one

A group of Democratic state governors has launched a new alliance aimed at coordinating their public health efforts.

They’re framing it as a way to share data, messages about threats, emergency preparedness and public health policy — and as a rebuke to President Trump’s administration, which they say isn’t doing its job in public health.

“At a time when the federal government is telling the states, ‘you’re on your own,’ governors are banding together,” Maryland Governor Wes Moore said in a statement.

The formation of the group touches off a new chapter in a partisan battle over public health measures that has been heightened by Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s advisers declining to recommend COVID-19 vaccinations, instead leaving the choice to the individual.

Andrew Nixon, a spokesperson for the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, said in an email that Democratic governors who imposed school closures and mask mandates, including for toddlers, at the height of the pandemic, are the ones who “destroyed public trust in public health.”

“The Trump Administration and Secretary Kennedy are rebuilding that trust by grounding every policy in rigorous evidence and Gold Standard Science – not the failed politics of the pandemic,” Nixon said.

The initial members are all Democrats

The Governors Public Health Alliance bills itself as a “nonpartisan coordinating hub,” but the initial members are all Democrats — the governors of 14 states plus Guam.

Among them are governors of the most populous blue states, California and New York, and several governors who are considered possible 2028 presidential candidates, including California’s Gavin Newsom, Illinois’ JB Pritzker and Maryland’s Moore.

The idea of banding together for public health isn’t new for Democratic governors. They formed regional groups to address the pandemic during Trump’s first term and launched new ones in recent months amid uncertainty on federal vaccine policy. States have also taken steps to preserve access to COVID-19 vaccines.

The new alliance isn’t intended to supplant those efforts, or the coordination already done by the Association of State and Territorial Health Officials, its organizers say.

A former CDC director is among the advisers

Dr. Mandy Cohen, who was CDC director under former President Biden and before that the head of the North Carolina Department of Health and Human Services, is part of a bipartisan group of advisers to the alliance.

“The CDC did provide an important backstop for expertise and support,” she said. “And I think now with some of that gone, it’s important for states to make sure that they are sharing best practices, and that they are coordinating, because the problems have not gone away. The health threats have not gone away.”

Other efforts have also sprung up to try to fill roles that the CDC performed before the ouster of a director, along with other restructuring and downsizing.

The Governors Public Health Alliance has support from GovAct, a nonprofit, nonpartisan donor-funded initiative that also has projects aimed at protecting democracy and another partisan hot-button issue, reproductive freedom.

Mulvihill and Stobbe write for the Associated Press.

For better or worse, “The Life of a Showgirl,” Taylor Swift’s 12th studio album, is unlike anything the megastar has done before.

On the 12-track album, which dropped Friday to mixed critical reception, Swift is uncharacteristically risqué and, for possibly the first time, indulges her inner theater kid without reservation. In that sense, much of the pop record is daringly new.

Still, on each track are sonic echoes from the 14-time Grammy winner’s decades-spanning discography — from the verve of “Reputation” to the romantic whimsy of “Lover.”

Swifties are sure to be playing “The Life of a Showgirl” on repeat today. But if that gets a bit tiresome after the 13th time, here is a list of Swift sister songs to try instead, based on your favorite track from the new album.

(Some song pairings are based on sound, while others are based on shared themes.)

“The Fate of Ophelia”

“Showgirl’s” opening track has a sultry groove and low pulse that could easily be the soundtrack to a flirty nightcap or the series finale of a dark comedy.

Find the same alluring melody with an extra dash of spice in “I Can See You,” a vault track from 2023’s “Speak Now (Taylor’s Version).” And for bonus points, head to the music video for a dose of the Swift-signature theatricality dripping from “The Life of a Showgirl.”

“Elizabeth Taylor”

This allusive track boasts the album’s most sweeping chorus, anchored by Swift’s mesmeric alto and a masterfully orchestrated rhythm that uses moments of quiet to its advantage.

“Reputation‘s” slow-burn hit “Don’t Blame Me” follows a similar playbook, using a killer choral backing to achieve the same hymnal quality that complex vocal layering creates on “Elizabeth Taylor.”

Plus, both songs share a secret weapon: Swift’s irresistible enunciation of the word “baby.”

“Opalite”

An immediate inductee into Swift’s “Glitter Gel Pen” song Hall of Fame, “Opalite” is for dancing around your kitchen with a glass of orange wine in hand.

Fuel that infectious joy with the most twirl-worthy — and arguably most underrated — track of Swift’s career, “Sweeter Than Fiction.” Swift released this shimmering tune in 2013 for the “One Chance” film soundtrack, and true to its title, it is sweet as a peach.

Honorary mention: If you prefer a tambourine to a synth, try “Lover” B-side “Paper Rings,” perhaps more suitable for kick-stepping than spinning but nonetheless another “Opalite” lookalike.

“Father Figure”

The natural choice here would be “The Man,” another song wherein Swift adopts a masculine persona to prove just what a boss she is.

But I have no more sage advice than to head to George Michael’s original “Father Figure” (1987), which recently got a streaming boost after being featured in the 2024 erotic thriller “Babygirl.” Swift used an interpolation of Michael’s song in her track of the same name — with a gleeful sign-off from the late singer’s estate.

“When we heard the track we had no hesitation in agreeing to this association between two great artists and we know George would have felt the same,” George Michael’s estate wrote Thursday on his official Instagram.

“Eldest Daughter”

It doesn’t feel entirely fair to compare these two — especially given one of them has Phoebe Bridgers and the other one has the line “I’m not a bad b—, and this isn’t savage” — but “Eldest Daughter” and “Nothing New (Taylor’s Version)” share the same grief for a younger self that a woman in her 20s knows best.

If you need a good cry, these two are here for you.

“Ruin the Friendship”

Speaking of debilitating nostalgia, this one might feel a bit out of place in this album’s universe, but it’s a heartrending gem nonetheless.

For a similar remorseful trip into the past, minus the boppy bass line, try “We Were Happy,” a vault track from “Fearless (Taylor’s Version)” about young love lost.

“Actually Romantic”

While this alleged Charli XCX diss track may be more scathing than usual for Swift, the singer is no stranger to shade, as evidenced in “Reputation” B-side “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things” — a perfect pairing for “Actually Romantic.”

In both songs, Swift is unapologetically petty, offering her foes a metaphorical bouquet of flowers thick with thorns.

These tracks aren’t everyone’s speed, but every misfit has its fans. And in the case of “Actually Romantic,” Nicki Minaj seems to be one of them.

“Wi$h Li$t”

Showcasing this album’s gentler side, “Wi$h Li$t,” which Swift said may be her personal favorite, is a tender tribute to her fiancé Travis Kelce, backed with ethereal synth sounds and soft vocalization from a clearly smitten showgirl.

“I just want you” is also the mission statement of “Glitch,” a short and sweet pop number from 2022’s “Midnights.” Turn this one on, and in no time you’ll find yourself swaying side to side, daydreaming about the love you never expected but can’t imagine letting go.

Honorary mention: For a more upbeat option, go for “Gorgeous,” a bubblegum–pop anthem just as swoonworthy as the aforementioned tracks.

“Wood”

This raunchy disco track had jaws dropping across the globe upon its release, and for good reason.

While not as high on shock factor, Swift’s “I Think He Knows,” a lesser-known track from “Lover,” is equally dancy and down bad. On top of that, it’s famously set at a perfect strutting pace. What more could you ask for?

“CANCELLED!”

This is the second song in Swift’s oeuvre featuring a title with an exclamation point (we’ll get to that later), and it’s not the best one.

But if you like the dark energy Swift has going on here, you can get plenty more of it in her live rock ’n’ roll version of “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” which she pulled out for the 1989 World Tour and hasn’t played since.

Here’s hoping the country crossover artist has another genre hop in her.

“Honey”

True to its title, “Honey” is a welcome salve for some of this album’s more sour numbers and shares striking sonic similarities with Swift’s best song adorned with an exclamation point, “‘Slut!’”

The “1989 (Taylor’s Version)” vault track, like “Honey,” uses a name-calling motif to paint a rosy portrait of her romantic partner. Neither is lyrically complex, but if “‘Slut!’” is any indication, “Honey” is sure to wind up a true fan favorite.

“The Life of a Showgirl (feat. Sabrina Carpenter)”

Finding a song that sounds like “The Life of a Showgirl” is a tall order, if not an impossible one.

So for a theme-based pairing, try fellow album closer “Clara Bow,” which caps off the original edition of “The Tortured Poets Department” (2024) with a mournful commentary on the constant churn of young female stars.

As Swift and Carpenter say, “You don’t know the life of a showgirl, babe, and you’re never gonna wanna.”

Honorary mention: For another Swift track about the pitfalls of fame, try “The Lucky One,” off 2012’s “Red.”

What a piquant moment for Nine Inch Nails to be back on the road playing their version of David Bowie’s “I’m Afraid of Americans.”

At the Forum on Thursday, for the first show of a final two-night stand of the electronic-rock band’s Peel It Back arena tour, singer Trent Reznor didn’t elaborate on the freshly resonant subtext in Bowie’s song (one that Reznor remixed for the late Brit and, in its music video, played a Travis Bickle-esque creep).

But you could feel the sold-out Forum roil with new unease at that squelching industrial song, as Reznor muttered Bowie’s scabrous lyrics about “No one needs anyone … Johnny wants p— and cars … God is an American.”

At this point, who isn’t a little afraid of Americans? Nine Inch Nails thrive in the murk of base human instinct and tech-driven dread. Who better to help us limn out these feelings of disgust, rage and desolation right now?

Now in their fourth decade as a group, Nine Inch Nails — the duo of Reznor and producer/keyboardist Atticus Ross along with a closely held touring band — does two difficult things extraordinarily well.

For 15 years, Reznor and Ross have served as Hollywood’s eminent techno-intellectuals, with a pair of Oscar wins for their film scores including the brooding lashes of David Fincher’s “The Social Network” and the yearning ambiance of Pixar’s “Soul.” They have an upcoming film-music festival, Future Ruins, that will be the first of its kind and caliber in Los Angeles.

1

2

3

1. Robin Finck of Nine Inch Nails. 2. Trent Reznor. 3. Fans react as Nine Inch Nails perform at Kia Forum. (Hon Wing Chiu / For The Times)

But Thursday’s Forum show was a decadent reminder of just how nasty and violent this band can be as well.

Opening on the smaller, in-the-round B-stage, Reznor took a solo-piano run through “Right Where It Belongs,” gradually adding Ross, bassist-keyboardist Alessandro Cortini and guitarist Robin Finck into a squalling “Piggy (Nothing Can Stop Me Now),” before finally introducing drummer Josh Freese on the calisthenic drum workout of “Wish.”

Freese was a last-minute addition to the touring band, after the group unexpectedly swapped percussionists with Foo Fighters days before Peel It Back kicked off. But Freese — an NIN veteran of the mid-2000s — has become a fan-favorite returning hero, bolstering this lineup with pure rocker muscle.

Back on the main stage, they redlined through “March of the Pigs” and seethed with fuzzbox rot on “Reptile.” They veiled the stage in gauze on “Copy of A,” casting dozens of Reznor shadows while he strutted and howled about a despondent, depersonalized modernity.

A second pass through the rave-ready B-stage gave a hint at what the band’s cryptically billed upcoming Coachella set might look like. “Nine Inch Noize” — implying an ongoing collaboration with their opener and collaborator, the German club music producer Boys Noize — took form here under a monolithic, blood-colored lightbox. Reznor, Ross and Boys Noize revved up a new single, “As Alive As You Need Me To Be” from the film “Tron: Ares,” but also revamped the eternal hit “Closer” and “Came Back Haunted” with an after-hours sizzle.

It’s impossible to imagine a single as desperately sexual, as sacrilegiously sacred as “Closer” ever making it to the Hot 100 today. For the Gen Z fans fascinated by Nails’ gothic-erotic aesthetic, it felt more transgressive than ever.

After slashed-up takes on “The Perfect Drug” and “The Hand That Feeds,” the band closed out the set with an opposing pair of songs that covered the full range of what its audience is likely going through today. How viscerally satisfying to scream “Head like a hole, black as your soul / I’d rather die than give you control” as American life seems to unravel with each passing hour.

But of course, the band closed on “Hurt.” Johnny Cash recorded his canonical version at 70, a cover now synonymous with a lion in winter starting down the grave. Just 10 years younger at 60, Reznor performed it Thursday with all the tightly coiled emotion and intimate grandeur of the kid who wrote it. American life is pain; Nine Inch Nails endures.

Maybe the national team turned a corner in last week’s 2-0 win over Japan.

Maybe the change to a 3-4-2-1 formation unlocked the lively and innovative play that had been missing in the team’s first year under coach Mauricio Pochettino. Maybe Pochettino and his players have finally found the chemistry and coordination that was so obviously missing.

And maybe, just maybe, the U.S. really can make a deep run in next summer’s World Cup, the first to be played in the U.S. in 32 years.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

One game can’t totally erase the dysfunctional and dispassionate performances that have marked much of the brief Pochettino era, one which included four consecutive losses at home and two losses in as many games with Mexico.

Nor can it make up for a player pool that has seemingly grown thin and ever-changing or speed the learning curve for a successful club coach who has struggled with the transition to the international game.

But it can buy the team and its coach some time.

“Touch the right buttons and we start to perform,” Pochettino said last September, shortly after he took the U.S. job. Just now, however, is he finding those buttons.

The win over Japan clearly lifts a huge weight off Pochettino and his players, but the reprieve may be temporary. If the U.S. regresses in friendlies with Ecuador and Australia next month, the angst and despair that have hovered over the team most of the year will return.

What it all means is Pochettino and the USMNT have reached a fork in the road. And the path they take will likely shape U.S. Soccer’s future for years, if not decades.

A World Cup the federation has been pointing to for years is just nine months away and much is riding on the U.S. team’s performance. A deep run in the tournament will engage and ignite the country, open the wallets of deep-pocketed sponsors and do more for the sport in the U.S. than any event since the last World Cup held here. That one led to the formation of MLS, which has grown into the largest first-tier professional league in the world, and the establishment of the U.S. Soccer Foundation, which has invested more than $100 million at the grassroots level, impacting nearly 100 million kids.

The coherent performance against Japan — albeit a young, inexperience Japanese “B” team — brought hope that a successful path, the longest one at the fork in the road, is still open.

But three days before beating Japan, the U.S. was thoroughly outplayed by South Korea in a 2-0 loss — the team’s sixth loss in 14 games this year — that raised alarm. According to The Athletic, the performance dropped the U.S. to 48th in the world in the Elo Ratings, a results-based formula for measuring all men’s national teams. It was the lowest ranking in 28 years for the Americans.

If the USMNT follows the South Korea path in the World Cup, its tournament run could be short, ending in the first two rounds and likely stunting both interest and investment in soccer in the U.S.

With just three international breaks remaining before the World Cup, there is reason for both hope and concern.

Pochettino’s lineup choices remain as unsettled as his tactical approach — although the Japan game may help settle that. As Stuart Holden, World Cup midfielder turned Fox Sports analyst, noted, the change to a three-man backline solved many problems.

Against Japan, Holden said, the center backs played with noticeable confidence and aggression. The formation also freed wingbacks Max Arfsten and Alex Freeman to be more creative and allowed attackers Christian Pulisic and Folarin Balogun, the team’s game-changers, to be more impactful.

There was much to like in the new approach and for the first time in his tenure, it seemed as if Pochettino had finally found a game plan that suited his players, with Balogun among those who benefited most: his goal, off an assist from Pulisic, was his first for the U.S. in nearly 14 months while his start was his first under Pochettino.

The other goal went to Alex Zendejas, who was called up for the first time this year despite having one of the best two-year runs of any USMNT attacker, scoring 16 goals and contributing 15 assists to help Mexico’s Club América to three straight Liga MX titles.

Another player who stepped up when given the opportunity was Seattle Sounders midfielder Cristian Roldan, who played an inspired 90 minutes, leading all players with 83 touches.

Pochettino welcomed the result but continued to argue it wasn’t the most important thing.

“It’s the process,” he told reporters.

“When you are strong in your ideas and your belief, it’s about never giv[ing] up.”

So which team is the real national team? The one that beat Japan or the one that was humiliated by South Korea? And what will the USMNT’s destiny be in the World Cup? A long, profitable run that changes the trajectory of soccer in the U.S. or a short, disappointing one that sets the sport’s progress back years?

The October games with Ecuador and Australia could go a long way toward determining that. There’s a lot riding on the answer.

World Cup ticket update

More than 1.5 million people registered for the chance to buy World Cup tickets in the first 24 hours of the tournament’s initial presale lottery, according to FIFA. Online applications came from 210 countries, FIFA said, with the three host countries — the U.S., Mexico and Canada — leading the way.

The presale draw, which began last Wednesday and will end Friday at 8 a.m. Pacific time, is the first phase of ticket sales for the tournament. After a random selection process, successful applicants will be notified via email starting from Sept. 29 and will be given a date and time slot to purchase tickets, starting at $60, beginning Oct. 1. When fans enter the window won’t affect their chances of winning.

Subsequent ticket sales phases will begin in October. Further details on the timeline and products are available at FIFA.com/tickets.

⚽ You have read the latest installment of On Soccer with Kevin Baxter. The weekly column takes you behind the scenes and shines a spotlight on unique stories. Listen to Baxter on this week’s episode of the “Corner of the Galaxy” podcast.

Ever since a massive immigration raid on a Hyundai manufacturing site swept up nearly 500 workers in southeast Georgia this month, Rosie Harrison said her organization’s phones have been ringing nonstop with panicked families in need of help.

“We have individuals returning calls every day, but the list doesn’t end,” Harrison said. She runs a nonprofit called Grow Initiative that connects low-income families — immigrant and nonimmigrant alike — with food, housing and educational resources.

Since the raid, Harrison said, “families are experiencing a new level of crisis.”

A majority of the 475 people who were detained in the workplace raid — which U.S. officials have called the largest in two decades — were Korean and have returned to South Korea. But lawyers and social workers say many of the non-Korean immigrants ensnared in the crackdown remain in legal limbo or are otherwise unaccounted for.

As the raid began the morning of Sept. 4, workers almost immediately started calling Migrant Equity Southeast, a local nonprofit that connects immigrants with legal and financial resources. The small organization of approximately 15 employees fielded calls regarding people from Mexico, Guatemala, Colombia, Chile, Ecuador and Venezuela, spokesperson Vanessa Contreras said.

Throughout the day, people described federal agents taking cellphones from workers and putting them in long lines, Contreras said. Some workers hid for hours to avoid capture in air ducts or remote areas of the sprawling property. The Department of Justice said some hid in a nearby sewage pond.

People off-site called the organization frantically seeking the whereabouts of loved ones who worked at the plant and were suddenly unreachable.

Like many of the Koreans who were working there, advocates and lawyers representing the non-Korean workers caught up in the raid say that some who were detained had legal authorization to work in the United States.

Neither the Department of Homeland Security nor Immigration and Customs Enforcement responded to emailed requests for comment Friday. It is not clear how many people detained during the raid remain in custody.

Atlanta-based attorney Charles Kuck, who represents both Korean and non-Korean workers who were detained, said two of his clients were legally working under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program, known as DACA, which was created under President Obama. One had been released and “should have never been arrested,” he said, while the other was still being held because he was recently charged with driving under the influence.

Another of Kuck’s clients was in the process of seeking asylum, he said, and had the same documents and job as her husband, who was not arrested.

Some even had valid Georgia driver’s licenses, which aren’t available to people in the country illegally, said Rosario Palacios, who has been assisting Migrant Equity Southeast. Some families who called the organization were left without access to transportation because the person who had been detained was the only one who could drive.

“It’s hard to say how they chose who they were going to release and who they were going to take into custody,” Palacios said, adding that some who were arrested didn’t have a so-called alien identification number and were still unaccounted for.

Kuck said the raid is an indication of how far reaching the Trump administration crackdown is, which officials claim is targeting only criminals.

“The redefinition of the word ‘criminal’ to include everybody who is not a citizen, and even some that are, is the problem here,” Kuck said.

Many of the families who called Harrison’s initiative said their detained relatives were the sole breadwinners in the household, leaving them desperate for basics like baby formula and food.

The financial impact of the raid at the construction site for a battery factory that will be operated by HL-GA Battery Co. was compounded by the fact that another large employer in the area — International Paper Co. — is closing at the end of the month, laying off 800 more workers, Harrison said.

Growth Initiative doesn’t check immigration status, Harrison said, but almost all families who have reached out to her have said that their detained loved ones had legal authorization to work in the United States, leaving many confused about why their relative was taken into custody.

“The worst phone calls are the ones where you have children crying, screaming, ‘Where is my mom?’” Harrison said.

Riddle writes for the Associated Press. R

Late night has a new tone in 2025, and Greg Gutfeld is the one setting it, one unpredictable quip at a time. Rewriting the rules and bringing his signature acerbic style to “Gutfeld!” on Fox News, his show is drawing in more than 3 million viewers nightly, making it the most-watched show at the edge of prime time at 10 p.m. Eastern time / 7 p.m. Pacific time, airing over 90 minutes earlier than such hosts as Jimmy Kimmel and Jimmy Fallon

Stacking up gigs, he’s also the resident wild card on the network’s hit show “The Five,” and he hosts the new reality game show “What Did I Miss?” on Fox Nation, which was just renewed for a second season. Gutfeld isn’t just leaving his mark on the network; he’s reshaping it.

Before he became polarizing to some, and well before his New York Times bestsellers and his night of reminiscing on Jimmy Fallon’s couch, Gutfeld was climbing the editorial ranks at magazines like Men’s Health, Stuff and Maxim. His biggest break came when he landed the very late slot hosting his own Fox News show, “Red Eye,” which would set the stage for his runaway success.

Taking nothing too serious while being surrounded by complete seriousness, and with “Gutfeld!” pulling in some of the strongest ratings on TV, he’s proving that irreverence can be its own kind of relevance. His refusal to put so-called untouchables on a pedestal has everyone taking notice, and like him, loathe him or don’t know what to think about a grown man obsessed with unicorns, there’s no denying that Gutfeld has turned having a good time into a full-time job. And he’s just getting warmed up.

How do you find out you’re No. 1 in the 10 p.m. timeslot ? Is there a cake and a massive check?

It’s more brought to you and then happens over time. I get ratings every single day, so I was able to watch us win. I guess I wasn’t that surprised by it; I just knew that it was going to take time. I thought, yeah, maybe in a couple of years, but it was in like a matter of months.

For old–school fans of “Red Eye,” “Gutfeld!” feels familiar, with the blended panel that’s always down to have a good time. But now everyone gets more comfortable chairs, which is nice too.

I agree. “Gutfeld!” is basically “Red Eye” but for everybody. Red Eye was operating on the assumption that you really had a select group of people awake at 2 or 3 in the morning. It wasn’t trying to be a cultlike pleasure; it just happened to be that way. We did want it to be for everyone, though. Now we have 10 times the viewers and we’re No. 1, so in my mind I’m going, I want the same sensibility, but I don’t want to completely confuse the viewers. I realize that my humor on “Red Eye” was deliberately obtuse in some ways, and not really deliberately. It was just surreal and bizarre, and maybe that won’t fly in prime time or late night, but like “Red Eye,” our show now is as interesting and unpredictable as that show was. And that’s 90% of the fight.

There’s definitely an unpredictability theme going on because “The Five” can get somewhat fiery at times, but not for the reasons one would think.

With “Gutfeld!” and with “The Five,” I really push the concept of teasing, because when I genuinely like somebody, I tease them. When everybody is together teasing each other, it’s a very fun thing and the viewers are in on it. On “Red Eye,” we were all basically roasting each other, and on my show, we’re all making fun of each other, some more than others. On “The Five,” of course, I needle Dana [Perino] and Jesse [Watters], they needle me, I go after Jessica [Tarlov], she makes fun of us all — we all do it, and I think that’s really the secret sauce to the success of “The Five,” “Gutfeld!” and why “Red Eye” was so beloved. You felt like you were with the people. It was like a perverted version of “Friends.”

There really is this vibe that, no matter what gets said, when the camera goes off you’re all knocking back a few together.

Yeah, I think the key is that nothing you say should warrant an apology. Meaning, if I were to insult you, you’re not going to demand an apology from me. When somebody wants an apology for a comment I always ask them, “How would that apology sound? I’m sorry that the jokes I made hurt your feelings?” How insulting is that to that person you’re apologizing to! I’m sorry I hurt your feelings with this insult. It’s like the people that are demanding an apology don’t even see how absolutely insulting it is that they are asking for it.

Some people really write their own headlines. I imagine yours ramped up after you took “The King of Late Night” joke and ran with it?

I’m trying to think where “the king” came from, and I think I have to credit Dave Rubin. I think Rubin was on during the first week of the show and said something like, “You’re going to be the king of late night. You’re going to be No. 1.” I don’t like saying stuff like that because then it’ll just be thrown back in your face, but he was right! Then, of course, I had to put it on my book cover. I don’t even know how that all happened, but putting it on the cover of my book was just, like, this audacious and ridiculous thing, having me on the top like I’m a skyscraper where King Kong swatted down people.

Silly is definitely your lane. What do you think the term “late night” even means anymore? It used to be pretty neutral, and now it’s almost like you better choose a side before you watch this comic make their TV debut!

Yeah, it kind of became defined as maybe a person who wanted to go to bed angry with somebody who wanted to go to bed happy. One thing that I always want to do is not send people to bed enraged. Sure, maybe you’re sad that Biden lost, but we’re going to have so much fun, and this is going to be great! And then Trump wins. This is going to be so much fun, and this is going to be great! So, we’re going to have fun, and things are going to be great no matter who wins or loses. I’m not going to let that impact the time that we have. I think doing a late-night show that makes everyone feel bad is a disservice. I don’t understand that. That’s when you have people switching the channel to come to us. They didn’t even know that we existed until then.

What a shakeup that channel flip caused and, also, it’s pretty monumental because the viewers are staying.

You know, for a long time they couldn’t even mention my name and it was a personal thing for them, but then I think they realized that all I did was point out what was missing. I mean, they gave me the opportunity by not addressing most of the country, and it was there for the taking. There was literally free money on the table, and so I took it, and I showed [mainstream media] that they don’t own the culture. I think it’s not just about late night; it’s about all of culture. It’s the ability to tell people, you aren’t the cool kids at the table anymore. You took people for granted, you insulted everybody else, and we’re the ones now who are having fun.

Seeing you on Fallon also looked like a lot of fun. You could seriously feel your excitement as you told him your drunken story of meeting him. You think he’d ever come on ”Gutfeld!”?

It was fun! It went the way I think we both wanted it to go, which was like an old-school TV segment you would have seen on Carson. Just two people having a fun conversation. I probably talked too much, but I had to tell that drinking story because I’ve been telling that story for years, and the only person I hadn’t told that to was Jimmy. So yeah, we were both happy about it, and it’s good to see two industry people in whatever “supposed rivalry” who genuinely like each other without that other bull—. I haven’t asked him to come on, though. Our show is a little different because if you come on, you’re on for the whole hour. You’re also on with other people so it’s kind of a bigger ask of someone, but the president did do it so…

Early into my tenure as a new line-dancing enthusiast, I found myself in Chatsworth, alone on a Friday night. I was looking for action — the country dance kind. It was not yet dusk when I entered the Cowboy Palace Saloon, which hosts line dancing on most nights. Suddenly, L.A. felt very far away. In the parking lot, men were flicking cigarettes into the hot summer air. The space was almost dreamlike, with leather boots hanging above the bar table. American flags strung up. A cue ball clattered on a pool table.

In the bar area, I stumbled upon a crowd in denim vests and leather-soled boots dancing in unison. They were line dancing, warming up the dance floor before the live band started their set. A man told me that on any given Friday night, this is the wildest bar in America. I believed him.

The appeal of line dancing is simple: It’s a partnerless dance. And still, it naturally fosters community. Scared? Saddle up anyway. If you fumble, the line will keep moving — feet brushing, stomping, rocking it back — and soon enough, you’ll find your rhythm again.

In Los Angeles, line dancing has a storied legacy. “In the early ‘90s, there used to be country dance bars all over L.A.,” says Sean Monaghan, one of the founders of queer line dancing night Stud Country. While the popularity of line dancing has seen dips since then, the scene is once again experiencing a revival, partly due to the 2021 closure of country western institution Oil Can Harry’s in Studio City. Deeply feeling its absence, the community filled the void with pop-up line dancing nights scattered across L.A.

”People want to share their joy,” Monaghan says of these gathering spaces.

No one is born a cowboy; they become one. You can see that in the zeitgeist. Pop stars like Chappell Roan, Post Malone and Beyoncé are making country albums and singles. Sabrina Carpenter released a line-dancing tutorial to accompany her hit song “Man Child.” Cowboy boots and camouflage have become fashionable in the L.A. nightlife scene too, littered across wine bars and nightclubs. Queer-themed line-dancing nights are popping up at queer bars across the city, from Dude Ranch at Micky’s WeHo to Hogtied at Precinct. Line-dancing has experienced a Gen-Z makeover in L.A. with TikToks showing line dancers accessorized with Labubus.

Today you can try line dancing at several country western bars around town, each one as eclectic and unique as the dances themselves. Each of these events on the dance floor will have you feeling like you’ve been teleported to a rollicking barn party — and may just make you want to abandon your life for the Old West.

Let’s unpack our need to unpack the whole “woman on TikTok who fell in love with her psychiatrist” saga.

First the facts: Kendra Hilty recently posted 25 videos on TikTok in which she discussed her decision to end four years of 30-minute monthly sessions (most of them on Zoom) with a male psychiatrist who prescribed her medication. At some point during their sessions, Hilty revealed her romantic feelings for him, feelings that she now — supported by comments she says were made by her therapist and a ChatGPT she has named Henry — believes the psychiatrist willingly fostered, leveraged and enjoyed.

Millions of people tuned in, though the fascination appears to have been less about the alleged actions and motivations of the psychiatrist (who has wisely chosen, thus far, to remain silent) and more focused on Hilty’s detailed description of certain encounters and her deep subtext readings of what they might have meant.

Many responded so negatively that Hilty turned off her comments for a while as hundreds made posts across social media eviscerating or satirizing the series. Soon enough, as happens with viral content, legacy media got involved and all the catch-up “unpacking” began.

Unlike Reesa Teesa, whose multi-post tale of marriage to a pathological liar went viral on TikTok last year and led to a TV adaptation, Hilty hasn’t become a universal figure of sympathy and courage. As she recently told People magazine, she has received “nonstop bullying” and threats along with the dozens of DMs thanking her for sharing her story. She has been accused of racism (the psychiatrist is a man of color), narcissism and, well, insanity. (She says she is, however, open to having her story adapted to film or television.)

To say the posts are troubling is an understatement. I was alerted to them by a friend who had previously expressed concern about young people using ChatGPT as a de facto therapist — a trend alarming enough to draw warnings from Open AI Chief Executive Sam Altman and move Illinois, Utah and Nevada to ban the use of AI in mental health therapy. “There’s a woman on TikTok having a full-blown ChatGPT-induced meltdown,” this friend texted me. “This is a real problem.”

Certainly, Hilty appeared to be having real problems, which ChatGPT, with its programmed tendency to validate users’ views and opinions, undoubtedly inflamed. But given the viral reaction to her posts, so are we.

Even as countless studies suggest that social media is, for myriad reasons, detrimental to mental health, its users continue to consume and comment on videos and images of people undergoing mental and emotional crises as if they were DIY episodes of “Fleabag.”

So the question is not “who is this woman obsessing about her relationship with her psychiatrist” but why are so many of us watching her do it? It’s one thing to become transfixed by a fictional character going down a scripted wormhole for the purposes of narrative enlightenment or comedy. It’s another when some poor soul is doing it in front of their phone in real life.

It’s even worse when the “star” of the video is not a willing participant. Social media and the ubiquity of smartphones have allowed citizens to expose instances of genuine, and often institutionalized, racism, sexism, homophobia and consumer exploitation. But for every “Karen” post that reveals bigotry, abuse or unacceptable rudeness, there are three that capture someone clearly having a mental or emotional breakdown (or just a very, very bad day).

With social media largely unregulated, they are all lumped in together and it has become far too easy to use it as the British elite once purportedly used psychiatric hospital Bedlam: to view the emotionally troubled and mentally ill as if they were exhibits in a zoo.

Hilty believes she is helping to identify a real problem and is, obviously, the author of her own exposure, as are many people who post themselves deconstructing a bad relationship, reacting to a crisis or experiencing emotional distress. All social media posts exist to capture attention, and the types that do tend to be repeated. Sharing one’s trauma can elicit sympathy, support, insight and even help. But “sadfishing,” as it is often called, can also make a bad situation worse, from viewers questioning the authenticity and intention of the post to engaging in brutal mockery and bullying.

Those who are caught on camera as they melt down over one thing or another could wind up as unwitting symbols of privilege or stupidity or the kind of terrible service/consumer we’re expected to deal with today. Some are undoubtedly arrogant jerks who have earned a public comeuppance (and if the fear of being filmed keeps even one person from shouting at some poor overworked cashier or barista, that can only be a good thing).

But others are clearly beset by problems that go far deeper than not wanting to wait in line or accept that their flight has been canceled.

It is strange that in a culture where increased awareness of mental health realities and challenges have led to so many positive changes, including to the vernacular, people still feel free to film, post, watch and judge strangers who have lost control without showing any concern for context or consequence.

I would like to say I never watch videos of people having a meltdown or behaving badly, but that would be a big fat lie. They’re everywhere and I enjoy the dopamine thrill of feeling outraged and superior as much as the next person. (Again, I am not talking about videos that capture bigotry, institutional abuse or physical violence.)

I watched Hilty for research but I quickly found myself caught up in her minute dissection and seemingly wild projection. I too found myself judging her, silently but not in a kind way. (“No one talks about being in love with their shrink? Girl, it’s literary and cinematic canon.” “How, in all those years in therapy, have you never heard of transference?” “Why do you keep saying you don’t want this guy fired while arguing that he abused the doctor-patient relationship?”)

As the series wore on, her pain, if not its actual source, became more and more evident and my private commentary solidified into: “For the love of God, put down your phone.”

Since she was not about to, I did. Because me watching her wasn’t helping either of us.

Except to remind me of times when my own mental health felt precarious, when obsession and paranoia seemed like normal reactions and my inner pain drove me to do and say things I very much regret. These are memories that I will continue to hold and own but I am eternally grateful that no one, including myself, captured them on film, much less shared them with the multitudes.

Those who make millions off the mostly unpaid labor of social media users show no signs of protecting their workers with oversight or regulation. But no one goes viral in a vacuum. Decades ago, the popularity of “America’s Funniest Home Videos” answered the question of whether people’s unscripted pain should be offered up as entertainment and now we live in a world where people are willing to do and say the most intimate and anguished things in front of a reality TV crew.

Still, when one of these types of videos pops up or goes viral, there’s no harm in asking “why exactly am I watching this” and “what if it were me?”

Democrats, bless their hearts, keep trying to figure out the magic formula to stop President Trump. But here’s a cold splash of reality: If Trump’s popularity ever collapses, it will probably be because of something completely beyond their control.

In 2020, it wasn’t some brilliant strategy that defeated Trump. It was COVID. A global pandemic. An act of God (or Wuhan).

This raises an uncomfortable thought: the next disruption — the one that might shake up the political snow globe again — will probably be much bigger than COVID. That looming disturbance is artificial intelligence.

In a recent Substack essay, Pete Buttigieg suggested that “the number one leadership challenge for world leaders, including the President of the United States, will be to manage the changes that AI is bringing about.” He goes on to note that “our president — and his opposition — have yet to make clear what their AI policies even are.”

He’s not wrong about the bipartisan lack of preparation. And for this reason, the political consequences are likely to be brutal for whichever party is in charge when the tipping point arrives and AI upends the lives of millions of Americans.

Trump still has three and a half years left on the clock — just enough time for AI to yank the rug out from under him. That’s a golden opportunity for Democrats, if they’re smart enough to capitalize on it.

But Democrats should hold off on gleefully penciling in 2028 as the year AI hands them the keys to the White House in perpetuity. Why? Because huge shocks to the system tend to empower either a) bold problem solvers or b) populist demagogues.

Lest we forget, the last seismic tech shift — the rise of the Information Age — gave us globalization, economic dislocation (for working-class Americans) and (eventually) Donald Trump.

This next disruption could be even more traumatic. AI isn’t just coming for truck drivers. It’s coming for legal assistants, graphic designers, junior software developers, even (ahem) writers. College graduates who spent decades believing their degree was a shield against obsolescence are about to get a taste of what coal miners, steelworkers, typists and travel agents have already endured.

When that happens, disenchanted moderates will radicalize, and income inequality will detonate. The people who build and control AI will obviously get filthy rich. So will superstar surgeons and elite litigators — people whose rarefied expertise and skills can’t be replicated remotely. But their legions of associates, researchers and paralegals will vanish like Blockbuster Video.

Now, for generations, lost jobs and industries were replaced by new ones — thanks to what economists call “creative destruction.” The buggy maker gave way to the auto industry and the auto mechanic, and society moved forward. But this time, the old rules may not apply — at least, not by virtue of some organic “invisible hand.”

If this shift is as severe and pervasive as many believe it will be (a huge caveat, to be sure), it won’t be solved by fiddling around with marginal tax rates or by mildly expanding unemployment benefits. It will require a vast reimagining of what the government does — the kind of thing that would make free-market purists break out in hives.

But here’s where it gets tricky for Democrats: They can’t simply hand displaced workers a check and call it a solution.

This is the core problem with universal basic income, often touted as the answer to AI-driven job losses. The modest $1,000-a-month figure that’s been floated is a joke. But even if the amount were higher, it would still have to be paired with meaningful work.

Something Democrats must learn: People don’t just want money. They crave dignity, purpose, belonging and a reason to get up in the morning.

That means thinking big and finding meaningful opportunities for the displaced to serve and provide value. Imagine one teacher for every five students in America’s public school and college classrooms. Imagine school buses with three adults instead of one overworked driver.

Imagine a national corps of well-paid nurses and physical therapists making regular visits to isolated seniors and providing full-time home healthcare.

Picture teams of young, tech-savvy Americans helping retirees navigate their iPads, iPhones, TVs and other devices — closing the digital divide for an entire generation.

Now, pair that with a bold expansion of union apprenticeships to train the next wave of electricians, plumbers and carpenters — alongside free college or vocational training in exchange for a year or two of national service.

It wouldn’t happen overnight. Managing this transition would require robust unemployment benefits — say, 90% of prior salary for a fixed period — not as welfare, but as an investment in people and a dividend on the value they’ve helped create by virtue of tax dollars (that built the internet) and data (that fuel automation). Because again, addressing the dilemma of job displacement is about more than money.

Which brings us to some important questions we had better answer.

What does it mean to be a citizen in a society when AI makes half of the labor market feel redundant? How do you retain your identity and sense of self-worth when the work you have dedicated your life to can be more efficiently done by artificial intelligence?

And how do we redeploy human beings — tens of millions of them — into roles that make life better for others and give them back the self-respect that comes from service?

AI might be the great test of our political age, and the party that passes this test will be remembered as our savior.

The party that fails this test will be remembered — if at all — as the one fiddling while Rome was automated.

Matt K. Lewis is the author of “Filthy Rich Politicians” and “Too Dumb to Fail.”

The second in an occasional series of profiles on Southern California athletes who have flourished in their post-playing careers.

The expansion Los Angeles Angels were just 5 months old in September 1961 when the team called up three minor leaguers who would come to define the fledgling franchise’s early years.

Jim Fregosi, a teenage shortstop, would go on to make six All-Star teams and win a Gold Glove. Right-hander Dean Chance, who turned 20 that summer, would win Rookie of the Year and Cy Young awards and lead the American League in wins, ERA, shutouts and innings pitched. And Buck Rodgers would catch for nine big league seasons before managing at the minor and major league level for the Angels.

But only Dan Ardell, a light-hitting first baseman who was called up with them, would do something that had never been done before on Sept. 20 against the Detroit Tigers. In his first big league plate appearance, Ardell blooped a single to right field, only to see pinch-runner Ken McBride get caught rounding second base to end the game.

“I’m the only one to only get one hit. And the one hit was a walk-off loss,” he said. “Not easy to do.”

There were few witnesses since many in the crowd of 3,116 at Detroit’s Tiger Stadium had left long before the ninth inning. Ardell would appear in six more games, four as a pinch-runner, and make six more plate appearances without a hit, striking out twice, walking once and dropping down a sacrifice bunt to finish with a .250 lifetime batting average.

It wasn’t good enough to get him a plaque in the Hall of Fame but you can still find him listed there, alongside the other 20,964 men who have played in the majors.

“It’s a very low number,” Ardell said, acknowledging the accomplishment. “Very low.”

Yet more than six decades later, Ardell looks back on his month with the Angels with neither delight nor disappointment. He has gone on to live a rich life, one that has included well-paying jobs in banking and asset management, a 41-year marriage that produced four children and six grandchildren, and absolutely no regrets about a baseball career that was so short it’s remembered mostly for a teammate’s base-running blunder.

1

2

3

1. Jim Fregosi during a game in Anaheim in 1965. (Transcendental Graphics / Getty Images) 2. Dean Chance won a Cy Young Award with the Angels. (Associated Press) 3. Rich Rollins of the Minnesota Twins swings and misses as Angels catcher Buck Rodgers catches the pitch in a 1962 game. All three players were called up to the Angels in September 1961 along with Dan Ardell, whose career only lasted seven games. (Hy Peskin Archive / Getty Images)

“I never had a desire to be a major league ballplayer,” said Ardell, a retired real estate executive who made $1,250 for his big league cameo. “I loved playing baseball, but once I started playing professionally, I was bored. I was disinterested.”

In fact, the bookish Ardell probably never should have been there at all. But after winning the College World Series as a sophomore at USC, he accepted a $37,500 bonus to leave school five semesters short of a degree to sign with the Angels.

Still, he hedged his bets just the same.

“They wanted to give me $35,000 and I said I need $37,500 because that would give me the $500 a semester [tuition] at ‘SC that I needed,” Ardell said.

The newly born Angels had just two minor league teams, so Ardell was sent to the Dodgers’ Class D farm club in Artesia, N.M. His manager was Spider Jorgensen, whose big league debut in 1947 had been somewhat overshadowed by teammate Jackie Robinson, who broke baseball’s color line that day. Since Jorgensen’s equipment never made it to the ballpark, he played third base that day using an infielder’s glove he borrowed from Robinson.

The team Jorgensen managed went 48-78 and finished last, 29½ games out of first in the Sophomore League — so bad that Sports Illustrated came to New Mexico to document its mediocrity. Ardell finished that first season with more strikeouts (32) than hits (30) in 125 at-bats, but he was big, left-handed and played first base — three attributes that were enough to get him a trial with an Angels team that entered September 30 games behind the league-leading Yankees.

“I basically played second string at ‘SC,” Ardell said. “So I go from second string to Class D ball — which wasn’t as good as our ‘SC team — to the big leagues all within 60 days. At age 20, it was an incredible roller coaster.”

It was a ride he quickly tired off. He didn’t drink and he was about to get married, so the frat house atmosphere of a professional baseball team wasn’t one he partook of. After three more minor league seasons, he retired at 23.

“I learned a lot about myself,” he said of those three mostly unhappy summers.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it. It was that he didn’t want to do it. Being a big league ballplayer may have been some kids’ dream, but it wasn’t his.

“I got no satisfaction out of it. And I was bored,” he said. “It just wasn’t that interesting to me once I had to make my living doing it.

“If you don’t love what you’re doing, if you don’t appreciate and like what you’re doing, it becomes hard work.”

At 84, Ardell has an easy smile and a quick, self-deprecating wit he employs often. He’s still at his playing weight of 190 pounds, but he says he’s lost 2 inches off a frame that once rose to 6-foot-2. And he no longer moves with the speed or grace that allowed him to steal seven bases in his first minor league season.

There is no memorabilia, no remnants of his short-lived career in his hillside home in Laguna Beach’s Bluebird Canyon, about a half-mile from the Pacific Ocean. He gave his gloves away during a garage sale shortly after he quit playing and a grandson took down the few pictures he had hung on the wall.

After retiring with a .252 average and 45 home runs in 389 minor league games, Ardell went back to college, then studied real estate, working for Union Bank and Wells Fargo. He eventually started a real estate asset management company with his twin brother Dave, an equally talented baseball player who played at UCLA, where he was the team captain.

After retiring with a .252 average and 45 home runs in 389 minor league games, Dan Ardell returned to school at USC, then studied real estate, working for Union Bank and Wells Fargo.

(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

That anyone remembers he played at all is both flattering and befuddling for Ardell, who receives about a dozen autograph requests in the mail each year.

“I mean, how do they even know my address?” he asked.

Still, he answers every letter. Some fans send old photos or baseball cards that are necessarily homemade since Ardell never got a Topps bubblegum card of his own.

“In those days anybody who signed a bonus, Topps would sign,” he said. “So they came to Artesia, where I was playing, and said ‘we want to give you a Topps card. And we’ll pay you five bucks’.

“I said, ‘I think I need 10.’ So I’m the only only major leaguer who never had a Topps card.”

Which isn’t to say Ardell has no mementos from his career. A fastball he didn’t see on a poorly lit field in San José slipped under the bill of his batting helmet and struck him flush in the head one night.

“I woke up the next day. You could see the seam where the baseball hit. I still have a dent,” he said with a chuckle, pointing to a spot in the center of his forehead.

It wasn’t until three decades after he walked away from the game that Ardell came to appreciate what he had accomplished — and only then after marrying Jean Hastings, who would shortly become a nationally recognized baseball academic and writer.

Ardell and Hastings — a Brooklyn native who had always been a baseball fanatic — were living in the same Orange County neighborhood when a mutual friend suggested they go out on a date.

“She had just read ‘Ball Four,’” Ardell said, referencing Jim Bouton’s book about the raunchy, less-seemly side of baseball. “So she said no, baseball players are to look at, they’re not to touch.”

Dan Ardell says he receives about a dozen autograph requests in the mail each year, with some fans sending old photos or homemade baseball cards since Ardell never got a Topps card of his own. “I mean, how do they even know my address?” he said.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

She went on the date anyway, then married Ardell a couple of years later in 1981. Jean, 79, died in 2022 after a short, ferocious battle with leukemia, but in the more than 40 years she spent with Ardell, she slowly rekindled his love for a game he had all but forgotten.

They went to conferences and symposiums, where Jean spoke on the magic and the poetry of baseball. They visited the Hall of Fame, traveled to Arizona for spring training and attended countless Angels games, watching on TV the ones they couldn’t attend in person.

“It was definitely part of her,” grandson Garrett Tyler said.

Jean not only helped Ardell put his baseball career into perspective, she helped put his life in perspective. Shortly after they married, “I decided to have a mission statement,” Ardell said. “And my mission statement was to make a difference in the lives of others.”

“Ten years later,” he added “I changed it to make a positive difference.”

He saw that desire at work in Jean, a political liberal who, in addition to her baseball writing, also worked with a nonprofit called Braver Angels that seeks to bridge the political divide by bringing Democrats and Republicans together. It was a philosophy she lived by marrying Ardell, a lifelong Republican who cast his first presidential vote for Barry Goldwater but later drove a car sporting a “Republicans for Obama” bumper sticker.

Ardell was already working with Opportunity International, a global nonprofit that alleviates generational poverty by microfinancing community projects both in Southern California and abroad. But now the bridge that he and Jean built became apparent through the difference being made — not only in those affected communities, but in his own soul as well.

Tyler said he grew up playing catch with his grandfather, who attended all his Little League games. But it was his grandmother who told him about Ardell’s professional career.

“He was always a little bit reluctant to talk about it. My grandma was the one that kind of opened him up,” said Tyler, 25, who followed his grandparents into baseball, where he works as manager of concessions for the Amarillo Sod Poodles, the double A affiliate of the Arizona Diamondbacks.

“I’ve talked to him a lot about that. He told me that he just didn’t have the confidence. He knew that he was good, but I don’t think he really understood it. I don’t know if he necessarily misses it or feels like he missed out. I think he was more appreciative of the journey that it took him on and how he’s evolved into a different love for baseball.”

As he has grown older, Tyler said that’s the part of his grandfather’s journey that has stuck with him; the mission statement part that says it’s not about the destination or the accomplishments, but about the influence you have on those you meet along the way.

In that way, he said, Ardell’s short career is now having an outsized influence.

Tyler mentions a friend who is basically playing for free, stranded below the longest rung of the minor league ladder. But he still puts on a uniform every day.

“He plays for the love of the game and just because it’s all he knows,” Tyler said. “One of the things that Dan asks me that I ask my friend is, ‘do you like what you’re doing?’ And at that point it’s not about your career longevity or how much money you’re making.

“As long as you’re happy playing and you’re making ends meet, then go for it.”

Ardell wasn’t happy playing, so he walked away. Three decades later with the love and support of a wife who saw baseball not as a sport but as a metaphor for life, as a game where the goal is to get home safely, Ardell began to understand the magic, too.

His one month in the majors led him to a career prosperous enough that he could help others, one that still fills his mailbox with letters from fans and one that has given him the wisdom to counsel other 23-year-olds to keep putting on the uniform as long as it fits.

Make a positive difference in the lives of others.

“It was a very inconsequential part of my life that was very consequential to other people,” Ardell said of his one month in the majors.

“I think of it every day.”

Michael Shanks’ “Together” is the only romance you’ll see this year that’s infatuated by John Carpenter and Plato.

A fusion of body horror and couples therapy, it centers on a sunken cave with a pool of water that, when sipped, makes cells thirst to meld with the nearest mammal. In the opening sequence, this urge to merge overtakes two dogs who smush together like the monster mutt in “The Thing.” (Thankfully, the camera doesn’t linger; the whimpering is plenty.) Now, it’s Tim and Millie’s turn. The unhappy boyfriend and girlfriend, played by real-life spouses Dave Franco and Alison Brie, have moved from the city to the forest anticipating that the scenery change will make or break their relationship. Blend is more like it.

How does ancient philosophy squeeze into a gooey metaphor for codependence? According to Jamie (Damon Herriman), a history teacher at the school where Millie works, Plato’s “Symposium” claims that humans were once rebellious, eight-limbed beings who tumbled around doing cartwheels. Zeus cleaved us pesky mortals in two as a form of control, figuring that we’d be so consumed by the quest to find our other half that we’d never get around to toppling Mount Olympus — and if that didn’t work, he’d leave us “on one leg, hopping.” (Shanks can save that for the sequel.)

It’s worth noting that Plato was kidding, a three-millennium-old joke that’s essentially, “Take my wife — Zeus!” But mating does preoccupy our mental bandwidth, and welding together two lives is unwieldy. Tim and Millie have been dating for a decade, from their hopeful 20s to their resigned 30s, and have become so mismatched in maturity that their efforts to stick together feel less like giddy Grecian handsprings and more like a three-legged race. As Millie confesses early on, “I’m not sure if we love each other or if we’re just used to each other.”

Brie and Franco lend the fictional couple their intimacy, but dial down their spark. Only a few scenes allow their characters any welcome emotional connection. There’s no sense of peeking behind their celebrity curtain, so we’re with Millie’s best friend Cath (Mia Morrissey) when she openly wishes the pair would split for good. But Millie and Tim have leaned on each other so long that neither is sure how to stand on their own. The emotional and physical pain to come has the sense of being aboard a train chugging toward certain disaster. There’s opportunities to jump off, but no one has the nerve to try.

Alison Brie, left, and Dave Franco in “Together.”

(Ben King / Neon)

Shanks is attuned to how a long-term twosome divides up duties (and identities), defining themselves by what each one contributes and, in the process, becoming less of a whole person. Tim can’t drive. Millie can’t cook. Tim is the broke musician. Millie has the steady job. “I’m the boring one,” she says begrudgingly. Meanwhile, the resentful girl struggles to label Tim’s role, stammering to Jamie that she lives with, “my partner, my Tim, my boy-partner Tim.”

“Boy-partner” sounds right. The design teams have outfitted Franco’s hipster with goofy sweatshirts and a fledgling mullet. He can’t even commit to the most famously noncommittal hairstyle. Yet, before long, Tim finds he’s unable to leave Millie’s side for a moment. Every time he touches her, the rest of the world seems to disappear: The focus goes shallow, the fine hairs on Brie’s skin dapple in the light, her muscles creak as loudly as tectonic plates. She’s confused. He keeps apologizing, becoming increasingly flustered and frantic.

The film will go on to have memorably fleshy visuals. (Picture massaging butter underneath the raw skin of a Thanksgiving turkey.) “It Happened One Night’s” Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable relied on a flimsy Wall of Jericho to keep themselves separated. Here, when things get tricky, Millie and Tim reach for an electric handsaw.

Gross? Totally. But empathetic too. Brie’s Millie is sensible and vulnerable, while Franco manages to makes us pity his bad boyfriend Tim. Part of his aloofness comes from grieving his father’s death and his mother’s subsequent mental breakdown; the rest is his shame that his rock ‘n’ roll dreams have yet to become reality. “I thought you’d make Millie cooler,” her younger brother Luke (Jack Kenny) says. “Instead …” Luke adds with a snort, as the rest of the sentence slides into the abyss, taking Tim’s ego with it.

For a first-time feature director, Shanks expertly fuses himself to the audience’s POV. He knows that we know where this is going — the title gives the game away — so his job is to goose the inevitable in ways that make us squirm and gasp. Working with the cinematographer Germain McMicking and the production designer Nicholas Dare, he plunks us into standard jump scare scenarios — the dark hallway, the subterranean lair — and then tricks our eyes into looking at the wrong corner of the frame.

His talent for misdirection also applies to the narrative. Shanks expects us to clock the unacknowledged wedding ring on Herriman’s Jamie, a Hallmark rom-com charmer, and so his script takes our suspicions and twists them once, twice and a third time for good measure. Even steeled for a plot point we’re dreading — the couple making the terrible choice to do something more adult than hold hands — when the scene finally arrives, it’s ickier and more humiliating than we could have imagined.

My quibbles with the ending are too close to spoilers to cite outright. But the delight of the film is that its editor Sean Lahiff has the rhythm of a shock comic. He favors nasty jolts and cartoonish rim shots, like when Millie advises Tim not to do anything stupid and Lahiff immediately smash-cuts to the guy running off full-tilt. Nothing about “Together” screams comedy, yet that’s precisely how it’s put together. Awkward humor is the skeleton under its prestige nightmare surface, even as it’s wonderfully, heartbreakingly tragic to watch our leads roil to melt together like mozzarella. How’s that for an update on the old quip? Make my wife — cheese!

Of all the pop hits vying to become the song of the summer, Alex Warren’s “Ordinary” might be the most improbable: A stark and brooding ballad full of lurid Christian imagery — “Shatter me with your touch / Oh Lord, return me to dust,” goes one line — it’s about a guy seeking the kind of sexual-spiritual fulfillment not typically found on the beach or at a barbecue.

Yet the song, which has more than 720 million streams on Spotify, just logged its sixth week since early June atop Billboard’s Hot 100 — more than a month longer at No. 1 than Sabrina Carpenter’s “Manchild,” to name one of the sunnier tunes soundtracking the season. (Among Warren’s other competitors: Drake, who posted an image of the current chart on Instagram on Monday showing his song “What Did I Miss?” at No. 2 behind Warren’s hit. “I’m taking that soon don’t worry,” the rapper wrote.)

“Ordinary’s” somber tone is all the more striking given that Warren — whose father died when he was 9 and who grew up in Carlsbad with a single mother he’s described as an abusive alcoholic — first made a name for himself as a founding member of Hype House, the early-2020s conclave of TikTokers known for beaming out goofy bite-size content from a rented mansion in Los Angeles. Half a decade later, Warren is still a faithful user of his TikTok account (with its 18.8 million followers), though these days he’s mostly driving attention — often with the help of his wife, fellow influencer Kouvr Annon — to his music, which combines the moody theatrics of early Sam Smith with the highly buffed textures of Imagine Dragons.

On Friday, Warren will release his debut LP, “You’ll Be Alright, Kid,” featuring guest appearances by Blackpink’s Rosé and by Jelly Roll, who brought Warren to the stage at April’s Stagecoach festival to sing “Ordinary” and to premiere their duet “Bloodline.” Warren, 24, discussed his journey during a recent trip to L.A. from his new home in Nashville, where he lives not far from Jelly Roll and Teddy Swims. “I was just texting Teddy,” Warren says as we sit down. “I got off tour and immediately was like, ‘Oh, I want to buy a go-kart.’ Teddy FaceTimes me, he goes, ‘You a—hole. I’m trying to buy a go-kart right now too.’ Apparently, I bought the last go-kart in Tennessee.” These are excerpts from our conversation.

“Ordinary” is clearly drawing on your identity as a Christian. Yet there’s something almost sacrilegious about the song.
I get that criticism a lot.

To me it’s what makes the song interesting — the erotic energy in a line like “You got me kissing the ground of your sanctuary.”
I’m worshiping my wife in a way — she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You can’t just write a song like that and be like, “Oh, baby, you’re my everything.” Everyone’s already done “You’re my world,” you know? I wanted to do something different — almost Hozier-esque. I wrote into it being like, I really love my wife, and I have a relationship with God — that’s something I can compare it to.

As the song has gone out, I’ve heard a lot of Christians’ opinions on it, and some people are like, “F— this guy.” There’s also so many people who think it’s a super die-hard Christian song and don’t like it either. I have to be OK with both sides hating me.

You’ve led a peculiar life, which obviously lends context to your music for anyone who knows the details. Yet “Ordinary” is big enough now that many listeners — maybe most listeners — are hearing it without knowing anything about you.
This new song I’ve been teasing [“Eternity”] is about grief, and people are like, “I can’t wait to play it at my wedding.” It’s cool that people are making it their own. It reminds me of Lewis Capaldi’s “Someone You Loved,” where people were like, “Oh my God, this is a breakup record.” No, he wrote it about his grandma.

Are you a Capaldi fan?
I love Lewis. I don’t look like a Justin Bieber/Shawn Mendes traditional pop star, but it’s cool because Lewis kind of made it popular to not give a f—. Lewis and Ed [Sheeran], I would say — I mean, I’ve seen Ed’s closet, and it’s just nine white Prada T-shirts.

You have an unusual voice.
Thank you — I think?

It’s deeper than most pop voices right now. Does it seem unusual to you?
No. I asked my wife, “Do I have a basic voice?” She was like, “What are you talking about?” I was like, “I live with this voice, and I think it just sounds like every other bitch.” But I’m my No. 1 hater.

I went back and looked at the series Netflix made about Hype House.
I’m so sorry.

There’s some significant fluctuations in your weight, and I was wondering how working in a visual field from a pretty young age shaped your ideas about eating and exercise.
When I started making money, I didn’t know what to do with it and I just used DoorDash every second I could. As time went on, especially in Hype House, you have so many people’s opinions and everyone’s pointing out your flaws, and the weight was definitely one of them. After that I was like, “OK, how do I fix this?” I’m 24 now — I was 22, 21 at the time, and I was like, “I should be in the best shape of my life.”

But it definitely does take a toll on you. Even now, if you go look at my TikTok comments, thousands of people are loving me. You go on Twitter, the first 400 comments are like, “He’s so ugly,” “His nose is crooked,” all these things. It hits a point where you have a thousand people loving you, but those two people not — you’re like, “Wait, are they the ones telling me the truth? Is everyone else just gassing me up?”

Kind of bleak.
It’s such a strange career. I have the Kids’ Choice Awards on Saturday, and I’m like, “Should I be eating this the next few days?”

Would you say you’re in a good place in terms of how you think about your physical appearance?
Looking in the mirror, probably not. But when it comes to having to approve a photo, I don’t give a s—. I’ll approve whatever, double chin and all.

Is that true?
Truly, I don’t mind, because I don’t think people are watching my videos for my attractiveness. That being said, if I was lighter, I think I’d be happier looking at myself. But at the same time, I don’t care because these songs to me are more about what they’re about and less about how I look. Also, it gives me some leeway if someone catches me lacking at In-N-Out.

Warren’s song “Ordinary” now has more than 720 million streams on Spotify and has just logged its sixth week since early June atop Billboard’s Hot 100.

(Ethan Benavidez / For The Times)

You’ve said you don’t really drink or do drugs but that you get drunk once a year. What would be the occasion?
I just got drunk with Ed Sheeran — I drank two Modelos and I got put on my ass. This was at Santa’s Pub [in Nashville] — me, Noah Kahan and Ed Sheeran. They had just played something, and Ed was like, “Do you want a drink?” I was like, “If I’m getting drunk this year, it’s getting drunk with Ed Sheeran.” So he gave me a Modelo, and I was like, “Whoa, I’m feeling this.” He’s like, “OK, dude, I’m on my 11th.” He hands me a second one, and my wife had to drive me home.

So I’ve been getting a little loose with it. But it’s always beer — I don’t really drink any hard stuff. Nothing against it, I’ve just always preferred Diet Coke. I wish I liked alcohol.

I mean, you can cultivate this. It’s easy to do.
I’ve been trying. I had a sip of my friend’s old fashioned. I thought it was interesting — sugary, but I liked it.

Your song “The Outside” on this new record talks about the illusory nature of happiness and success.
I went into it wanting to write about the things that people go through to turn to God or another power or something to get out of their own heads. I wanted to depict people finding a sense of purpose.

“Hollywood wasn’t all that she thought / City of Angels but her wings got caught / She got high enough to think she met God.”
You move to L.A. to pursue a dream and you see God after doing a hallucinogenic — that’s referencing a friend of mine who’s now a Christian buff who did ayahuasca. The other [verse] is about health care — watching my friends who don’t have it because it’s so expensive.

“‘It’s just stress,’ so the doctor says / His young heart’s beating out of his chest / Student loans and medical debt.”
The Luigi Mangione case happened around the time we wrote that record.

Luigi was in your head as you were writing?
That second verse is literally about Luigi Mangione. Not to get political, but the things that I feel are necessary in life — you have to pay for it, and it causes people to turn to something like God. The song ends with me being like, “I talk to my dad in the sky, hoping he talks to me back.” That song means a lot to me.

Your music is extremely tidy, which stands in contrast to the singer-songwriter mode of the Zach Bryans —
And the Noah Kahans, where they’re flat in some parts and it doesn’t matter because the emotion’s there.

Why is your instinct as a musician to go for something neater?
Because I don’t have the luxury of being able to make what some people view as mistakes. Coming from TikTok to music, I feel like it needs to be neat — it needs to be, “Oh my God, this guy can do this.” The next album I’m working on, it’s more rugged. I’m finding different parts of my voice. I’ve been listening to a lot of older music too, which has been really good.

Such as?
Hall & Oates — dude, “Rich Girl”? Billy Joel too.

Is there still a Hype House group chat?
I have a group chat with not all of them but the ones that — I’m not gonna name-drop them, but the ones getting popular with music. It was formative years in my life — my college experience, I guess. We’re able to look back on it and have a moment of, like, “That sucked, but it was also awesome.”

Would people in the house have called that you and Addison Rae would be the ones to break out as musicians?
No, I don’t think so — especially not me. Maybe Addison — Addison has always been cool. Everyone loved Addison, even in the house, and she’s always been so kind. Even to this day, she’s a good friend of mine. But no one would have guessed me. I don’t think anyone liked me.

In the house?
Just in general. The Netflix show — a lot of it was fake, but looking at that, I feel like I’m such a better person now.

“The next album I’m working on, it’s more rugged,” says Warren, whose debut LP “You’ll Be Alright, Kid” comes out Friday. “I’m finding different parts of my voice.”

(Ethan Benavidez / For The Times)

Are you glad that “Ordinary” happened after the influencer moment in your life — that there’s a bit of separation?
I started this in 2020, 2021 — I put out my first song then, and I was still an influencer, vlogging, doing all those things. Everyone’s like, “He came out of nowhere,” and I’m like, I’ve been doing this for five years.

But nobody cared until well after your time as an influencer — which might be a good thing, right? I’m not sure the overlap served Lil Huddy. In a weird way, you might’ve gotten lucky.
I think about that often. I made videos with my wife — I never really made videos with the content house — and those videos were successful in their own right. I think a lot of my fans today were watching me at that time, but not for the Hype House. Actually, no, that’s not true.

It’s hard to generalize about the audience for a song this big.
All I do is put my head down and promote the records. I’m not paying attention to the scope of things.

Of course you’re checking the numbers.
I’m not understanding the scope besides the numbers. My monthly listeners [on Spotify], someone told me it was 50-something million — that’s sick. But I can’t contextualize that. If I’m walking down the street, how many people have heard the song and how many people know who I am? I know the song is big, but I’m under the assumption that the record’s bigger than I am.

That seems true.
OK, so what does that mean? I can compare it to a Lola Young, or is it a Benson Boone? I think that’s two separate things right now. Also, I don’t know the age demographic. If I walk into a bingo night, are they gonna know who I am?

A bingo night?
You know what I’m saying. The song is No. 1 on Hot AC — that’s adult contemporary. Is it someone’s mom? I don’t know who’s listening to the record. But I write songs about people passing away, and most people — no matter rich, poor, whatever — it’s typically gonna be your 40-and-up who are gonna relate to that record. Kids don’t necessarily deal with loss the same way.

Is it weird to think that a significant portion of your audience is people twice your age?
No, that’s f—ing rad to me — the older audience is the hardest to grab. I think it’s safe to say that most people judge notoriety on whether their mom knows who they are, right? If that’s where I start, that’s cool.

WASHINGTON — President Trump announced a trade deal with Vietnam on Wednesday that would allow U.S. goods to enter the country duty-free.

Vietnamese exports to the United States, by contrast, would face a 20% levy.

On his Truth Social platform, Trump declared the pact “a Great Deal of Cooperation between our two Countries.’’

In April, Trump announced a 46% tax on Vietnamese imports — one of his so-called reciprocal tariffs targeting dozens of countries with which the United States runs trade deficits. Trump promptly suspended the reciprocal tariffs for 90 days to allow for negotiations like the one with Vietnam. The pause expires Tuesday, but so far the Trump administration has reached a trade agreement with only one of those countries — the United Kingdom. (Trump has also reached a “framework’’ agreement with China in a separate trade dispute.)

“Vietnam has been very keen to get out from under this,’’ said Mary Lovely, senior fellow at the Peterson Institute for International Economics. “This is forcing a smaller country to eat it, basically. We can do that. It’s the big countries that everybody’s keeping their eyes on.’’ She doubts that Trump will be able to impose such a lopsided agreement on big trading partners such as the European Union and Japan.

The United States last year ran a $122-billion trade deficit with Vietnam. That was the third-biggest U.S. trade gap — the difference between the goods and services it buys from other countries and those it sells them — behind the ones with China and Mexico.

In addition to the 20% tariffs, Trump said the U.S. would impose a 40% tax on “transshipping’’ — goods from another country that stop in Vietnam on their way to the United States. Washington complains that Chinese goods have been dodging higher U.S. tariffs by transiting through Vietnam.

A February study in the Harvard Business Review found that there was “much less rerouting than previously believed.’’

In May, Vietnam approved a $1.5-billion project by the Trump Organization and a local partner to build a massive golf resort complex near Hanoi, covering an area roughly the size of 336 football fields.

Vietnam was a beneficiary of American efforts to counter China’s influence. Companies looking to diversify supply chains away from China flocked to Vietnam.

In 2023, it became the only country to host both former President Joe Biden and Chinese leader Xi Jinping on state visits. That year, the U.S. upgraded Vietnam to its highest diplomatic status — comprehensive strategic partner — placing it on par with China and Russia.

Wiseman and Ghosal write for the Associated Press. Ghosal reported from Hanoi, Vietnam.

Zombies were dormant when screenwriter Alex Garland convinced director Danny Boyle to resurrect the undead — and make them run. The galloping ghouls in their low-budget 2002 thriller “28 Days Later” reinvigorated the genre. There’s now been so many of them that they’ve come to feel moldy. So Garland and Boyle have teamed up again to see if there’s life in these old bones.

There is, albeit sporadically and spasmodically. “28 Years Later,” the first entry of a promised trilogy, has a dull central plot beefed up by unusual ambition, quirky side characters and maniacal editing. It’s a kooky spectacle, a movie that aggressively cuts from moments of philosophy to violence, from pathos to comedy. Tonally, it’s an ungainly creature. From scene to scene, it lurches like the brain doesn’t know what the body is doing. Garland and Boyle don’t want the audience to know either, at least not yet.

The plot picks up nearly three decades into a viral “rage” pandemic that’s isolated the British Isles from the civilized world. A couple hundred people have settled into a safe-enough life on Lindisfarne, an island that’s less than a mile from shore. The tide recedes every day for a few hours, long enough to walk across a narrow strip of causeway to the mainland. Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) and Isla (Jodie Comer) were young when normality collapsed, roughly the same age as the kids in the film’s cheeky opening flashback who are watching a VHS tape of “Teletubbies” while hearing the screams of their babysitters getting bitten. But these survivors have managed to grow up and become parents themselves. Given their harsh circumstances, Jamie and Isla have called their son Spike.

Name notwithstanding, 12-year-old Spike (Alfie Williams) is a sweet kid. When his father slips him a precious ration of bacon, he gives his share to his mother, who now lies weak and confused in an upstairs bedroom. The script pushes too hard to make Spike naive — blank and moldable — instead of what narrative logic tells us he is, the hardscrabble child of two stunted children. His career paths are hunter, forager or watchtower guard, but he seems more like the product of a progressive Montessori school, even with his dad urging him to cackle at shredded deer intestines. When the boy’s not looking, Jamie’s shoulders sag as he trudges up the stairs to Isla’s sickbed, showing us a hint of adult complexities he alone understands.

Spike’s storyline is a fairly simple coming-of-age journey. Once he’s slayed his first infected (“The more you kill, the easier it gets,” his dad gloats), Spike decides to sneak his sick mother to the mainland in search of a mythological being: a general medical practitioner. But straightaway, the movie’s editing (by Jon Harris) starts having a fit, seizing our attention as it splices in herky-jerky black-and-white archival footage of earlier generations of kids marching to protect their homes, both in newsreels and classical retellings including Laurence Olivier’s 1944 film of “Henry V.” The chilling electronic score by the Scottish group Young Fathers blurps and drones while an unseen voice recites Rudyard Kipling’s “Boots,” a poem about the grinding Boer War that was first published in 1903, but whose sense of slogging exhaustion sounds just as relevant to us as it would to Beowulf. These theatrics sound fancy, but they play deliberately abrasive and confounding. “28 Days Later” forced the audience to adapt to the ugliness of digital cameras, and despite the years and prestige that Garland and Boyle have accumulated since, they’ve still got a punk streak.

The filmmakers seem to be making the point that our own kinder, gentler idealism is the outlier. Humankind’s natural state is struggle and division. In this evocative setting, with its crumbling castle towers and tattered English flags, we’re elbowed to think of battles, from Brexit to the Vikings, who first attacked the British on this very same island in 793. A 9th century account describes the Lindisfarne massacre as nightmarish scenes of blood and trampling and terror, of “heathen men made lamentable havoc.” Those words could have been recycled into “28 Years Later’s” pitch deck.

As a side note, Lindisfarne remains so small and remote that it doesn’t even have any doctors today. The one we meet, Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), doesn’t show up until the last act. But he’s worth the wait, as is the messianic Jimmy (Jack O’Connell), who appears three minutes before the end credits and successfully gets us excited for the sequel, which has already been shot. (Jimmy’s tracksuits and bleached hair are evidence that his understanding of pop culture really did stop at Eminem.) Their characters inject so much energy into the movie that Boyle and Garland seem to be rationing their best material as strictly as Spike denies himself that slice of pork.

This confounding and headstrong movie doesn’t reveal everything it’s after. But it’s an intriguing comment on human progress. The uninfected Brits have had to rewind their society back a millennium. When a Swedish sailor named Erik (Edvin Ryding, marvelous) is forced ashore, he talks down to all the Brits like they’re cavemen. They’ve never even seen an iPhone (although the movie was itself shot on them). Upon seeing a picture of a modern Instagram babe plumped to a Kardashian ripeness, Spike gasps, “What’s wrong with her face?”

The infected ones have regressed further still and they’ve split into two sub-species: the grub-like “slow-low” zombies, who suck up worms with a vile slurp, and the Neanderthalish sprinters who hunt in packs. The fast ones even have an alpha (Chi Lewis-Parry) who is hellbent on taking big strides forward. One funny way he shows it is he’s made a hobby of ripping off his prey’s heads to use their spines as tools, or maybe even as décor.

Dr. Kelson, a shaman, sculptor and anthropologist, insists that even the infected still share a common humanity. “Every skull has had a thought,” he says, stabbing a freshly decapitated one with his pitchfork. He’s made an art of honoring death over these decades and his occasionally hallucinatory sequence is truly emotional, even if Fiennes, smeared with iodine and resembling a jaundiced Colonel Kurtz, made me burst out into giggles at the way he says “placenta.” Yet, I think we’re meant to laugh — he’s the exact mix of smart and silly the film is chasing.

So who, then, are the savages? The infected or us? The film shifts alliances without taking sides (yet). I’m unconvinced that sweetie pie Spike is the protagonist I want to follow for two more movies. But whatever happens, it’s a given that humans will eventually, stubbornly, relentlessly find a way to tear other humans to pieces, as we do in every movie, and just as we’ve done since the first homo sapien went after his rival with a stick. That’s the zombie genre’s visceral power: It reveals that the things that make us feel safe — love, loyalty, civility — are also our weaknesses. “28 Years Later” dares us to devolve.

“Dystopian” TV may seem ubiquitous, but not all dystopias look the same. We asked the creatives behind several series — totalitarian, postapocalyptic or both — to explain how they bring the term to life.

‘The Boys’: Normalized dystopia

A scene from the Vought on Ice performance in “The Boys” Season 4.

(Jasper Savage / Prime Video)

“Dystopia, by definition, suggests an imagined society in which suffering and injustice are normalized. The people in that society are meant to believe their leaders and heroes are always right and working in their interest no matter how evil their values are or how horrifying their behavior,” says Mark Steel, the production designer for the comedy-drama about controlling capitalist overlords (and the outsiders who want to bring them down).

“One of the principal rules for the look of ‘The Boys’ world was to stay close to the recognizable visual language of American media and culture today,” Steel says.

The show uses everything from patriotic rallies to kids’ puppet shows to an ice-skating performance branded with the name of the omnipresent corporation Vought International to parallel real life.

“I think absurdity is most effective and funniest when it is set against normalcy,” Steel says. “We were able to build the Vought on Ice show in a real professional arena at real scale with skaters, costumes and music. The genius of the piece was how far we could facilitate the performance before all hell breaks loose.”

‘The Handmaid’s Tale’: Manicured dystopia

A scene from “The Handmaid’s Tale.”

(Steve Wilkie / Disney)

“The Handmaid’s Tale’s” Season 6 co-showrunner Yahlin Chang says the word “dystopia” usually connotes overgrown trees and disaster zones. In her show, the slave slate known as Gilead is a veneer of perfection that’s fooling no one, “like a cake with a razor blade in it,” she says.

“Our dystopia has always been very beautiful to look at … because it was meant to sort of clean up the horrible modern world from before where women weren’t having babies and where the environment had collapsed,” she says.

The homes of the elite commanders and their families are pristine and conservative. Everyone else’s surroundings are worn and muddied. But the last two seasons have introduced a new concept: color. Bradley Whitford’s Cmdr. Lawrence, the brainiac who masterminded Gilead, has designed New Bethlehem, a supposed safe haven for anyone who escaped his country’s oppression to return and live out a Mayberry-like existence. So production designer Elisabeth Williams and her team went all in on white picket fences and manicured lawns.

“It’s meant to be the kinder, gentler version of Gilead and it has a deliberately beautiful, pristine sheen on the surface,” says co-showrunner Eric Tuchman. “It feels artificial and sterile, with a kind of a theme-park vibe to it. It doesn’t feel quite real.”

‘The Last of Us’: Dystopian or postapocalyptic?

A scene from “The Last of Us” Season 2.

(Liane Hentscher / HBO)

“The Last of Us” is set after an outbreak has wiped out much of human existence. Because of this, Season 2 production designer Don Macaulay says his show also has to try to define “postapocalyptic,” another term that, he says, “can, visually, be a million different things.” The creators referenced the video game his show is based on, as well as real-world places that saw mass destruction, like the area around the Chernobyl nuclear power plant.

“There is a certain amount of violence associated with it and destruction associated with it,” Macaulay says of this world. “But, for the most part, it’s really nature taking over again and what that looks like in various environments. … There’s places in our story that haven’t been touched by humans in decades.”

This consideration of the time scale of dystopia and apocalypse led to conversations about when the world in the show “ended” — and if that matched the events in the game. Bella Ramsey’s lead Ellie is a music aficionado. But how far back does that record collection go?

“People who get really into the minutiae may point out that there are a couple of instances … where we bent those rules a little bit,” Macaulay says. The show premiered 10 years after the game launched, “so there are things in the game that became fairly iconic that wouldn’t have been around in our timeline.”

‘Paradise’: A childlike vision

Actors Aliyah Mastin, left, Sterling K. Brown and Percy Daggs IV at the entrance to the bunker in “Paradise.”

(Brian Roedel / Disney)

More “Brave New World” than “1984,” “Paradise” is largely set after an environmental disaster, focusing on a group of survivors who live in an underground bunker that looks like the Grove shopping mall.

Production designer Kevin Bird says some of the first conversations he had with creator Dan Fogelman and others involved designing a “completely different experience from a show about a bunker that’s postapocalyptic and living in a rusty tower. We wanted the feeling of the town to be that idyllic, too-perfect way [that is] really just a way of distracting” characters from what’s really happening.

Here, he explains, essentials like food, clothing and housing are provided for everyone — “Just don’t stray too far from the path.”

Bird was aided by an early episode in which it’s made clear that billionaire Samantha Redmond (Julianne Nicholson) built the bunker as an ode to her deceased son; it’s what a child would create if instructed to make a perfect town.

“What was motivating her was to protect the rest of her family as long as possible,” Bird says.

‘Silo’: An aging dystopia

Avi Nash in “Silo.”

(Apple TV+)

The “Silo” bunker may be the future “Paradise’s” Samantha is attempting to avoid. In this show, production designer Nicole Northridge says, “The people have lived here for 350 years [and] they’re under no illusion that it’s a perfect world.” They just don’t know how to escape and, because it’s supposed to be set after a postapocalyptic event, they don’t know what’s waiting for them if they do.

The silo in “Silo” was designed in Season 1 by then-production designer Gavin Bocquet. Northridge says it was meant to have an “Eastern European socialist look, which is very functional, very austere.” Since this story starts centuries after the original inhabitants enter the bunker, she says, “Everything within the silo is essentially, when we come to it, reused, recycled and quite a bespoke make.”

But Season 2 introduces another silo, this one with graffiti and wall carvings. It also had flooded caverns. Northridge and her team had to research how concrete ages while submerged; the effects team built a giant chlorinated water tank. (The crew would sometimes go swimming in it after they wrapped for the day.)

They don’t know what their rotation will look like in October, and they don’t know how worn down their bullpen will look like.

What the Dodgers know is this: They have Shohei Ohtani.

Ohtani will give them a chance in October regardless of what their roster looks like, just as he did on Friday night in an 8-5 victory over the New York Yankees.

How can a player who takes four or five at-bats on most nights have such an oversized influence on games? How can a player who bats once only two or three innings bring opponents to their knees? How can a three-time MVP be a better offensive player than he was in his historic 50-homer, 50-steal season last year?

“I have no words for it,” outfielder Michael Conforto said.

When Aaron Judge homered in the top of the first, Ohtani answered with a homer of his own in the bottom half of the inning.

When the Dodgers were down by three runs, Ohtani led off the sixth inning with another homer, this one making Yankees starter Max Fried strike the Kershaw Pose, back to the plate, hands on knees, head down. The blast one ignited a four-run surge by the Dodgers that produced their first lead of the night.

This was on a night in which Mookie Betts was sidelined with a broken toe, Evan Phillips was ruled out for the remainder of the season because of an upcoming elbow reconstruction, and the Dodgers had no choice but to start the unreliable Tony Gonsolin because three pitchers of their opening-day rotation were on the injured list.

Dodgers star Shohei Ohtani, left, watches his solo home run leave Dodger Stadium as New York Yankees starting pitcher Max Fried, center, reacts and catcher Austin Wells watches during the sixth inning Friday.

(Mark J. Terrill / Associated Press)

Playing with a diminished roster, manager Dave Roberts did what he could before the game to downplay the significance of the World Series rematch against the Yankees, but Ohtani recognized the contest for what it was.

This was a statement game, and Ohtani made a statement.

“We try to win each and every game, of course, but I think it’s a special atmosphere [against the Yankees,]” Ohtani said in Japanese. “I think it was huge to have taken the [first game] of the series.”

The homers were Ohtani’s 14th and 15th of May, which tied a single-month franchise record previously shared by only Pedro Guerrero and Duke Snider. The homers were Ohtani’s 21st and 22nd of the season, meaning Ohtani is on pace for a career-high 63 bombs.

The value of Ohtani’s homers extend beyond the numbers, however.

They inspire awe.

“You don’t want to miss any of his at-bats,” Conforto said. “You want to be in the dugout. You want to see it in person. That’s kind of what it is being his teammate. You want to be there.”

They inspire confidence.

“Every time he comes up to the plate, we’re expecting something awesome to happen,” Gonsolin said. “And he doesn’t let us down a lot of the time. Really cool to have someone like that on our team.”

They inspire a contagious form of courage.

“He would probably say it’s like any other game, but I do think when you see the reigning MVP [Judge] on the other side going out there and performing, that brings out even more of a competitor in Shohei,” Roberts said.

They inspire victories — the Dodgers are 14-6 when Ohtani homers.

“We always seem to play really well when Shohei’s playing well,” first baseman Freddie Freeman said. “I heard the chants for MVP and he’s really well on his way to doing that again.”

This is what the Dodgers will need in October, especially in a season in which little has gone according to plan. At this point, they can’t count on Blake Snell and Tyler Glasnow to both be healthy for the remainder of the year. They can’t expect their bullpen to be as spectacular as it was last year. But they can rely on Ohtani to make up for their shortcomings.

He will soon be able to affect the game from the mound, as the Dodgers expect him to return to pitching after the All-Star break. Rather than revel in the victory Friday night, Ohtani said in an on-field postgame interview with Apple TV that he was already looking ahead to his next day’s assignment.

“Live bullpen is scheduled for tomorrow,” Ohtani said. “The game is over now and I’d like to get my body in order for the live BP.”

What Felix Mallard has grown to appreciate about living in L.A. is that there’s a pocket of town to match every vibe — even if that vibe is “Aussie,” which his proudly is, having moved from Melbourne seven years ago.

“There are a lot of places that remind me of home,” says the 27-year-old actor, who plays tough-shelled Marcus in Netflix’s “Ginny & Georgia,” which returns for its third season next week. “The coastal cities and certainly some parts of Silver Lake and Echo Park feel very Melbourne. They feel very hipster. I mean, that word has changed so much — I don’t know if bohemian is the right word either. But there’s a sense of wanting to engage with good food, good coffee and good art. That kind of thing is very important to people from Melbourne.”

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.

As he carves his own space in Los Angeles, Mallard has been captivating Gen Z audiences with his nuanced roles, ones that tend to resonate with young men amid all of the distinct pressures they face. Last year, he starred in the romantic drama “Turtles All the Way Down,” the film adaptation of John Green’s young adult novel that explores the complexities of obsessive-compulsive disorder. He’s now set to headline “Nest,” a movie about a young family whose home is invaded by deadly arachnids. (“It’s a quiet meditation on masculinity and being a father, wrapped up in a really fun spider horror movie,” he explains. “A real one-two punch.”)

For Mallard, a perfect Sunday in L.A. involves surfing (a must), playing music loudly (he knows his way around the guitar, bass, piano and drums) and trekking from West L.A. to the Eastside in the name of adventure. Here’s a play by play.

This interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

5:30 a.m.: Chase the waves
I’d get up early and have a surf. The funny thing with surfing in L.A. is that you have to go where the waves are good. So it could be anywhere — Manhattan Beach, Hermosa Beach, Huntington Beach, Malibu or Ventura. You’ve got to check the Surfline app and kind of know the seasons as well, like how winter brings north swells and summer brings south swells. But it’s a guessing game. You kind of throw a dart and follow it, you know? There’s a nice crew of Aussies, Kiwis and Americans. We all try and surf together, which is really sweet.

8 a.m.: Post-surf burritos
Now I’ll probably be in a raggedy flannel top and some track pants and some Birkenstocks. Really just kind of half asleep. But it’s mandatory after a surf to get a breakfast burrito. There’s a really, really good place in Hermosa Beach called Brother’s Burritos. They don’t do the typical kind of massive breakfast burrito. Theirs come in two little bite-size burritos, which is perfect for breakfast, you know? And then there’s another place in West L.A. called Sachi.LA that’s just off the Culver loop. It’s a really cool, funky little coffee shop and cafe with a little record store next door — the perfect kind of vibe after having a surf and being in nature all morning. I really try to enjoy the peace that comes after that.

9:30 a.m.: Catch up on shows
I’m going home and catching up on the week’s shows. Right now, I’m really deep into “Hacks” — obsessed with it. I feel like I came to it quite late and I’ve had to make up for lost time. And I’m really, really loving “Everybody’s Live With John Mulaney,” and “Last Week Tonight With John Oliver.” I feel like if you’re going to check in with the news these days, it’s got to be in a format that’s digestible. I think John Oliver has a really great way of doing that, presenting the outrage and the absurdity in a fun context.

Noon: Try to find the joy of cooking
I’ve always found it such a challenge to see cooking as the expression of love that I know it is — I just haven’t had the inspiration. But Jamie Oliver’s books have really helped me because he explains recipes in a way that teach you the fundamentals. He’s got this cookbook, “One-Pan Wonders,” with an herb-y chicken tray bake that’s really simple. You can put the vegetables at the bottom of the tray — and a lot of rosemary and a lot of lemon — and put the chicken on the bars above the tray, so that when it cooks, the chicken fat drops into the vegetables and creates this really lovely flavor in the veggies. And then you finish it off with some lemon and olive oil. So that’s the one I think I can do. But if anyone has seen that recipe, they’ll know it’s the easiest one in the book, so I’m not trying to brag here.

1 p.m.: Get lost in the music
It’s always a struggle to get up off the couch, but once there’s been some food, I’m off to play some music. There was this beautiful, really fun, cheap, grungy rehearsal studio in Culver City called Exposition Studios. It would be, like, $25 or $30 an hour, and you could rent instruments and rent a room and just play as loud and as long as you want. It’s not there anymore, but there are a few other places like that around town. I’ve gone to Pirate Studios in West Adams a couple times, and just anywhere I can play some music, really, really loud.

I’ve got an EP of songs that I’m working my way through. It’s very grungy, very emotion-based. It’s probably quite angsty. There’s a lot of anger in there, and then I think maybe a lot of sadness. It’s touching on a lot of the uglier sides of our psyche that we all have.

4 p.m.: Car entertainment
Now we start preparing the journey east. Because it’s L.A., you can’t pretend that you’re not going to spend some part of your day in traffic. So a podcast is a must. I’ll be listening to Louis Theroux. I just love how he asks questions, how he kind of gives a space for his guests to either showcase who they are or maybe unknowingly reveal parts of themselves they may not even intend to. How he holds the space for that is quite impressive, and it’s a good distraction while you’re driving.

5 p.m.: Fuel up with burgers
We’re going to Burgerlords. They do a really simple menu. You can get a smashburger, I think a vegan burger, and something else, and they’ve got a really nice selection of craft beers. And it’s kind of like a redone version of a ‘50s diner inside.

7 p.m.: Let loose at a punk show
From there, we’ll go to Zebulon. I love it. I don’t see too many venues with an indoor-outdoor kind of space. They have a big garden, so you can go and take a break outside and then come back in and enjoy that change of pace. It’s one of my favorite spots in L.A. to go and watch music, for sure.

The last time I went, we saw the Spits. They’re, you know, really proper punks. And then another time, we saw a band called Spy, and they were supported by Fentanyl, Blood Stained Concrete and Yard, which is a Polish hardcore band. So any time we’re out there, it’s usually for a bit more of a hardcore kind of scene. And they’re the most fun gigs to go to. Everyone’s there to release some tension, some energy. The fans are always super, super, super die-hard fans.

Midnight: Straight to bed

I’ll make the trek home and tuck into bed. That’s usually about midnight. I’d like to say it’s earlier and that I’m, like, healthy, but I’m not.

After an extensive search, HBO has officially found young wizards Harry, Ron and Hermione for its upcoming “Harry Potter” series.

Newcomers Dominic McLaughlin, Alastair Stout and Arabella Stanton are the chosen ones to play Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, respectively, of the more than 30,000 children who auditioned during the open casting call.

Filming begins this summer and the show premieres next year.

“The talent of these three unique actors is wonderful to behold, and we cannot wait for the world to witness their magic together onscreen,” executive producers Francesca Gardiner and Mark Mylod said in a statement. “We would like to thank all the tens of thousands of children who auditioned. It’s been a real pleasure to discover the plethora of young talent out there.” Gardiner will serve as showrunner and Mylod will direct multiple episodes of the series.

Author J.K. Rowling, Neil Blair and Ruth Kenley-Letts of Brontë Film & TV, and David Heyman of Heyday Films will also executive produce.

Here’s everything we know about the reimagining of the classic franchise.

Who is Dominic McLaughlin?

Prior to nabbing the titular role in “Harry Potter,” McLaughlin studied at the Performance Academy Scotland for five years. He is set to appear in BBC’s upcoming series “Gifted,” about Scottish teens who discover they have superpowers, and the Sky film “Grow,” about a grumpy pumpkin farmer and her orphaned niece.

“The news is out and this one is MAGICAL!!” wrote the Performance Academy Scotland on Instagram. “We are not sure that this will ever feel real but we said from the start that Dominic was the perfect Harry & we are thrilled for everyone else to see this soon too.”

Who is Alastair Stout?

“Harry Potter” is Stout’s first major role. His only other credited appearance is a commercial for Albert Bartlett potatoes.

Who is Arabella Stanton?

Stanton starred as Matilda Wormwood in “Matilda the Musical” in London’s West End from 2023 to 2024. The English actress also played the narrator Control in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s play “Starlight Express” in 2024.

Who else is in the cast?

Previously announced cast members include John Lithgow as Albus Dumbledore, Nick Frost as Rubeus Hagrid, Paapa Essiedu as Severus Snape, Janet McTeer as Minerva McGonagall, Luke Thallon as Quirinus Quirrell and Paul Whitehouse as Argus Filch.

How will the show differ from the movies?

HBO has said the show will span a decade and remain faithful to Rowling’s books. The original films starred Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson. In addition to the seven bestsellers and eight hit films, the franchise also spawned the “Fantastic Beasts” movie prequels, starring Eddie Redmayne, the play “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” and themed areas at Universal parks.

Ricky Gervais is living his best life right now. Even when he’s busy talking about death. On Saturday his new tour, Mortality, arrives at the Hollywood Bowl, where thousands will hear him tackle hilariously macabre commentary about life — and the end of it — through his signature blend of dark humor, empathy and razor-sharp commentary. His last appearance at the Bowl in 2023 with Armageddon earned him a Guinness World Record for the highest-grossing single stand-up performance — so, no pressure.

Gervais is also known for turning awkward pauses and brutal honesty into comedy gold, so it’s only fitting that after such a long career full of accolades that he would also finally earn a coveted spot on the Hollywood Walk of Fame on Friday. As Hollywood honors the man who’s roasted its elite with such precision, to be roasted for eternity by the Hollywood sun sounds fitting.

It’s not all about receiving: Giving back matters to Gervais and he’s doing that by helping spotlight the next wave of comedic talent through the Spirit of Comedy — a U.K. stand-up contest presented by Dutch Barn Vodka, which he happens to co-own. With a star on the Walk of Fame, a massive show at the Bowl, and a platform for rising comics, Gervais is fully owning his Hollywood moment. But he needs to be home by 6 p.m.

You’ve spent your career pushing comedy boundaries, has there ever been a moment where you thought, “Oh yeah, I’m going to have to defend this one?”

Oh no, it all comes and goes. It’s cyclic. People get nervous and that’s just always been there from day one. People get worried and then I say, well, this is why it’s OK. Sometimes it’s an executive producer or a broadcaster who just wants some ammunition to defend it. Because sometimes, they don’t know whether it’s OK or not, they just don’t want to get complaints. If I can go “listen, this is why it’s OK,” then they often trust me because I can defend it. It’s not me sitting in the room going, “what’s the most offensive thing I could say to get the BBC burned down?” There’s always a point to it. Offense often comes from people mistaking the subject of a joke with the actual target, and they’re not usually the same.

It sometimes feels like comedians, whose job it is to joke, are being held to a higher standard when it comes to what is “offensive.”

We’re human, so we react to buzzwords and we’re cautious of taboo subjects. That’s why they’re still taboo, because we’re cautious of them. I do that on purpose as well, particularly with my stand-up where I talk about contentious issues and taboo subjects because I do want to take the audience to a place they haven’t been before. I do want them to reflect on it, worry about it, think about it and then, I’ve got to misdirect them. It’s like I take them by the hand through a scary forest but it’s OK because they always laugh. If I were going out there and saying things that were really offensive, and no one was laughing, well, that would be odd. That’s what politicians do. Politicians say awful things and they mean it, and no one laughs. Comedians say things they don’t mean, everyone laughs and they get the same treatment.

But you have to have free speech, and there’s nothing you could say that someone somewhere won’t be offended by. It’s impossible so you shouldn’t even try. I don’t go out there and try to ruin the audience’s evening, I go out there and I make a joke and it’s crafted. We’re human though and we take things personally, but you shouldn’t because I think comedy is best as an intellectual pursuit.

“Comedy is best as an intellectual pursuit” sums you up because you’re not careless. There’s a formula to it all.

Exactly. You should go “well, that’s a bad subject and I don’t agree with the punchline, but does it work comedically?” It’s a magic trick. It is a formula. You can’t argue with chemistry. No one goes, well, I know I laughed, but I don’t agree with it. Well, it did what it does. That’s the joke and I’m not gonna change the joke or meaning. I think the only form of censorship, as an audience, is your right not to listen. You just don’t have to watch. You can leave, not buy my stuff, not buy my tickets, and that’s absolutely fine.

You can turn your own TV off, but what you can’t do is make other people turn their TV off. That’s the difference. And then, people will complain about something you’re doing in the privacy of your own home, even if they have to go up to their attic and stand on a stepladder and look through binoculars to see it. They will find it. People sometimes seek out the offense and that’s actually where people can get addicted to being offended. They like it, it makes them feel alive. The news even picks up Twitter! They say, “Oh, fans weren’t happy!” Three fans weren’t happy.

“I don’t go out there and try to ruin the audience’s evening, I go out there and I make a joke and it’s crafted,” Gervais said. “We’re human though and we take things personally, but you shouldn’t because I think comedy is best as an intellectual pursuit.”

(Andy Hollingworth)

Tweets making headlines is why we can’t have nice things. I wanted to ask about the Spirit of Comedy contest, where the winner gets to open for you at OVO Arena Wembley. How did all of this happen?

I know, it’s mad! I’ve never done anything like this before and I’ve turned down loads of things, but this co-ownership with [the show’s sponsor] Dutch Barn Vodka is different. When we met, we first bonded about the company being really ethical. It was sustainable, it was recyclable, they used British apples, they were vegan, they paid their workers really well—they were really trying to be good, and I like that. They said they wanted me to make it famous, make it a global brand, and that I could do the advertising, which really interested me. I do all of my own trailers, I write all my own stuff, so that was exciting creatively. What a great nut to crack.

The business side of it sort of came last, but it all made sense too. The main thing about it was I felt I could sleep at night, and I could still have fun. That’s all I really cared about. The contest was actually all Dutch Barn’s idea and when they were asked about the contest they said something like, “Well, we know Ricky’s not going to last forever.” Maybe they’re finding my replacement? How cruel and ironic would that be?

Well, at least you can go down knowing you broke a record at the Hollywood Bowl.

Yes! It was two years ago, and I just put out a tweet because it broke the record for a single gig. I don’t know why I’m doing it again. I did it once, it was frightening, I broke the world record and it was great. Why would I do it again?

Ricky Gervais speaks at the 77th Golden Globe Awards on Jan. 5, 2020, at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills.

(Associated Press)

Because we love you in L.A. and it’s been too long. That’s why.

I haven’t been avoiding it, it’s just a long way so I try to do as much as I can while I’m there. I sort of work out of London now and also, it gets harder with jet lag. I’m 63! Jet lag lasts about a week now! Everything is worse, isn’t it? I’m offered really cool things every day, flying around the world and I just think, is it better than me sitting on the couch with my cat and my girlfriend watching Netflix? No. It has nothing to do with anything else other than how valuable your time is and how you wanna spend it.

Is that why you named your tour “Mortality”? Are you planning?

Sort of. There’s a joke in there where I sort of talk about getting old, looking back and all the things that are going wrong which are funny. The reason I started doing one word, sort of academic-style titles, was that I was sarcastically making fun of the pomposity of some comedians who think they’re doing lectures. That’s where it started when I was pricking that bubble of comedians who think they’re changing the world. I’ve kept up the one-word thing, but also, mortality, it’s a scary subject so already the audience is going, is Mortality gonna be funny? Yeah, it’s funny! I’m the one dying. Sit back and laugh.

From sitting to kneeling, it’s fitting — and a bit ironic — that someone who roasted Hollywood so memorably is now being cemented into its history with a star on the Walk of Fame.

Well, that’s funny because the first time they told me I got it I said, “Oh? Do I have to get down on all fours on the concrete? I’ll never get up! I’ve also got bad skin!” I had all of those thoughts, but I’m doing it the day before the Hollywood Bowl so I can kill two birds with one stone. It’s all about getting home on the couch by 6 p.m. This life, you know what I mean?

You started kind of late, but you did earn this comfortable life. And maybe 6 p.m. is the new midnight.

When I grew up, I was good at school, I went to college, then I was a failed pop star, and I never had money. Really, I never had any money. I think I was about 37 years old when I started doing this, and I just grabbed a hold of it. I thought, this is a really lucky second bite of the cherry. You better not screw this one up. So, I did work really hard, but in saying that, what does this sound like? “I work really hard in a room writing while drinking cappuccino.” Some people are hiding behind a wall getting shot at! My dad was a laborer for 60 years! It’s funny to say that, because now, I’m glad I was born poor. It’s not something that I talk about much, but I am sort of proud of myself. I didn’t have a penny, and no one gave me anything. It might be luck, but I still feel like I beat the system.