where she and her family have recently moved. “We are loving Glendale so far,” she said. “It’s fun to move within your own city — it’s a change, but not overwhelmingly so, as you’re still close to work and your friends.”

Vivier recently remodeled and expanded her flagship Clare V. showroom on Sunset Boulevard in Silver Lake. The sunny showroom now features two spacious rooms filled with Vivier’s signature handbags and colorful “bits, bobs, straps and fobs,” according to the store’s window. Vivier, in a personal touch, acknowledged she might stop in on a Sunday, but only after enjoying a few of her other favorite spaces in L.A.

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

9 a.m.: Shop for vintage goods at local flea markets
A perfect Sunday usually starts with going to one of the flea markets — either the Pasadena City College Flea Market or the Rose Bowl Flea Market. Sometimes, we visit the Long Beach Antique Market and the Santa Monica Antique and Vintage Market, but those are really our go-to favorites. We just moved to Glendale after 24 years in Echo Park, so when I’m shopping with my husband, we are usually looking for home decor items.

If we split up, I’ll look for vintage clothing inspiration for Clare V., including vintage handbags and clothing, as well as anything else. I love vintage clothing and accessories, and use them as inspiration for my collections. I enjoy selling my clothes and buying new ones; I have a huge closet. Sometimes I sell my items on Clare’s Closet Purge on Instagram. Or I’ll post about them on my personal Instagram then sell my items there, which is really fun. I’ll then donate the money to a worthy organization.

11 a.m.: Light lunch
On the way home from the market, we would stop for lunch somewhere like Little Ripper in Glassell Park. Either we’d get some food to go or we would eat there. Their open-faced toasts are great — their John Dory Tuna Toasts are always delicious.

Noon: Get outdoors
On Sundays, I enjoy doing something outdoorsy, such as playing tennis at Nibley Park or taking a walk through Deukmejian Wilderness Park in Glendale, which is truly beautiful. I had never heard of it until I moved there. They have great walking trails, and you’re welcome to bring your dog if you’d like.

2 p.m.: Shop for groceries at neighborhood markets
Usually, we would go shopping for food for dinner because we love to have Sunday dinners at our house and host our extended family and friends. We would probably go to Cookbook market in Highland Park — we used to go to the one in Echo Park when we lived in the neighborhood. We’d get some great cheeses, baguettes, vegetables and wine. They have it all. On the way home, we’d stop by Fish King Seafood in Glendale and pick up some great fresh fish, then come home and make dinner. Sometimes I would stop by one of my stores — usually the Silver Lake one, because it’s the closest to where I live. I love to drop by and visit, talk to customers, and see how the store is looking, especially since it’s new.

4 p.m.: Shop for houseplants in Highland Park
I love to shop for plants at Echo Garden, a family-run nursery on York in Highland Park. I’ve been trying to nurture my green thumb so I’ve been buying houseplants for our new house there. I like to support small businesses. They have a nice selection of houseplants there and have outdoor plants as well. I haven’t perfected my green thumb, but I’m working on it. I love having the energy of plants inside my home. I find it to be calming. They are like little animals. They enjoy being dusted and taken care of. It’s fun.

5 p.m.: Early Sunday dinner
If we’re not hosting dinner at our house, I love having an early dinner at a restaurant that’s open from lunch to dinner. I especially enjoy a 4 or 5 o’clock dinner on Sunday, when you can meet a friend and have a glass of rosé and something light to eat. It’s kind of my favorite time to be at a restaurant. It feels like you’re on vacation when you’re at a restaurant at that time of day and there aren’t many people there yet, and it’s outside of your routine.

If I’m going to have an early dinner somewhere, one of my favorites is L&E Oyster Bar on Silver Lake Boulevard in Silver Lake. I love their oysters, but they also have a great burger, pastas and salads. Another one of my favorite restaurants right now is Bar Etoile on Western, but unfortunately, it’s closed on Sundays.

11 p.m.: Late-night TV viewing
After everyone leaves and we clean up from dinner, we’d probably watch a show around 11 or midnight. Unfortunately, I am more of a late-night person than I should be. I’m not a reality TV person, so I won’t be watching “Love Island,” but there is a Danish show that we just finished called “The Secrets We Keep” on Netflix. I loved that. I’m looking forward to “The Morning Show” coming back. I like Reese, Jen and Mark Duplass; the cast is so good.

Despite a handful of popular Día de los Muertos events facing cancellation due to community fears surrounding ICE operations, many annual celebrations throughout Southern California will continue to honor the dearly departed as planned.

Organizers for the Oct. 18 El Sereno Día de los Muertos Festival are working with Councilwoman Ysabel Jurado and her team to ensure the safety of its attendees during a precarious time for immigrant communities. Others, like the Museum of Latin American Art’s Day of the Dead Family Festival on Oct. 26, are placing an added emphasis on resilience.

This year, De Los is hosting a free community celebration to commemorate the holiday on Oct. 25 from 2 to 10 p.m. at the Las Fotos Project. Attendees can enjoy a community altar, a skull decorating workshop, face painting and more.

De Los will also be accepting submissions for our annual digital altar from Oct. 15 to Nov. 2. Community members can submit a photograph or memento to honor the memory of their dearly departed — pets included.

Here is a list of other Día de los Muertos observations and events taking place across Southern California.

Karen Garcia contributed to this reporting.

Oct. 6 (UPI) — A 13-year-old Florida student was arrested after allegedly asking an AI tool how to kill a friend. He was taken to a juvenile detention center.

A school resource deputy officer at Southwestern Middle School reportedly received a Gaggle-run alert Wednesday that a person had asked a school-issued ChatGPT device: “How to kill my friend in the middle of class,” according to the Volusia County Sheriff’s office.

Police responded immediately to the school in Deland about an hour north of Orlando and confronted the unidentified minor. The student insisted it was just a prank.

According to officials, the boy said a friend annoyed him and he was “just trolling.”

But Florida law enforcement failed to find humor in the state reeling still from the 2018 school shooting in Parkland, one in a rising number of U.S. school shooting incidents, that left 17 dead.

The sheriff’s office characterized it as yet “another ‘joke’ that created an emergency on campus.”

They issued a public plea to parents: “please talk to your kids so they don’t make the same mistake.”

Standing under four palm trees in the quad area of Calabasas High, Los Alamitos football players have their eyes trained on coach Ray Fenton’s face for more than five uninterrupted minutes.

Looking to see if anyone loses focus when a mother walks by and starts yelling at her daughter, the answer is incredibly no. The players keep listening and keep their eyes directed on Fenton.

It’s tough enough to make teenagers listen for 30 seconds to adults these days, but to see an entire football team not letting anyone or anything disturb their focus while their coach is speaking provides a hint why Los Alamitos is 7-0 and the surprise high school football team in Southern California this season.

“Everyone has their eye on coach,” offensive lineman Braiden McKenna said. “It’s all the little things that keep you disciplined. Wearing your mouthpiece, keeping your eyes on him.”

It’s not true that Los Alamitos doesn’t have any stars. They might not have been mentioned much in preseason hype lists, but players have performed at a high level so far.

Tight end Beckham Hofland, 6 foot 5 and 230 pounds, is a load to cover and also serves as a kicker. Running backs Kamden Tillis and Lenny Ibarra are versatile and reliable. Quarterback Colin Creason, who sat out last season while transferring from Long Beach Poly, keeps improving. The offensive line, led by the veteran McKenna, who plays center, is very good. Ibarra leads the defense with 66 tackles.

Coach Ray Fenton and his 7-0 Los Alamitos football team.

(Eric Sondheimer / Los Angeles Times)

“It’s so much easier to want to win with someone you care about and they care about you,” McKenna said of the team chemistry.

Los Alamitos has had more talented teams in recent years aided by transfer students. This one is mostly home grown, and Fenton couldn’t be happier.

“They’re friends,” Fenton said. “They’ve grown up together. You play harder with guys you’re friends with. You don’t want to let them down. They’re Los Al kids. They take pride in the community.”

They won in Hawaii 34-31 on tying and game-winning field goals by Ibarra, who practiced kicking the ball between two palm trees at a park. They knocked off Gardena Serra 42-21. They beat a good Granite Hills team 49-42. Seven straight wins came over seven weeks, so now they are on a two-week break to prepare for the daunting task of facing three good Alpha League opponents — Edison at SoFi Stadium on Oct. 16, at San Clemente on Oct. 24 and a finale against Mission Viejo on Oct. 30 at Artesia.

They are serious contenders for a Southern Section Division 1 playoff berth even though some people still can’t figure out how they keep winning.

The answer is simple: they’re hungry. Never underestimate a team where one teammate after another supports each other no matter the challenges, no matter the obstacles, no matter the skepticism of others.

“This is throwback,” Fenton said. “It’s old school. Play for your local school, play for your community, play for your friends. The kids you played Pop Warner with are the kids you’re playing high school football with. It’s the way it was supposed to be.”

The contradictions of mixed martial arts brawler Mark Kerr can’t be contained by a ring, an octagon or a film. A vulnerable man with a brutal career, he went undefeated on the mat while struggling in his private relationships and public addiction to painkillers, which he bravely revealed in John Hyams’ 2002 HBO documentary “The Smashing Machine: The Life and Times of Extreme Fighter Mark Kerr.” In that footage, shot between 1997 and 2000, you’re continually startled by how Kerr could clobber his opponents until some lost teeth — putting himself in a mental state he once likened to being a shark in a feeding frenzy — and then after the bell, flash a smile so wide and happy, it split his own head in half.

That’s Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s whole thing, too: Kill ’em with charm. So it’s as all-natural as his daily diet of organic chicken breast that the wrestler-turned-blockbuster-star would want to play Kerr in his own pursuit of excellence. He’s overdue for a sincere indie movie. Fair enough. Yet bizarrely, Johnson and writer-director Benny Safdie (“Uncut Gems,” “Good Time”), working solo without his brother Josh, have decided to simply shoot Hyams’ documentary again.

These two high-intensity talents, each with something to prove, seem to have egged each other on to be exhaustingly photorealistic. Johnson, squeezed into a wig so tight we get a vicarious headache, has pumped up his deltoids to nearly reach his prosthetic cauliflower ears. And Safdie is so devoted to duplicating the earthy brown decor of Kerr’s late-’90s nouveau riche Phoenix home that you’d think he was restoring Notre Dame. In setting out to establish his own style, Safdie just mimics another.

Their version of “The Smashing Machine” tells the same story that Hyams did, across the same years with the same handheld aesthetics and rattle-snap jazz score (by composer Nala Sinephro). It’s stiff karaoke that earns a confounded polite clap. That can’t possibly have been the intention, yet even the songs used as needle-drops are conspicuously borrowed: covers of the country crooner Billy Swan singing Elvis, and Elvis singing Frank Sinatra. Meanwhile, Johnson’s Kerr huffs up a set of stairs in a training montage that already belongs to “Rocky.”

Once again, Kerr gets shaken by his first defeat to Igor Vovchanchyn (played by Oleksandr Usyk, the current heavyweight boxing champion) in Japan’s Yokohama Arena, and responds by bottoming out, getting sober and committing to win his next tournament. All the while he bickers with his on-again, off-again alcoholic girlfriend, Dawn (Emily Blunt), who gets blamed for everything that goes wrong in the ring. A teeth-grindingly mismatched couple, they can’t get through a conversation without arguing. Even trying her best to empathize, she’s overbearing. When Dawn alerts his friend and colleague Mark “The Hammer” Coleman (MMA fighter Ryan Bader in his acting debut) that her battering ram of a boyfriend was drinking before a bout, Coleman snaps at her for letting him act so stupid.

Safdie frames Dawn as a force of domestic destruction (although Kerr tears down doors like wet cardboard). In her introduction, she — horrors! — makes his smoothie with the wrong milk and, a beat later, insists on cuddling the cat on their leather sofa. A shattered Japanese kintsugi bowl is a newly added visual metaphor of their relationship, as is Dawn’s attempt to fix it with Krazy glue, a wink-wink at her emotional volatility. Still, we never understand what holds them together. Blunt is stuck in a reprise of her Oscar-nominated supporting role in “Oppenheimer” as the drunk whose cruelty pardons the male lead’s flaws. Yeah, Mark fizzled in Yokohama, but boy was she awful.

What’s the point? Having stripped away most of the documentary’s narration and sit-down interviews with Kerr’s family and friends, the film barely explores anyone’s psychology — and Blunt’s railroaded Dawn loses her chance to speak for herself. “I don’t think you know a damn thing about me,” she snipes mid-screaming match. She’s right. We don’t know much about her either, nor any of the noisy things onscreen, from the bloodrush of combat to the pull of their co-dependent affair.

We’re supposed to find depth in Johnson’s weary, pinched grin as he appreciates the sunset on a flight to Japan or watches fans at demolition derby cheer just as loudly for mindless chunks of metal getting crushed. He’s quieter than the real Kerr, who could come across like a guileless chatterbox, and when he does talk, it’s often about the control he must exert on his body and his backyard — the diet, the exercise, the sobriety, the gardening — delivered with the conviction of someone giving motivational advice to the manosphere.

If you squint, there’s an idea here that his personal needs set an unyielding tempo in their home, a notion Johnson must resonate with as someone who sets his morning alarm for 3:30 a.m. But we become better acquainted with how light ripples across Johnson’s shirtless back in a tracking shot than with whatever’s going on in his character’s head. More often than not, we’re just watching him walk around in a skin suit of Kerr, trying and failing not to see the movie star underneath. I wonder if Johnson might have channeled the open-faced Kerr better without the fake eyebrows, if he’d trusted his own inner glow instead of immediately going for the dramatic kill.

Look at how dutifully Safdie and Johnson have worked to re-create this world, the movie seems to be saying. Appreciate the intentionally cruddy camerawork by Maceo Bishop that duplicates Hyams’ low-budget limitations. Enjoy how costume designer Heidi Bivens has put Johnson in another silver-buckled black leather belt similar to the one in his infamous, much-memed Y2K-era photo, the one with the turtleneck, chain jewelry and fanny pack. You know without doing the math that, at this time, 39-year-old Safdie was in his early teens, an age that’s a sweet spot for nostalgia. This is his chance to go back to the future. No wonder he doesn’t want to change a thing.

But “The Smashing Machine” should be about change. For the MMA, this was an era of evolution as it transitioned from a contest of raw strength to one of endurance and skill. Former collegiate wrestlers like Kerr and Coleman could no longer win with their signature ground-and-pound techniques. Organizers forbade several of their key moves as their brusque victories weren’t telegenic. Kerr’s early contests often ended in less than two minutes, an oops-I-missed-it-grabbing-a-beer brevity that would have made pay-per-view buyers grumble. Headbutts were disallowed in part to draw the action out, and also because John McCain didn’t want what he called “human cockfighting” on TV.

These underlying tensions were just coming into focus. The original documentary felt blurry because Hyams didn’t yet know how the off-camera legalities would play out. He would have never guessed that the once-maligned Ultimate Fighting Championship league, purchased in 2001 for $2 million, would become a powerhouse with the clout to ink a $7.7-billion television deal just this summer. He also didn’t know that the cash payments Kerr earned in Japan would be revealed to have the yakuza’s fingerprints on them, or that Kerr’s opioid addiction was start of a burgeoning national health crisis that would soon have America in a chokehold.

Surely, Safdie with his two decades of perspective and his own knack for movies about hard-charging, charismatic screwups like Adam Sandler’s gambling addict Howard Ratner in “Uncut Gems” has something to add? Nope, just tell the same tale twice.

Hyams stopped filming in May 2000, at a point when it appeared that Kerr had chosen love over war. Safdie is aware that Kerr would live on to make more choices and that love doesn’t win, either. But despite the benefit of hindsight, Safdie doesn’t seem to have considered that the old narrative no longer fits. He just updates the title cards on the end: a sentence about Kerr and Dana’s future, a note that today’s MMA stars are better paid, a point undermined by a shot of the actual Kerr climbing into an exorbitantly glossy new truck. Turns out Kerr has been a car salesman for the last 15 years, but you wouldn’t know that leaving “The Smashing Machine.” You wouldn’t know why this movie existed at all.

There’s precisely one surprising moment in Scarlett Johansson’s feature directorial debut “Eleanor the Great,” written by Tory Kamen. It’s the impetus for the entire drama that unfolds in this film, and it feels genuinely risky — a taboo that will be hard for this film to resolve. Yet, everything that unfolds around this moment is entirely predictable.

Also unsurprising? That star June Squibb’s warm, humorous and slightly spiky performance elevates the wobbly material and tentative direction. If Johansson nails anything, it’s in allowing the 95-year-old Squibb to shine in only her second starring role (the first being last year’s action-comedy “Thelma”). For any flaws or faults of “Eleanor the Great” — and there are some — Squibb still might make you cry, even if you don’t want to.

That’s the good part about “Eleanor the Great,” which is a bit thin and treacly, despite its high-wire premise. The record-scratch startle that jump-starts the dramatic arc occurs when Eleanor (Squibb) is trying to figure out what to do with herself at a Manhattan Jewish community center after recently relocating from Florida. Her lifelong best friend and later-in-life roommate Bessie (Rita Zohar) has recently died, so Eleanor has moved in with her daughter, Lisa (Jessica Hecht), in New York City.

Harried Lisa sends Eleanor off to the JCC for a choir class, but the impulsive and feisty nonagenarian pooh-poohs the Broadway singing and instead follows a friendly face into a support group — for Holocaust survivors, she’s alarmed to discover. Yet put on the spot when they ask her to share her story of survival, Eleanor shares Bessie’s personal history of escaping a Polish concentration camp instead, with horrific details she learned from her friend over sleepless nights of tortured memories.

Eleanor’s lie could have been a small deception that played out over one afternoon, never to be spoken of again if she just ghosted the regular meeting, but there’s a wrinkle: an NYU student, Nina (Erin Kellyman), who wants to profile Eleanor for her journalism class. Eleanor initially makes the right choice, declining to participate, before making the wrong one, calling Nina and inviting her over when her own grandson doesn’t show up for Shabbat dinner. Thus begins a friendship built on a lie, and we know where this is going.

Nina and Eleanor continue their relationship beyond its journalistic origins because they’re both lonely and in mourning: Eleanor for Bessie, and Nina for her mother, also a recent loss. They both struggle to connect with their immediate families, Eleanor with terminally criticized daughter Lisa, and Nina with Roger (Chiwetel Ejiofor), her TV anchor father, paralyzed with grief over the death of his wife. And so they find an unlikely friend in each other, for lunches and bat mitzvah crashing and trips to Coney Island.

Eleanor decides to have a bat mitzvah herself, claiming she never had one due to the war (the reality is that she converted for marriage), but it feels mostly like a device for a big dramatic explosion of a revelation. It also serves the purpose of justifying Eleanor’s well-intentioned deception with lessons from the Torah.

It’s hard to stomach her continued lying, which is perhaps why the script keeps her mostly out of the support group — where the comparison to the real survivors would be too much to bear — and in the confines of a friendship with a college student far removed from that reality. Johansson also makes the choice to flash back to Bessie’s recounting of her life story when Eleanor is speaking, almost as if she’s channeling her friend and her pain. The stated intent is to share Bessie’s story when she no longer can, and surprisingly, everyone accepts this, perhaps because Squibb is too endearing to stay mad at.

Johansson’s direction is serviceable if unremarkable, and one has to wonder why this particular script spoke to her. Though it is morally complex and modest in scope, it doesn’t dive deep enough into the nuance here, opting for surface-level emotions. It’s Squibb’s performance and appealing screen presence that enable this all to work — if it does. Kellyman is terrific opposite Squibb, but this unconventional friendship tale is the kind of slight human interest story that slips from your consciousness almost as soon as it has made its brief impression.

Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.

There are times when you want a vacation that challenges you. But there are other times when you crave a familiar scene, a traveler’s version of comfort food.

What is it that brings people back to the same destination again and again?

Charlotte Russell, a Manchester-based clinical psychologist and founder/editor of the Travel Psychologist blog, didn’t see value in visiting the same place twice when she was in her 20s, but as she got older, her opinion changed.

Now one of her most frequent destinations is Seville, a short, direct flight from her home airport. However, her travel cadence is strategic. “I don’t want to spoil the connection I have to the place by visiting too frequently,” she says. “For me, once every few years seems to be about ‘right.’” Once there, she savors “the beautiful buildings, the orange trees, the smells and flavors of the food,” enjoying the chance to get to know the culture more deeply than a one-time visitor might.

Then again, Russell acknowledges, maybe we can never truly visit the same place twice.

So says psychology professor Andrew Stevenson in his 2023 book “The Psychology of Travel.” In his view, “places change all the time, and so do we. Yes, we can visit the same location again, but are likely to experience it in a completely different way when visiting again, as the place becomes more meaningful, more full of memories, more vital, each new time we arrive.”

We asked Southern California readers to tell us about their most prized repeat destinations. The answers took us all over — Hawaii, Utah, Arizona, England and Hermosa Beach, for instance — for all sorts of reasons they share with us below.

Rescuers in the rugged Eastern Sierra are searching for a Seattle man who has been missing since early September — and possibly longer — after climbing among some of California’s most remote and daunting mountain peaks.

Billy Pierson, an experienced alpinist, was in California getting in shape for an upcoming trip to Nepal, according to a comment his brother, Steve Pierson, left on Facebook.

On Aug. 9, the alpinist was hiking with a friend. “After their hike, he separated from that friend and is believed to have headed toward Inyo County,” the Inyo County Sheriff’s office said in a news release. “He was later reported missing on September 10, 2025.”

It was not immediately clear when Billy Pierson separated from his friend, or who was the person who reported him missing. The Inyo County Sheriff’s office did not immediately respond to a request for comment Monday.

Billy Pierson, an experienced alpinist, was in California getting in shape for an upcoming trip to Nepal.

(Inyo County Sheriff)

It is believed Pierson was attempting the Palisades Traverse, a classic and technical mountaineering route along the Sierra crest that covers close to 20 miles and crosses the summits of five mountains taller than 14,000 feet.

In addition to climbing the challenging peaks, mountaineers also often have to navigate the Palisades Glacier, one of the last true glaciers remaining in California.

Steve Pierson said his brother’s plan was to begin, or end, his epic trip at Temple Crag, a familiar landmark to seasoned Sierra climbers and hikers that towers above the magnificent, glacier-fed Big Pine Lakes.

The Inyo County Sheriff’s office, working with Inyo County Search and Rescue, scoured the area around Temple Crag with no success.

Pierson is 5’9”, 165 lbs, and was last known to be carrying a large, navy blue or gray backpack. He was wearing black and yellow shoes and liked to hike in a baseball cap with a bandana underneath.

News that Pierson is missing follows several other incidents this summer in which hikers got dangerously lost or were found dead.

On Sept. 12, an Argentinian climber fell 2,000 feet to his death on Mt. Shasta. The 45-year old tech executive had summited successfully, but lost his way on the descent, winding up on the steep and icy Wintum Glacier. He attempted a controlled slide to reach the safety of a trail below, but lost control, collided with a boulder, and eventually slid the length of the glacier.

Also in September, a San Luis Obispo County man — Kirk Thomas-Olsen, 61 — was found dead in Yosemite National Park more than 20 days after he was expected to return from his solo hike.

In August, a boy scout troop hiking in the Emigrant Wilderness north of Yosemite National Park came upon a 78-year old man who had spent a night without food, water or shelter in the mountains. He had lost his pack and seemed incoherent when the scouts found him and escorted him to safety.

GLENDALE, Ariz. — President Trump and prominent members of his Make America Great Again movement paid tribute Sunday to Charlie Kirk, praising the slain political conservative activist as a singular force whose work they must now advance.

The memorial service for Kirk, whom the president credits with playing a pivotal role in his 2024 election victory, drew tens of thousands of mourners, including Trump and Vice President JD Vance, other senior administration officials and young conservatives shaped by the 31-year-old firebrand.

Speakers highlighted Kirk’s profound faith and his strong belief that young conservatives need to get married, build families and pass on their values to keep building their movement. Those close to Kirk prayed and the floors shook from the bass of Christian rock bands as the home of the NFL’s Arizona Cardinals took on the feel of a megachurch service.

“Charlie looked at politics as an onramp to Jesus,” said the Rev. Rob McCoy, Kirk’s pastor.

Kirk’s killing at a Sept. 10 appearance on a Utah college campus has become a singular moment for the modern-day conservative movement. It also has set off a fierce national debate about violence and free speech in an era of deepening political division.

The shooting has stirred concern among some Americans who say that Trump is harnessing outrage over the killing as justification to suppress the voices of his critics and target political opponents.

High security and a full stadium

People began lining up before dawn to secure a spot inside State Farm Stadium west of Phoenix, where Kirk’s Turning Point organization is based. Security was tight, similar to the Super Bowl and similar high-profile events.

The 63,400-seat stadium quickly filled with people dressed in red, white and blue, as organizers suggested.

“I think that this is going to change things, and I think he made such a difference,” said Crystal Herman, who traveled from Branson, Mo. “He deserves us to be here.”

Photos of Kirk at work or with his wife, Erika, were on easels throughout the concession areas of the main concourse level. Some people posed for photos next to them.

“We’re going to celebrate the life of a great man today,” Trump told reporters before heading to Arizona. He said he was bracing for a “tough day.”

Trump has blamed the “radical left” for Kirk’s death and threatened to go after liberal organizations and donors or others he deems to be maligning Kirk or celebrating his death.

Many people, including journalists, teachers and late-show host Jimmy Kimmel have faced suspensions or lost their jobs as prominent conservative activists and administration officials target comments about Kirk that they deem offensive. The retaliation has in turn ignited a debate over the 1st Amendment as the Republican administration promises retribution against those who air remarks to which it objects.

Kirk was a provocateur who at times made statements seen by many as racist, misogynistic, anti-immigrant and transphobic. That has drawn backlash from some conservatives who cast the criticism as cherry-picking a few select moments to insult the legacy of someone they see as an inspirational leader.

A 22-year-old Utah man, Tyler Robinson, has been charged with killing Kirk and faces the death penalty if convicted of the most serious charges. Authorities have not revealed a clear motive in the shooting, but prosecutors say Robinson wrote in a text to his partner after the shooting that he “had enough” of what he considered to be Kirk’s hatred.

Kirk’s legacy

Turning Point, the group Kirk founded to mobilize young Christian conservatives, became a multimillion-dollar operation under his leadership with enormous reach.

“Charlie’s having some serious heavenly FOMO right now,” Turning Point Chief Executive Tyler Bower said, likening the moment to bringing “the Holy Spirit into a Trump rally.”

The crowd was a testament to the massive influence Kirk accumulated in conservative America with his ability to mobilize young people.

“I think he spoke on more than just politics,” Michael Link, 29, said outside the stadium. “Now that he’s gone, it’s like, who’s gonna speak for us now?”

His impact on modern-day conservatism went beyond U.S. shores.

Kirk “was very effective because he was convinced of his views and knew how to argue them,” Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni said at a political rally Sunday in Rome. “But he never stopped smiling, never stopped respecting his interlocutor and anyone who challenged him.”

Kirk was a MAGA celebrity with a loyal following that turned out to support or argue with him as he traveled the country for the events like the one at Utah Valley University, where he was shot. Kirk expanded the organization, in large part through the force of his personality and debating chops.

Arizona is the adopted home state of Kirk, who grew up outside Chicago and founded Turning Point there before moving the organization to Phoenix. Vance has said Kirk’s advocacy was a big reason Trump picked him as his vice presidential running mate last year.

Scheduled speakers at the service included Trump, Vance, Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth and Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard. Donald Trump Jr., right-wing commentator Tucker Carlson and White House aides Stephen Miller and Sergio Gor also were set to speak.

Also scheduled to speak was Kirk’s widow, who has been named Turning Point’s new leader and has pledged that “the movement my husband built will not die.”

Democratic Gov. Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania, whose official residence was set ablaze by a suspected arsonist in April while the governor was celebrating Passover with his family and friends inside, said in a television interview broadcast Sunday that Americans must now come together to find “our better angels.”

“We’ve got to universally condemn political violence no matter where it is,” Shapiro said on NBC’s “Meet the Press.”

Cooper, Garcia and Madhani write for the Associated Press. Cooper and Garcia reported from Glendale, Madhani from Washington. AP writers Tiffany Stanley in Washington, Silvia Stellacci in Rome and Terry Tang contributed to this report.

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Rooney was 21 when he helped carry Hatton’s championship belts into the ring alongside legendary Mexican boxer Marco Antonio Barrera before the Castillo fight.

“It was one of the most nervous I have ever been,” said Rooney.

“I was in the pool all day in Vegas, it was hot, and my face got a bit burnt, but then I remember standing in the dressing room and being nervous.

“He hadn’t lost at that time. I was thinking, ‘He does not lose tonight. Is it on you? Is it your fault?'”

Hatton went on to retain his IBO light welterweight crown with a stunning fourth-round knockout.

Rooney said they went to a beach party afterwards with family and had “a great day”.

He added: “So often you see any type of celebrity who are not really relatable, but Ricky was certainly relatable and good fun to be around.”

WASHINGTON — Utah Gov. Spencer Cox said Sunday that investigators are not ready to discuss the motive behind the killing of conservative activist Charlie Kirk. But he said the 22-year-old suspect had left-leaning political beliefs and disliked the conservative influencer.

“Clearly a leftist ideology,” Cox told NBC’s “Meet the Press.” On CNN’s “State of the Union,” he said, “That information comes from the people around him, his family members and friends.”

Cox said that Tyler Robinson, who was arrested last week, is “not cooperating” and that friends paint a picture of someone radicalized in the dark corners of the internet. “Clearly there was a lot of gaming going on,” Cox said on NBC. “Friends have confirmed that there was kind of that deep, dark internet, the Reddit culture, and these other dark places of the internet where this person was going deep.”

Cox, a Republican who has urged all partisans to tone down their rhetoric following the attack, added: “I really don’t have a dog in this fight. If this was a radicalized MAGA person, I’d be saying that as well.”

Cox stressed on several Sunday morning news shows, however, that investigators are still trying to pin down a motive for the attack on Kirk, a father of two and confidant of President Trump who was killed Wednesday while on one of his signature college speaking tours at Utah Valley University in Orem. The governor said more information may come out once Robinson appears in court Tuesday.

The governor said Robinson’s partner is transgender, which some politicians have pointed to as a sign the suspect was targeting Kirk for his anti-trans views. But authorities have not said whether it is relevant as they investigate Robinson’s motive.

“The roommate was a romantic partner, a male transitioning to female,” Cox said. “I can say that he has been incredibly cooperative, this partner has been very cooperative, had no idea that this was happening.”

Investigators have spoken to Robinson’s relatives and carried out a search warrant at his family’s home in Washington, Utah, about 240 miles southwest of Utah Valley University.

State records show Robinson is registered to vote but not affiliated with a political party and is listed as inactive, meaning he did not vote in the two most recent general elections. His parents are registered Republicans.

Ammunition found with the weapon used to kill Kirk was engraved with taunting, antifascist and meme-culture messages. Court records show that one bullet casing had the message, “Hey, fascist! Catch!”

Robinson grew up around St. George, in the southwestern corner of Utah between Las Vegas and natural landmarks including Bryce Canyon and Zion national parks.

He became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, known widely as the Mormon church, at a young age, church spokesperson Doug Andersen said.

Robinson has two younger brothers, and his parents have been married for about 25 years, according to social media posts. Online activity by Robinson’s mother reflects an active family that took vacations to Disneyland, Hawaii, the Caribbean and Alaska.

Like many in that part of Utah, they frequently spent time outdoors — boating, fishing, riding ATVs, zip-lining and target shooting. A 2017 post shows the family visiting a military facility and posing with assault rifles. A young Robinson is seen smiling as he grips the handles of a .50-caliber heavy machine gun.

A high school honor roll student who scored in the 99th percentile nationally on standardized tests, he was admitted to Utah State University in 2021 on a prestigious academic scholarship, according to a video of him reading his acceptance letter that was posted to a family member’s social media account.

But he attended for only one semester, according to the university. He is currently enrolled as a third-year student in the electrical apprenticeship program at Dixie Technical College in St. George.

Riccardi and Boak write for the Associated Press and reported from Denver and Washington, respectively.

Ten days after a Russian man was mysteriously killed amid a crowd of tens of thousands at the Burning Man festival, Russian media is reporting that the man’s father has asked President Donald Trump to have the FBI investigate.

Vadim Kruglov, 37, had been living in Washington state and, according to friends’ Instagram accounts, was making his first pilgrimage to Burning Man. He was killed sometime between 8 and 9:30 pm on the night of August 30, his body found “in a pool of blood” around the time the giant wooden effigy of a man was lit on fire.

The Pershing County Sheriff’s Department, which has jurisdiction over the Black Rock Desert where the annual event takes place, is leading the homicide investigation but has made no public comments about what might have happened. The agency has issued public appeals for information about “any person who would commit such a heinous crime against another human being.”

The agency has also announced that Kruglov’s family has been formally notified of his death, and that “our sincerest condolences from the Pershing County Sheriff’s Office go out to Vadim Kruglov’s family for their tragic loss.”

The sheriff’s department declined to comment on reports of the father’s appeal, or his criticisms of the pace of the investigation.

The Moscow Times reported Thursday that the pro-Kremlin tabloid Komsomolskaya Pravda published a video from Kruglov’s father Thursday. In it, the father, Igor Kruglov bemoaned that “ten days have passed” and yet the investigation is “being conducted by one local sheriff.”

“Evil must be punished,” the father continues, “therefore, I appeal to you, dear Mr. President, and ask you to order the FBI to immediately begin investigating the murder of my son.”

Kruglov’s friends have been pushing a similar message to their tens of thousands of Instagram followers.

One post claimed that Kruglov died “from a professional knife strike to the neck —a single fatal blow. This happened in a place where more than 80,000 people from all over the world were gathered.” The Pershing County sheriff’s office declined to comment on the manner in which Kruglov was killed or say whether the friend’s post was accurate.

The Instagram post contained several photographs of Kruglov enjoying himself at the festival.

“A young and talented man, who made a big contribution to this world, has been killed,” the friend wrote. “And the person who did this is still walking free.” The post added: “We strongly believe a federal investigation is needed.”