Kyle

Cuban American poet Kyle Carrero Lopez first learned what sanctions were as a child — not as a political measure, but as a gendered one. In his poem “Sanctions,” he describes how his father, a surly Cuban refugee who worked as a DJ, laid out the terms of acceptable masculinity.

“No dance class/no “girl toys”/don’t walk like that,” writes Carrero. “His anthem, his law, hammered, hammered, into me.”

The poem features in his debut book of poetry, “Party Line,” released in July by indie publisher Graywolf Press. As a gay, Black Cuban American, Carrero uses social etiquette as a springboard to critically examine how marginalized people learn to negotiate space — whether at a nightclub; in the stratified gay mecca of Fire Island; at a socialist magazine party; or in line for customs at the U.S. border. He cites Black cultural figures like the queen of salsa Celia Cruz, American fashion journalist André Leon Talley, the late French singer and dancer Josephine Baker and political activist Assata Shakur as guiding lights.

“There are two sides of me,” he told De Los. “Between the party girl and the politico is Kyle Carrero Lopez.”

Born in 1995 to Cuban parents in New Jersey, Carrero is now based in New York City, where he earned a master of fine arts in poetry at NYU and published his award-winning 2022 chapbook, “Muscle Memory.” He answered my phone call in South Carolina, while overlooking the Atlantic Ocean; his mother was on the precipice of getting married a second time. Carrero, already a poet, scholar, political organizer and nightlife host, would flaunt yet another title that weekend as wedding officiant. “My work is naturally in conversation,” he explained.

Many of the poems in “Party Line” came to Carrero after visiting Cuba for the first time in 2017, through the CubaOne Foundation. Inspired by the Birthright Israel program for Jewish youth, the nonprofit sponsored trips for Cuban Americans to connect with Cubans on the island. Yet for Carrero, this strengthened his political dissonance with many Cubans in the U.S., who’ve supported economic sanctions on the communist nation. In order to force regime change, in January the Trump administration levied an oil blockade on Cuba, triggering a humanitarian crisis.

Written with an unmistakably Caribbean verve and snappy, conversational meter, Carrero defines his stance on Cuba in no uncertain terms.

“This book really is for Cuban Americans,” he said. “Those of us who are not trying to destroy Cuba, that is.”

Carrero spoke to De Los about party politics, Black Cubanidad and how visiting the island changed his writing for the better. The following interview has been lightly edited for clarity and length.

A lot of people fall back on these ideas about immigrant communities being all hard work and drudgery — but we come from a festive, dance-fueled culture. How did you get the idea to combine poems about parties with poems about politics?

I’ve always been involved in politics. I’ve done a lot of canvassing. In high school, I was in a learning community called the Civics and Government Institute. We did a “social reformers” panel, where you had to play somebody from a social movement. They had me up there dressed up as Elijah Muhammad in the 10th grade, asking me what I’d think of Obama. I had to drag Obama! These Nation of Islam people were not feeling the moderate Democrats.

But that informed my political engagement to this day. I was concerned with the language surrounding the embargo and U.S. aggression against Cuba. In my poem “Torricelli,” I talk about how [former New Jersey congressman and senator] Bob Torricelli wrote the Cuban Democracy Act, which he designed to, quote, “wreak havoc on that island.”

And I write a lot about nightlife. It is a family industry for me on both sides. My maternal grandfather ran a social club in New Jersey, a games parlor. My mom was a club kid. She was out all the time. Parenthood changed some things, but my father still had DJ gigs. Our basement was his studio. He’d leave the house at 9, 10 o’clock to go to the gigs. You know that new Jordan Firstman movie, “Club Kid”? I’m the original club kid.

How do you write for those who may not be ready to receive the club kid and the politico at once?

I like challenging assumptions that political people are drab and unglamorous — and that party people are brain-dead, escapist and have nothing to say. One of the problems I have with the ’90s club kid scene, as it existed, is they were extremely apolitical. And not only were they apolitical, but I would go so far as to say the club kids in the ’90s were a white supremacist entity. We don’t talk enough about how their whole thing was like whiteness and white privilege. All we’re here to do is have fun — and we see what that mentality leads to, right?

[The movie] “Party Monster”!

Yes, “Party Monster”! Michael Alig literally killed a man of color. That is not the party world that I live in. We don’t take off who we are just because there’s low lighting and fog and loud music. I’m going to respond the same way to harassment and perceived injustice as I would any other space.

To this day, there are white club kids in New York who are in the club talking in black-ccents and wearing imitations of black people’s hairstyles. And then if you call them out, they’re like, “Why? It’s a party!” And I’m like, “OK, but it’s a party where all of the music comes from Black people … you are a guest in this space.” Before I’m going to serve you a history lesson, let’s at least start with decency.

And though you may not think you’re doing politics … politics will still do you. Your club kid parents experienced politics by coming to the U.S. from Cuba. Can you tell me about their journey?

My father emigrated from Havana as a child. My mother was born to parents who emigrated in the 1950s during Batista’s regime. Cubans have a privileged relationship to immigration — the pipeline available to us [political asylum] was not the same for most people of Latin American descent.

My family came here not only as Cuban immigrants, but as Black immigrants. Politics happened to them. My father came to the U.S. in the late ’60s, getting called the N-word walking home from school with his two sisters…. They got hit so hard with belts that they would go home having soiled themselves. They were not only Black, but they didn’t even know what language or culture they were trying to assimilate to. There were layers of hatred…. When people talk about Cuban Americans, they think of white, rich Miami Cubans. It’s irresponsible to think in such a flat and one-dimensional way.

In the poem “Usefulness,” which was originally published in the Yale Review, you speak of how Black Cubans exist at the nexus of two different political agendas: the pro- and anti-Revolution contingents. Can you talk about that?

My opinion is very useful to many agendas. I joke that I would make a great Republican talking head. If I decided tomorrow that I wanted to get the GOP bag and be like, “Democrats are liars! I hate immigrants! I hate welfare! There’s two genders! We don’t need gay marriage!” — I would be a millionaire in under six months.

There’s a tokenism that happens when you exist at this nexus of identities. It’s true of the left as well sometimes. You could ask five different people in Cuba what they think about the government and they will give you five different answers. And that is OK! We need to allow that to be the case.

I don’t want what Trump and the Marco Rubios of the world want for Cuba — which is to seize it, to subjugate it and turn it into the next Puerto Rico. If people who are progressive and committed to Cuba’s autonomy don’t want that, I think part of [the work] is talking to Cuban people and hearing them out. I don’t think it’s acceptable to seek out only the opinions that match your own.

You bring up a historical moment that not a lot of Cuban Americans know about, which was the 1976 bombing of Cubana Flight 455, by an anti-Castro Cuban exile group. You said they planned on bombing a flight to Havana the week before, which your mom and her sister were on. How did they manage to avoid that?

[My grandfather] was an influential man. He knew the right people. So he heard something was going down and said, “I’m not putting my kids on that flight.” The flight went on as planned, but these men knew my grandfather and heard that his daughters were getting on the plane. To me that’s like getting on the list … sometimes you get into the party, or the plane [isn’t] bombed. It’s the same negotiation. Or just a moment of alignment.

What was it like visiting Cuba for the first time after the Obama administration eased travel and trade restrictions?

I don’t give Obama much, but he did try to normalize relations there. Unfortunately, Biden didn’t follow through with that, but for a second, we did care about Cuba.

The first time I went was in 2017, when I was 22. It was an incredible experience. My mother traveled to Cuba as a teenager; my father never went back. But they never discouraged me from going. I know that’s the case for a lot of Cuban Americans; there’s so much baggage. But once there was an easy path to go, it changed my life.

I write about Amiri Baraka’s time in Cuba, when he was earlier in his poetry journey — and his writing changed from being there. He wrote a poem called “Betancourt,” named after a young radical there. It made me more politically serious. I feel closer to my heritage, having done that.

What made you close the book with “I Saw Assata In Havana”? Did you really see Assata Shakur?

That was an imagined encounter. But it was the vision of what I imagine was her new life in Cuba — her second chance. I thought that it was a good ending note to land on, pushing against prevailing narratives.

I think the ways that we talk about our radicals — the Huey Newtons of the world, people like Kwame Ture or Angela Davis — we think of them as mythical beings, or, depending on who you ask, terrorists. But that disconnects them from their humanity. I wanted to create a portrait of [Shakur] as a normal lady who needed to pick up groceries sometimes. These were regular people who saw what was going on in the world and decided that they needed to do something about it. Each of us has that ability to enact change.

There are so many ways to make societal shifts, whether that’s writing to your officials or protesting or creating art that is challenging. What Shakur did was to say, “I don’t like this for my people. I don’t like this for the world I’m living in.” The same boot that’s on the necks of Black American people is on the necks of people in the Congo, people in Palestine, people of the global majority. We all have to share the planet. If we work together, we can have a world that can actually sustain itself.

My last question for you is: What would you like to see happen for Cuba?

I’m not a politician; I’m an artist. My duty is not toward any specific government; it is toward truth. My Cuba position, as a Cuban American, is focused first and foremost on my home country’s contribution to the conflict. If Cuba is truly no more than a failed state, why not lift all of the restrictions? Let’s see what happens when Cuba is unimpeded by hostile U.S. policy. That’s how you can best prove your point, right? Unless, of course, you’re afraid of what Cuba could be.

MICHELLE Keegan may have gripped the nation with her new ITV drama The Blame, but there’s one surprising TV appearance that has been doing the rounds on social media again.

It’s not the actress fronting a Netflix mini-series or portraying a soldier in Our Girl, but a forgotten stint on The Jeremy Kyle Show.

Michelle was technically on the now-axed chat show – but as her Coronation Street character, Tina McIntyre.

The soap hilariously did a crossover with Jeremy Kyle’s eponymous show for a special episode back in 2010.

The show tackled family and relationship issues and saw members of the British public work out their drama on air.

And who has more drama than the Platt family?

OH HELLE

Michelle Keegan enjoys public romp with hunky police officer in ITV’s The Blame

show switch

This Morning duo revealed as new Masked Singer panellists ahead of rival twist

During the crossover episode, Michelle’s character Tina appears on the show as her boyfriend, David (Jack P. Shepherd) is accusing her of having a relationship with his brother Nick (Ben Price).

In a clip from the episode, which has been unearthed by TikTok users and is now being circulated around the app, the trio are seen at loggerheads.

“Shut up David,” Tina is seen shouting over the stage as the pair go back and forth, with Jeremy getting involved.

Later, Nick and David are seen fighting over Tina as Nick slams: “She doesn’t like him. She doesn’t fancy you, she doesn’t, it’s over!”

“You think you can fly in, Nick, and take a piece of her,” hits back David, as Tina breaks down into tears and he slams her “waterworks”.

A crying Tina then tells Jeremy: “I’m sick of him, he ruins everything. Even the thought of accusing me of sleeping with Nick, it’s not important to me right now.

“And he’s got a cheek to actually question it – you’ve got a cheek David.”

The hilarious crossover, which was to celebrate the 1000th episode of the Jeremy Kyle Show, came in the middle of Michelle’s time on Coronation Street, which she joined in 2008.

As the clip has been circulating around Tiktok, many users on the video streaming app were confused as to whether it was real or for a skit.

One user said: “If I didn’t know this was a special episode with actors, I would’ve thought this was real, it’s well good 👏😂”

“I would not have recognised her…what year is this???,” said a second of Michelle.

A third praised: “Corrie was on another level creating this with JK, it makes it look so more real.”

Michelle was just 23 at the time of filming the scenes.

She eventually left the soap in 2014, as Tina was killed off.

Teoscar Hernández? Sure. Max Muncy? Certainly. Tarik Skubal? Absolutely.

But Kyle Tucker? Are you kidding me?

Of all the heroes in the Dodgers’ 5-3 victory over the Atlanta Braves in their National League Division Series opener Saturday at Dodger Stadium, none was more stunning than the shrugging, somnolent, underachieving right fielder whom Dodger fans have treated like an overpaid outcast.

Just listen to them now.

Booo…Yayyyyy!

Locked in a one-run game on a scorching 100-degree afternoon, Tucker drove an AJ Smith-Shawver fastball 408 feet over the right-field fence in the sixth inning for a two-run homer that essentially ended the Braves’ afternoon and set up the Dodgers for what appears to be a certain series sweep.

Yes, the Dodgers only lead one game to none in this best-of-five deal, but the Braves are clearly out of breath and out of pitching after enduring last week’s wild-card series against the Philadelphia Phillies.

The Braves dug deep in their bullpen for all eight innings Saturday. They may have to dig even deeper in Game 2 on Sunday or desperately start ace Chris Sale on short rest.

Their offense looks wasted, their bullpen is taxed, and they spent most of Saturday in one sweaty mess.

Of course, the Dodger bullpen almost handed the game back to them when Ozzie Albies hit a two-run homer off Tanner Scott in the ninth to close what seemed to be an insurmountable gap. But Scott was mercifully lifted for Evan Phillips, who recorded the final out of the game to save the Dodgers from disgrace.

And to etch Tucker into the rare role of hero.

“Obviously for us it’s about winning a championship,” said manager Dave Roberts when asked about Tucker afterward. “Our fans, they really remember what you do in the postseason. So this is certainly a way to change the story for a season in 2026.”

Indeed, except for the back end of the bullpen, Dodgers old and new rose to the championship occasion.

Skubal in his first Dodger postseason start after being traded here from Detroit on Aug. 2? Six innings of brilliance, 15 batters in a row retired at one point, only one three-ball count in the first five innings, two allowed hits, seven strikeouts, two walks and only nicked by a Sean Murphy homer.

Dodgers pitcher Tarik Skubal delivers during the first inning Saturday against the Braves.

(Eric Thayer / Los Angeles Times)

Teoscar Hernández, almost benched during a rocky regular season? Same old Teo, the guy who leads the Dodgers with 27 RBIs over the last three postseasons, this time opening the scoring with a two-run homer in the fourth.

Max Muncy, the forgotten stalwart who always seems to show up huge in October? Same old Max, blasting a ball over the right-field fence in the sixth to give the Dodgers a 5-1 lead.

But Kyle Tucker? This was not the same old Tucker. Nobody saw this coming. Certainly, he finished the regular season strong with a .969 OPS in September with six homers and 13 RBIs, but he was awful for most of the previous five months after joining the team this winter with baseball’s highest annual salary of $60 million.

Tucker batted .196 at home. He seemingly jogged after fly balls, wildly swung and missed at fastballs, and who would have thought he would take control with one out in the sixth and the Dodgers leading 2-1?

There was one out. This was a big moment. Skubal was out of the game and the Dodgers had lost all their early momentum when Hernández popped a single to center, bringing up Tucker.

On Smith-Shawver’s second pitch, he connected, and after Tucker trotted across home plate, the most amazing thing happened.

He smiled.

“I think that we all know — it’s been well talked about — the struggles he had this year,” said Roberts. “I give him a lot of credit for grinding through it, not running from it, always posting and kind of getting to the other side of it.”

It was an otherwise ordinary Dodger playoff win that began with a rare bit of Dodger second-guessing.

Many questioned the Dodgers choosing to pitch Skubal in Saturday’s opener while slotting Blake Snell into Sunday’s spot and leaving last season’s playoff hero Yoshinobu Yamamoto on the bench until Game 3.

The reasoning was that Skubal could get two starts in this series on full rest while Yamamoto, who requires an extra day’s rest, was only getting one start in the series regardless. Furthermore, by holding him back in this series, the Dodgers ensured that Yamamoto would get two starts in the National League Championship Series.

Still, you have to wonder, how do you take a guy with a 7-0 postseason record with a 2.25 ERA and put him third in the rotation?

Turns out, the Dodgers knew what they were doing, and before the game, even Andrew Friedman acknowledged this was their best pitching staff of this era.

“I feel like this is the best and deepest pitching staff we’ve ever had going into October,” said the Dodgers president of baseball operations. “I think we had some tough conversations in leaving some guys off the roster. That would have never happened before.”

There were also pregame question marks surrounding the health of Shohei Ohtani and Freddie Freeman.

Those questions remain, as the two future Hall of Famers went two-for-seven with two singles and not much power.

Ohtani, fighting arm and leg injuries, entered the game batting .157 since Aug. 18 with zero home runs during that time.

“As of now, it’s something I’m just going to have to manage,” he said through interpreter Will Ireton.

Ohtani and Freeman are going to have to manage better than this for the Dodgers to three-peat.

Maybe they should take some advice from the Dodgers’ latest candidate to be christened Mr. October.

Kyle Tucker? Yeah, him.

Kyle MacLachlan is living up to his reputation as the Internet’s Dad.

It’s an especially warm day in August, and the bespectacled actor, best known for his many projects with the late auteur David Lynch, is approaching with a coffee (black, naturally) in one hand and a massive cookie in the other. The snack, it turns out, is meant for us to share.

“Whatever it is, it’s very healthy,” he says when I ask what sort of confection he chose. “It’s cranberry, oatmeal and gluten-free. Who knows if there’s any sugar in there?”

At 67, MacLachlan isn’t necessarily a health nut. But he is highly amenable and willing to roll with my vegan cafe selection, which is conveniently located near our photo shoot location. “I come from Eastern Washington state — it’s a desert,” he says assuringly when I offer to move us to an indoor seat with air conditioning. Later, as we prepare to leave for the shoot, he clocks my car, a rare station wagon, and dubs it “spec-TAC-u-lar.”

That’s MacLachlan for you — all it takes is one word (he also drops an “Aces!” during our meeting) or enthusiastic gesture (very likely a swooping thumbs up) to channel the type of eccentric and upbeat characters he’s spent the last 40 years playing. Now, with the release of his thoughtful new memoir, “Fictional Selves,” MacLachlan gives us a much closer look at the man behind the chin-jutting grin, and, in doing so, introduces us to his doppelganger, “Other Kyle,” an image-conscious shadow figure constantly trailing behind, questioning his choices.

“There’s definitely another entity, an observer, the ego, the harder self,” MacLachlan says of how he would describe Other Kyle, whom ghostwriter Jon Sternfeld first identified after noticing the way MacLachlan tended to fall into conversation with himself while recounting his life. “[He’s] the kind of person that I’m not comfortable leading within the world. But he’s definitely in there commenting on the things that I do.”

Other Kyle first began to taunt MacLachlan after he saw himself on a gargantuan billboard for “Dune” in Times Square. (In his early 20s, MacLachlan was famously plucked from obscurity to lead David Lynch’s 1984 adaptation of Frank Herbert’s sci-fi epic.)

Well before his alter ego materialized, and well before Hollywood found him, MacLachlan was prone to anxiety and fears of never fitting in. Born in Yakima, Wash., MacLachlan grew up the oldest of three boys; his parents were solidly middle-class, with his father working as a lawyer, and then stockbroker. His mother was a homemaker known in the community for her civic involvement, particularly in local arts programs. In fact, it was MacLachlan’s mother who first encouraged him to try a “Teen Theater” program, drawing him in with the promise that there might also be girls in attendance.

But it took a minute for MacLachlan to genuinely embrace his calling. As a young adult, his father pushed him to study business, while his mother urged him to try PR or communications. His studies at the University of Washington weren’t going well, so he dropped out and worked at a manufacturing plant back in Yakima. It wasn’t until a girlfriend recommended a summer theater program in North Carolina that MacLachlan leaned back into his first real passion, eventually returned to school with a newfound focus, and was accepted into the University of Washington’s professional acting program.

Kyle MacLachlan at the glass and mirror shop LA Mirror Man on La Cienega Boulevard.

(Christopher Patey / For The Times)

Fast-forward 40 years, it’s impossible to imagine that MacLachlan would have anything else for Other Kyle to latch onto. For one, his acting resume is the stuff of thespian fantasy. Sure, “Dune” infamously flopped hard upon arrival, and all planned sequels were immediately canceled. But it wasn’t long before MacLachlan had teamed back up with his mentor, with whom he had developed an almost telepathic bond on “Dune,” to lead Lynch’s much more kindly received 1986 neo-noir arthouse entry, “Blue Velvet.” A few years later, the overwhelming success of the TV mystery series “Twin Peaks” propelled the actor to the upper stratosphere of celebrity.

“When we were working together creating Jeffrey in ‘Blue Velvet’ or [Coop in] ‘Twin Peaks,’ we would sit and talk or not talk, we melded together in some weird way, we were like one person,” MacLachlan says of his bond with Lynch, who died in early 2025 of cardiac arrest due to chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. “It was this very symbiotic kind of thing in front of the camera,” MacLachlan continues. “It was like this weird circular energy. … He’s the only director I share that with.”

And yet, breaking out of what MacLachlan refers to as “The Black Suit,” worn by his unceasingly chipper “Twin Peaks” character, Special Agent Dale Cooper, proved challenging. By the time “Twin Peaks” left the air in 1991, MacLachlan had grown ambivalent about the job that changed his life, partially because he felt Lynch didn’t fight hard enough to keep artistic control of the show’s second season, which saw the network upping its creative involvement and Lynch distancing himself until the final few episodes.

MacLachlan longed to diversify his output — to show that he was capable of being a mainstream Hollywood leading man, one who could interface with a variety of directors. In the book, he writes about jobs he comes so close to booking — roles in Robert Redford’s “A River Runs Through It” and Francis Ford Coppola’s “Dracula” — but losing out at the last minute.

Kyle MacLachlan explores his alter ego “Other Kyle” in his new memoir.

(Christopher Patey / For The Times)

He took these rejections hard at the time. Many decades later, however, he can see how he was the one holding himself back. “I felt like people were only seeing the black suit,” MacLachlan says. “Now, the truth is, they would probably have been more than happy to see me as somebody else, but I was not able to deliver. … I think there was a lot of insecurity,” he continues. “I was like, ‘Maybe it’s not the suit. Maybe it’s me.’”

As the 1990s played out, MacLachlan fought an on-again, off-again existential crisis regarding the type of actor he was really meant to be. His friend and former “Doors” co-star Val Kilmer urged him to accept a lead role in a BBC adaptation of Kafka’s “The Trial,” which didn’t move the cultural needle in the States, but did put him in the same room as enormously pedigreed actors like Anthony Hopkins and Alfred Molina. He snagged a role in a Paul Verhoeven film about topless dancers — a career risk he hoped would pay off but ultimately felt like “walking into a buzz saw,” as he writes in the book.

Despite the cult reappraisal of “Showgirls,” and the lasting popularity of “Sex and the City,” Other Kyle had a few things to say about both of these roles, but the Kyle sitting across from me has a much more measured approach, particularly to “Showgirls.”

“I think it’s fun that it’s still around,” MacLachlan says. “I’ll still argue with anyone that [says] it’s a good movie. It’s not a good movie, but it’s definitely an appreciated movie, and that is kind of where I leave it.”

In the early 2000s, his wife, Full Picture founder and chief executive Desiree Gruber, pushed him to accept a role in HBO’s “Sex and the City,” playing an Upper East Side doctor with erectile issues.

Portraying Trey MacDougal was a mixed bag for MacLachlan. On one hand, he was thrilled to be part of such a cultural juggernaut, and he delighted in the emphasis the show placed on female friendship and sexual agency.

“I want to keep being challenged,” says Kyle MacLachlan, looking ahead to the next chapter of his 40-year career.

(Christopher Patey / For The Times)

At the same time, he had mixed feelings about playing an old-money mama’s boy with a Freudian Madonna-whore complex. Not to mention the sheer ridiculousness of the things the writers would have him do: One scene had him bent over a bathroom sink, masturbating to a pornographic magazine. A passage of “Fictional Selves” also recalls the cringe-inducing moment when Trey gives his wife, Charlotte (Kristin Davis), a cardboard cutout of a baby in an effort to make light of their struggle to conceive.

In the book, MacLachlan recalls being utterly dumbfounded at having been asked to do something so oblivious at best and cruel at worst. Eventually, however, he writes that he realized the writers just needed a way to foist him off the show. (His and Davis’ characters get divorced soon after the cardboard baby incident.)

“Every time I got a script, I’d be like, ‘Oh boy, OK, what’s going to happen here?’” MacLachlan says. “And then it would be, like, whatever they’ve come up with, ‘how can I shape it? What is it that [Trey’s] wrestling with? What are the issues here? Then, you know, realizing that in some cases it was just going to be a sight gag. Like, the Juggs magazine is going to be a sight gag. And as I said in the book, in my mind, I would sort of float away. I would be like, ‘That’s not really me. I don’t know who that is down there doing that.’”

As MacLachlan moved into middle age, he gradually grew more comfortable with the clean-cut oddball characters he’d so often be asked to play: a refined but possibly murderous dentist on “Desperate Housewives,” an idiosyncratic boat obsessive on “How I Met Your Mother,” an over-the-top civic leader on “Portlandia,” and, once again, Special Agent Dale Cooper (plus his doppelgängers) on “Twin Peaks: The Return.”

The 2017 “Twin Peaks” reboot would be the last big project MacLachlan would work on with Lynch, but MacLachlan would frequently visit the director in their shared Hollywood Hills neighborhood. “It’s many things,” MacLachlan says when I ask what he misses most about his friend and mentor. “The voice on the phone — ‘HEY, KALE! Come on up for coffee!’” he continues in a pitch-perfect Lynch imitation. (“Kale” became Lynch’s nickname for MacLachlan, referencing “Dune” producer Dino De Laurentiis’ Italian pronunciation.)

“Towards the end, I would go to visit him, and I would sometimes take my phone and record things. I still have these stories loaded in my iPhone — about ‘Dune,’ or a story about a moment in ‘Blue Velvet,’ or a story about when he met John Huston, or when he got a kiss from Elizabeth Taylor. … I have these little gems, and I savor those.”

Lately, Other Kyle has been replaced by Online Kyle, a goofy, lighthearted version of MacLachlan who primarily lives on TikTok and Instagram — thus the wholesome, Gen Z title of “Internet’s Dad.” And when he’s not playing a father to Ella Purnell on Prime Video’s hit “Fallout,” or interviewing a younger generation of entertainers on his podcast, “What Are We Even Doing,” MacLachlan is also someone’s real dad. One of the most endearing moments in our afternoon happens when his teenage son, Callum, calls looking for something around the house. “Oh, it’s in the fridge in the gym. In a foil. And there’s chicken in the fridge. Love you too,” MacLachlan tells his son.

There’s certainly no doubt that this Kyle doesn’t get in his head — or in his own way — the way earlier versions did. He’s still eager to test his limits as an actor, but he’s comfortable with the thought that there is no plan. “I want to keep working with interesting people,” he says with his trademark buoyancy. “I want to keep doing fun things. I want to keep being challenged. … I don’t really know where I’m going, but something will excite me, and I’d be like, ‘OK, what the hell?’ And I jump in.”

Brodsky is an L.A. culture and music writer. Her biography of Stevie Nicks “Lessons & Lace” is out now.