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When Halle Bailey moved from Georgia to Los Angeles as a wide-eyed preteen nearly 15 years ago, the city felt like a wonderland of possibility.

“Being from the South, when you first come to L.A., you’re like, ‘Hollywood. Wow. This is where all the celebrities are,’” says the Grammy-nominated singer and actress. At any moment, she thought she might cross paths with Halle Berry — the similarly named actress she’s often mistaken for — on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

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.

But after living in the city for a while, Bailey, now 26, says she realized L.A. is made up of all sorts of different pockets — ones “where people are really Hollywood, bougie” and others “where people are chill, like hippies,” she says. Her favorite neighborhoods are Silver Lake, Venice and “places where people are just like, yeah, one love,” she says, laughing.

These days, Bailey is one of the celebrities people would be thrilled to see strolling down Hollywood Boulevard. She’s built a career that bridges music, TV and film: By 13, she and her sister Chloe Bailey — together known as Chloe x Halle — had signed to Beyoncé’s label; she’s earned six Grammy nominations (including one for her debut solo album released last fall); and she played young Nettie in “The Color Purple” and starred as Ariel in Disney’s live-action “The Little Mermaid,” a blockbuster role she’s recently been reflecting on.

Bailey’s next venture? Starring in her first romantic comedy, Universal’s “You, Me & Tuscany,” which hits theaters April 10. She plays Anna, a young woman who impulsively crashes at a empty Italian villa by pretending to be the owner’s fiancée.

“It felt good to play a young woman who was grown, but still discovering herself,” she says. “I felt like I was playing the essence of the Halle who is finding herself now.”

On her perfect Sunday in L.A., Bailey would have a day of fun with her 2-year-old son, Halo. Here’s what they’d do.

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

7:30 a.m.: Wake up and jump into mommy duties

I love mornings. I leave my curtains open while I sleep because I like when the sun wakes me up. We all doomscroll, which is kind of bad to say, but the first thing I check is my phone. Then I have mommy duties right at 8 a.m. Sometimes before [Halo] wakes up, I get a chance to do some things for myself like go outside and sit in the sun for some meditation or stretching. I don’t get to do it every day, but I try. Or I’ll make some tea or a smoothie and just have a moment of gratitude for waking up that day.

8:30 a.m.: Crank up the music

Once Halo is up, we do breakfast right away. I don’t know why I’m super into boiled eggs right now [laughs]. But I love a boiled egg in the morning with either avocado or hash browns. My baby loves hash browns too. I try to make a balanced breakfast and then from there it’s kind of party time.

We’ve been blasting the new Jill Scott album and it’s really cool how the music you play in your house can just change the mood, the vibe and bring good energy into the space that you’re in. And on a Sunday, I don’t know if it’s just because of the way I was raised, but automatically I think, “OK, I need to straighten up for the week. I need to get the house reset.” So maybe I’m cleaning up the kitchen or organizing toys, or making sure the bathroom is straight, or washing clothes while the music is blasting and we’re dancing around, having fun.

12 p.m.: Solo time while the baby naps

I’ll take a lunch break. If I’m in the cooking mood, I love making comfort food like chicken and rice with cabbage and mac and cheese. Something that is just warm and comfy. If I’m not doing that, I’m ordering Wing Stop or Chipotle. I would chill outside for a while until my son’s nap time, which is around 12:30 p.m. He’ll sleep until like 3:30 p.m., so then I have two hours to myself and sometimes I do nothing. Sometimes I just need to sit down and I’ll be on my phone on TikTok or I’ll watch a show. I recently binged the new “Love is Blind” season. I also started watching “Real Housewives” again, but, like, the beginning seasons. I really love the show “My Strange Addiction.” It’s just so hilarious to me. Those are some guilt-free shows that I turn on and my brain can turn off.

I might even go into the studio if I’m hearing a melody in my head or pick up my guitar. Sometimes I might take a nap too, and that feels really good on a Sunday.

4 p.m.: Go on an easy sunset hike

If I feel up for leaving the house, we’ll go for a walk, to the park or maybe even a sunset hike. I’ve always been a nature girl and I feel like it just grounds me, and I’m able to center myself, especially for the start of a new week. There’s a lot of really beautiful hikes in California, but I’ve found ones that are easy and safe to take a baby on so I’m not stressing if he’s running ahead of me or behind me. On a Sunday, you just want to rest, so you’re not trying to do a full-blown workout. Sometimes we’ll get halfway through and then we’ll turn back and go home [laughs].

Near Studio City, there’s a really good one called Fryman [Canyon]. It’s hard in the beginning, but as you get higher it gets easier and you see the view, and you’re just like, “I can do this.” We recently went to Point Dume, which I had never been to, but I saw the view on TikTok. It’s a really beautiful beach hike in Malibu and I love it there. The hike up is super easy, but there’s a field of flowers that you walk through to get to the viewpoint where everyone takes pictures overlooking the beach.

6:30 p.m.: Bath time

I love a bubble bath. If my son is with me that night, we do a whole fun toys in the bath type of vibe. But if it’s a solo night, it’s like candles, lavender bubbles, lights are dim, jazz music is playing in the background, like Billie Holiday, and that is the ultimate reset.

7:30 p.m.: Dinner and a show

If I have a sitter, I might go out to dinner. I like Lucia, which is a Caribbean restaurant in Hollywood. I think the first time I went, they had a really good oxtail mac and cheese. When I went back the menu had changed and I ordered the jerk chicken, which was also good. Also, I’ve been loving the Blue Note recently. I saw Esperanza Spalding there last year.

10 p.m.: Watch something low–stakes before bed

Sometimes I try to force myself to turn off all screens, all phones and go to bed because I need the sleep. It’s either that or I’m up watching something. I just really like watching things that make me feel like I can laugh and I don’t have to think about it. I get really emotionally invested in shows. If I try to watch “The Pitt” at the end of the day, it feels so emotionally exhausting. During the day is OK, but at nighttime, I just need to laugh.

Like the mythical city of Brigadoon, Lisa Kudrow’s “The Comeback” has returned to television after many years away, with the difference that time has not stood still for its inhabitants, older in a changing world that values them less and which they navigate with less assurance.

Kudrow, who created and writes the series with Michael Patrick King, was in her youth a player in the twilight of network-dominated television, cast in a smart, influential show with wide, multigenerational appeal; in a quantitative sense, at least, everything would be downhill from there, as the medium transformed and transformed again. “The Comeback” premiered in 2005, just a year after the end of “Friends”; the first season addressed the rise of reality TV, and the next season, in 2014, riffed on dark, streaming “prestige” television.

The new (and final) season, which is both timely and speculative, addresses the impact of artificial intelligence on the medium and the industry, hinting at a dystopian future; this gives it a moral, even political component, not to say a sense of urgency. Not surprisingly, “The Comeback,” as a thing made by humans, comes down firmly on their side — it’s a manifesto at times — even as it acknowledges, uncomfortably, that computer-produced content might be “good enough.”

Once again, Kudrow plays Valerie Cherish, who, at 60 — the phrase “of a certain age” repeats throughout the series — still qualifies as a working actor. But she’s been pushed into the further reaches of the profession: Her two-season cozy mystery series, “Mrs. Hatt” (“part-time gardener, solves crime, husband is an ex-police chief”), is on no one’s radar but her own, having shown on Epix. A day’s work on a “no-budget” film is even less rewarding than she had imagined; she lasted all of two episodes on “The Traitors.” Paddling hard to stay current, to improve her brand, she bumbles through a podcast, “Cherish the Time,” without any idea what to do with that time; employs a social media person, Patience (Ella Stiller), with no discernible impact; and posts pictures of herself holding products in hopes of “future collabs.”

Still, she is not poor. Valerie and husband Mark (Damian Young), have moved from Brentwood to a condominium with a view in the (real life) Sierra Towers, overlooking the Sunset Strip, opening the latest “new chapter” in their lives, though just what that chapter for them is hard to say. Mark has lost his job in finance — “You told a joke at work at a time when jokes were illegal,” Valerie says, trying to cheer him, “no one cares now” — but left on a golden parachute; now he builds his day around pickleball. A potential role in a reality show, “Finance Dudes,” isn’t working out to anyone’s satisfaction. He’s on the verge of a three-quarter-life crisis.

When her self-promoting manager/publicist Billy (Dan Bucatinsky) comes to her waving an offer for a new series, for a new network, in which she’ll star, Valerie is more than intrigued, if taken aback when he tells her that it’s being written by AI. (He isn’t supposed to know.) Network head Brandon (Andrew Scott, as blandly discomfiting as his Moriarty on “Sherlock”) assures her that it is “within the Writers Guild agreement,” but that it is also a secret — which will account for a lot of comedy going forward, secrets and lies being the very stuff of the form. “AI is really extraordinary,” he tells Valerie. “After all, it picked you.”

It’s also created a wholly generic multicamera sitcom, “How’s That?,” in which Valerie’s character, Beth, as she describes it, “runs a cute, charming old New England B&B with the help of her hunk nephew, Bo — so Beth and Bo, B&B.” (“Viewers want a break from the complicated confusing storylines of all these dark streaming shows,” says a network exec.) Her eager supporting cast has no idea that the series is being written by anything other than its human faces, unhappily married couple Josh (John Early) and Mary (Abbi Jacobson). Josh, who thinks of himself as “the voice of women of a certain age,” is precious about the jokes he manages to get into the script; Mary couldn’t care less. Untalented writing assistant Marco (Tony Macht) only wants “to get, like, a really nice house.” The AI, meanwhile, is personified to the cast and crew, who know nothing about it, as someone named “Al,” who “works remotely.”

One by one, the old company is introduced into the new season, Valerie finds Jane (Laura Silverman), her former documentarian, working as a cashier at Trader Joe’s, having tired of scuffling as a filmmaker, “begging people to care about the things that I cared about.” When Valerie lets it slip that her new series is AI-generated — “but don’t tell anyone ‘cause that’s a secret” — Jane is inspired to pick up her camera again. Lance Barber will eventually rejoin as screenwriter Paulie G., Valerie’s old nemesis. Robert Michael Morris, who played Mickey, Valerie’s hairdresser and best friend, in earlier seasons, passed away in 2017; Jack O’Brien, as Tommy, occupies a version of that space here.

Valerie may be only moderately successful, but she isn’t a hack. She has an Emmy for “Seeing Red,” the drama at the center of Season 2. She pushes back against the costumer (Benito Skinner) who wants to put her in a caftan. She knows her craft and is nominally proud of belonging to a union. She’s not a diva, but she has her pride. And that she is loyal, even when it does her no good, makes her easy to like. Thrust half-wittingly onto this cutting edge — being the first in an AI comedy, Mark tells her, “is like saying, ‘I was the first one to eat an arm in the Donner Party’” — she is wholly sympathetic, and, eventually, as things bend toward horror in a last-act revelation, a hero.

Though the subject is serious, the approach this time is light and farcical. Partially abandoning the documentary aesthetic of its predecessors — the first season had the look of amateur video, and the second of guerrilla filmmaking — much of this season is shot as a conventional, non-meta television show, allowing us access to private conversations and meetings without having to account for Jane and her crew, or requiring the players to act as if they’re being watched. Paradoxically, without pretending to reality, it makes some things more real.

Playing himself, director James Burrows, whom Valerie convinces to helm her pilot, notes that the jokes AI writes might come fast but are never better than obvious. “Surprising only comes from a group of writers huddled in a corner beating themselves up to beat out a better show,” he says. And just as Valerie is not a character an algorithm could produce, Kudrow is not an actor a machine could ever imagine. She’s no Tilly Norwood, or Tilly Norwood at 60, or Tilly Norwood with quirks applied. There’s no one like her— other than her — for the learning machines to scrape.

You should never settle for “good enough” when better, or best, is available. But that choice is on you.

I’ve had my fair share of bad neighbors over the years. Ones who’d stomp their feet above my bedroom at odd hours of the night or who’d block my parking garage without warning every time they had guests over. Talking to friends in L.A., such experiences seem to be the norm rather than the exception — people either have gripes about their neighbors or no feelings at all. A Stanford study showed that the percentage of Americans who frequently interact with their neighbors declined among all age groups from 2017 to 2023.

As someone who doesn’t live near any family, I know that good neighbors can be a godsend. And though I’ve had some questionable ones, I’m lucky to have also had some of the best. Like Joseph, who let me borrow his portable air conditioner — and even installed it — when a heat wave hit Los Angeles. Or Mr. Art, who’d close my garage whenever I was in a hurry and forgot to do it. And my current neighbor, Ms. Cassandra, who always makes sure to save me a plate when she grills her mouthwatering barbecue ribs.

Neighbors can become your friends — or even your family. That’s why we’re looking for Los Angeles’ most neighborly neighbors. And we want you tell us about yours. What’s the most remarkable thing they’ve done for you, big or small? Did they lend you a cup of sugar when you were baking a five-layer cake? Did they offer you a ride to work? Did they babysit for you last minute? Or invite you over for a holiday dinner so you wouldn’t have to spend it alone?

Nominate your favorite neighbor below. We may feature them in a future story.