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“Writers are always selling somebody out,” Joan Didion once wrote. She was talking about journalists, but it can be just as true of novelists. Whether the genre is romantasy or autofiction, making up stories often demands making up stories about real people — exploiting them — to serve a narrative purpose.

Cali Adeline’s debut novel, “People Watching in the Desert,” gives this thorny ethical business an impressively complex treatment for a book that comes on like a beach read. Sonny, its hero, has checked into Sanctuary, a spendy Phoenix-area resort, for an extended stay. She’s 25 and unemployed, and it’s unclear at first how she acquired the funds to splurge on an on-site cottage with a pool, 90-minute massages, and various forced-fun adventures. It’s also unclear why she chose a five-star resort for the splurging, given her discomfort with everything from the menu on down. Sitting down for dinner alone, she “discreetly googled some of the words on her phone under the table: cotija, calabacitas, tabbouleh, bisque.”

Adeline lays out a breadcrumb trail that eventually reveals that Sonny has lugged some especially heavy personal baggage to Sanctuary. Her neglectful, addict mom died when she was a child, only to be replaced with a repressive, overprotective grandmother who stomped on her every ambition. Early adulthood has been defined by failed relationships and uninspiring work. People are to be feared: She’d sooner indulge in croquettes at the resort’s cocktail party than make small talk with other vacationers, and when she braves the world outside her cottage it’s usually with a notebook in her hand.

The early pages of “People Watching” weave Sonny’s perspective with brief sketches of her fellow resort-goers, which usually open with godlike authority: “Allana was ten feet tall and beautiful.” “Chloe and Mark had been married for seven blissful years.” “Dale was invisible. He had that way about him.” The odd bluntness of these statements, combined with their touches of surreality (“ten feet tall”?), makes clear that these mini-bios are scribblings from Sonny’s notebook. Terrified of the world, but determined to better understand what she’s been excluded from for so long, she’s determined to imagine her way into reality.

Sonny’s Walter Mitty-like imaginings do some valuable double duty in the novel. For one thing, they offer some necessary conflict in a setting that’s all about relieving tension. Resorts are, almost by definition, boring, but as Sonny hangs out poolside or does yoga or endures a singing bowl, her mind (and the novel) is reeling with imagined infidelities, deaths, gambling debts and other domestic dramas. Second, her sketches serve as character-defining examples of projection on Sonny’s part, as her observations of others reveal her own concerns about love, sex, money and rejection.

And, of course, she’s deflecting, too — better to make up drama about others than confront her own. The memories Sonny eventually surfaces are more potent than anything she makes up. But they’re also crueler, and you can understand why she’ll think and write about anything but. She recalls a time as a child when she was neglected for days on end and braved a trip to a neighbor for help. “The woman asked Sonny when the last time she took a bath or changed her clothes was and Sonny didn’t know the answer. Her only response was, ‘I’m four,’ as she proudly held up five fingers,” Adeline writes. “She was three.”

Remember the words “beach read” up there? It’s not difficult to predict how Sonny’s arc will curve: It’s a Walter Mitty story, but also an Ugly Duckling story. That notebook full of mini-dramas becomes a source of drama in itself. Say, that bartender is pretty cute, isn’t he? And Sonny eventually integrates with a few of her fellow resort-goers, and learns there’s more to them in reality than her imaginings. As one character gently chastises her, “People can surprise you, Sonny, but you have to let them.”

The pat-ness of Sonny’s Sanctuary journey makes her yet another entry in an evolving genre you might call “Is This Character Concussed?” In these novels, the main character has been so absurdly addled by a (late-revealed) trauma that everyday human interactions are wildly aglow with (at first) terror or (later) manic-pixie wonder. Prime examples include Gail Honeyman’s “Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine,” Sayaka Murata’s “Convenience Store Woman,” and multiple characters in the oeuvre of Sally Rooney and Ottessa Moshfegh. (Women are the most common character in these books, but guys can play too: See Fredrik Backman’s “A Man Called Ove.”) Socially awkward characters offer an opportunity for dry humor and deadpan prose. Because these stories have to dramatize a search for normalcy, its leads tend to be awkward in ways that strain credulity.

But you don’t have to wholly buy into the idea of a character like Sonny to find something intriguing about what Adeline is saying about storytelling throughout “People Watching.” In Sonny’s notebook, every observation is a moral choice, a mini-essay about what proper conduct is, what failure is, how you might get past it, and what our responsibilities to others might be. A notebook is a place of wish fulfilment, and a place for vengeance. Sonny explains at one point that she only started to get free of her grandmother’s clutches once she was capable of imagining her violently erased:

“I wrote a story. About her. And how one day while I was at work the house caught fire. Which wasn’t that far-fetched because the whole place really was a fire hazard. And … and … well, she was asleep inside the house, in the story, and didn’t make it out. I didn’t mean it. I was angry. And it was a story.”

Adeline stresses the word “story” three times in one brief passage. Sonny wants to reassure everybody that she was just making it up. But no writer is, not entirely.

Athitakis is a writer in Phoenix and author of “The New Midwest.”

Taylor Swift has yet another new thing to celebrate.

Now in her newlywed era, the pop superstar’s concert film, “The Eras Tour: The Final Show,” earned five Emmy nominations Wednesday. This includes nods for variety special (pre-recorded), sound mixing for a variety series or special, directing for a variety special, picture editing for variety programming, and technical direction and camerawork for a special.

The nomination for variety special (pre-recorded) means Swift herself is a nominee as the performer and a producer of the concert film, which showcased the final performance of her record-breaking tour. This marks the “The Life of a Showgirl” singer-songwriter’s second career Emmy nomination. She previously won in 2015 in the category of creative achievement in interactive media — original interactive program, as the executive producer of the mobile app AMEX Unstaged: Taylor Swift Experience.

The accolades come just five days after Swift married beau Travis Kelce in an extravagant — yet secretive — Manhattan affair at Madison Square Garden. The Kansas City Chiefs tight end has spoken about his failed attempt to slide Swift his phone number (via friendship bracelet) when he attended an Eras tour concert in 2023.

The Emmy nominations follow her latest legal win. On Monday, a federal judge in Florida dismissed with prejudice a copyright lawsuit that accused Swift of plagiarizing a self-published poet.

In February 2025, Kimberly Marasco, representing herself, filed a lawsuit that alleged Swift copied “unique expressions” such as short phrases and specific words from her poetry in numerous songs, including “The Man,” “Down Bad,” “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” “Hoax,” “Guilty as Sin?” and “It’s Time to Go.” A similar lawsuit Marasco filed against Swift and other named defendants was dismissed by the same judge last September.

Swift’s lawyers called the lawsuit “absurd and legally baseless” in their filings. “For instance, the concept of betrayal or the words ‘fire’ or ‘love’ cannot be owned by one person, as basic themes or words are not protectable by copyright law,” reads the motion to dismiss submitted by attorneys James Douglas Baldridge and Katherine Wright Morrone, who also represented co-defendants Republic Records and Universal Music Group.

In her order granting Swift and her record label’s motion, U.S. District Judge Aileen Cannon agreed, reiterating that “the allegedly infringed material — basic ideas, themes, metaphors, isolated words, and short phrases — is not protected expression and cannot be infringed.”

Cannon mentioned these allegedly plagiarized words and phrases included “tears,” “running,” “fire,” “rain,” “sky,” “love,” “invisible,” “caged me,” “flesh and blood” and “it’s time to go.”

Even if they were protected expressions, “the works are not even substantially similar — a point Plaintiff effectively concedes by characterizing the alleged copying as ‘paraphrase[s],’ ‘rephrase[s],’ and copying with ‘minor word substitutions,’” Cannon wrote.

But it appears Swift has not completely shaken off Marasco’s copyright lawsuit. The Florida poet has already filed an appeal.

Rhea Seehorn was nervous about whether “Pluribus” would be recognized by Emmy voters Wednesday when nominations were announced. So she was jubilant when she and the surreal sci-series on Apple TV scored 18 nominations, the most for a first-year drama.

“I’m just so grateful,” the actor said in a phone interview. “People were like, ‘Why were you nervous?’ Honestly, you never actually know. I’m just so thrilled for the show, my co-stars, the production design, the editing, the writing, the music, the sound. I haven’t moved from my couch since they first announced everything because I’m still trying to call everybody on the show.”

Seehorn received a nomination for lead actress in a drama series for her portrayal of cynical Carol Sturka, a fantasy romance author who finds herself in a mystifying situation after a virus seems to have wiped out most of Earth’s population. The series was created by Vince Gilligan, who created the acclaimed series “Breaking Bad” and co-created its spinoff “Better Call Saul,” which also featured Seehorn.

The actor compared her experience of being nominated for “Pluribus” to “Better Call Saul,” which earned her two supporting actress nominations: “ ‘Better Call Saul’ was such a family that supported and cheered each other on, and I’m so grateful I have that environment again. People could not be happier for each other, and we get to celebrate the show together.”

She added, “The only part that feels different is that it’s my first nomination as a lead. It’s the process of Vince writing this for me and seeing the mountain which he wanted me to climb and going through that process. The whole thing has been its own journey, so ending up with awards and nominations, and being so well received by critics and fans is not lost on me.”

The series has been applauded for its mix of drama, comedy and strangeness in its portrait of a woman coming to terms to what seems like an impossible dilemma.

“I love the storytelling, how much Vince and I would drill down on making this as authentic as we could in terms of an everyman who has to deal with an insane situation,” Seehorn said. “Most of us are just not heroic or leaping off the couch to go save the world. And Carol is dealing with immense grief and confusion in an utter dystopian crisis. I love the humor and the drama that comes out of us being as realistic as we can with her amidst an unrealistic event.”

Fans of “Pluribus” have been relentlessly curious since the finale in December about when the second season will launch.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Seehorn said. “I don’t have to keep secrets because I’m not great at keeping them, and I know nothing. I don’t know what I’m doing with an atom bomb in the driveway. I can’t wait to find out. The writers want to have the same quality and reward the intelligence of the fans and never phone a single thing in. So their process is their process.”

Once again, Walker Kessler sat hunched forward, ears and eyes intently locked onto the person whose words would change his life.

This wasn’t his bewildering 2022 NBA draft day experience captured on video that began with him hearing commissioner Adam Silver announce he had been chosen by the Memphis Grizzlies only to learn moments later that he had been traded to the Minnesota Timberwolves, only to learn two weeks after that he’d been dealt to the Utah Jazz.

No, this time it was about the love of his life, Abbie Stockard. Glued to a screen, Kessler reacted to the words, “Your new Miss America is … Alabama!” as if he’d been electrocuted. He jumped from his chair and put his hands over his mouth, speechless as Stockard was crowned.

Nineteen months later, Kessler — now the Lakers center — found his voice while on a Fourth of July outing at Lake Martin, Ala., and asked Stockard to marry him. She said yes.

The Lakers obtained the 7-foot-2 Kessler from the Jazz on July 1 in exchange for 2031 and 2033 first-round picks and 2028 and 2030 pick swaps, bringing to L.A. a strong defensive presence to accompany offensive-first star guards Luka Doncic and Austin Reaves.

Kessler, 24, agreed to a four-year, $130 million contract, not a bad nest egg for newlyweds. The Instagram story of the two sharing their engagement was captioned: “The future Kessler’s. Let’s get y’all married!!!”

Kessler’s mother, Andrea, played matchmaker two years ago, taking a photo of Stockard during an Auburn basketball game and sending it to her son. He messaged her on Instagram.

Stockard was on the dance team at Auburn, where she studied pediatric nursing. Now she is a former Miss America engaged to the Lakers’ newest star.

“I get to marry Walker Kessler — my best friend!,” she wrote on social media. “Our story is truly one that only the Lord could have written. So many things I once thought were coincidences were really His perfect plan unfolding, and our story is greater than anything I could have imagined.

“There’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, doing life together and cheering each other on!”

In 201 games with the Jazz, Kessler averaged 9.5 points, 9.3 rebounds and 2.4 blocks across 25.3 minutes. He played only five games last season while recovering from a shoulder injury.

The California Supreme Court is poised to rule in a lawsuit that has pitted the state’s court reporters — the workers who create transcripts of court proceedings — against victims of domestic violence and other vulnerable litigants.

The case will determine whether to end a long-standing prohibition on the electronic recording of most civil court proceedings, enabling the use of modern technology to create a “verbatim record,” which is crucial to appeals and other legal challenges.

Advocates say a decision in favor of electronic recording could end a years-long judicial crisis virtually overnight, producing legal records and preserving the right to appeal in tens of thousands of cases in civil, family and probate hearings where court reporters are rarely provided. Participants in the civil proceedings can hire private stenographers to maintain a record of what’s said, but their services can run thousands of dollars a day.

“In many, many courtrooms throughout the state today, there is nobody there, and there’s not going to be anybody there,” attorney Sonya Winner told the high court during oral arguments in Los Angeles last month. “The court reporters the court has on staff are off doing felony trials,” making electronic recording the only alternative for most civil litigants.

Everyone agrees the lack of court reporters is a crisis. Lawyers on both sides have urged the high court to establish a clear right to a verbatim record in civil hearings.

The divergence is over whether the worker shortage is improving slowly or still getting worse, and what the Supreme Court should do about it.

California’s largest public sector union and the court reporters it represents warn the decision could allow the state’s court systems to stop hiring stenographers.

Court reporters say their duty to maintain an accurate record is a profound public trust that can only be performed by a human being, who can intervene to ensure everyone is heard and who bears responsibility if a transcript is missing or incomplete.

Despite California’s sluggish job market, hiring for court reporters remains brisk, bolstered by tens of millions in funding from Sacramento, a recent change in state law and aggressive recruitment by some of the country’s largest court systems, including Los Angeles, Orange and San Diego counties.

Lila Scott, a TV writer, is among those seeking to join the profession. Like a lot of Hollywood talent, she had been struggling to find steady work in recent years.

The “Unicorn Academy” writer was trolling government job sites when she stumbled across a listing for court reporters in Los Angeles — and then another, and another.

“I thought, ‘What the heck is this?’” Scott recalled as she set up for a class at Downey Adult School.

Scott is now in training to become a “voice writer,” a form of note-taking that relies on a device called a stenomask — something like a cross between a podcast mic and a nebulizer — to produce a transcript. Voice writers repeat every word spoken in court along with a sequence of formatting commands to voice recognition software.

“You use your mom voice when you’re dictating,” said another Downey student, 40-year-old Wanda Port. “That stern mom voice, that’s the one you use.”

Traditionally, court reporters have used 22-key steno machines to rapidly take down every word said by lawyers, judges and anyone else who speaks on the record during an official proceeding. The licensing process for these stenographers is significantly longer and more difficult than what voice writers undergo.

A change in state law in 2024 allowed voice writers to become licensed as “certified shorthand reporters,” opening a new pipeline for court staff.

About half of the court reporters hired in California since 2024 have been voice writers, data show.

“Of the 300-plus students we have, it’s about 50/50,” said Jennifer Shenbaum, who directs the Downey program.

The current hiring blitz follows more than a decade of decline, after California’s court systems shed about a third of their reporters amid a protracted budget crisis in 2012. Labor leaders say new licenses have jumped ninefold in recent years, and court reporting classrooms across the state are full.

Diana Van Dyke, a Los Angeles County Superior Court reporter and a shop steward in Service Employees International Union Local 721, credits much of that growth to the expansion of paid internships, signing bonuses and other aggressive recruitment tactics funded by the Legislature and promoted by the union.

Students training to become court reporters practice on stenotypes and stenomasks during a speed-building class at Downey Adult School.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

At Orange County’s Cypress College, which offers court reporter training, job fliers boasting six-figure salaries paper the walls. A pamphlet from the Central District of California that touted “front-page Federal cases” hung in the window of a court reporting classroom, where students practiced typing 200 words per minute.

“By the end of the third test I can’t feel my fingers — but it’s worth it!” said Asia Mendez, a trainee-stenographer.

While advocates for court reporters say humans can still do the job better than machines, the fact that many hearings occur without any official transcript at all has drawn concern from top state officials.

Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta has called the situation “untenable.”

“This is the rare case in which the current application of a statute violates procedural due process,” Bonta’s office said in a brief urging the state’s high court to allow recordings.

Such a ruling would be especially important for survivors of domestic violence, who often find the family court system weaponized against them, said Jennafer Dorfman Wagner, director of programs at the Family Violence Appellate Project, which brought the suit that is now before the California Supreme Court.

“People who want to exert power and control over an ex-partner will find whatever foothold they can and use it,” Wagner said.

Without a record of their proceedings, litigants can’t prove what happened in the courtroom, or appeal if a judge denies a restraining order or approves a custody arrangement that leaves them vulnerable to further violence.

California’s court systems have also thrown their weight behind the plaintiffs in the case.

“California has long led in areas of access to justice and technology, but in this area, it lags far behind the rest of the country, and behind the federal courts that are in this state,” said Mark Yohalem, an attorney representing the state’s superior courts.

The justices, too, seemed eager to embrace electronic recording in cases where no court reporter is available and litigants cannot afford to pay for one on their own, repeatedly pressing lawyers on exactly how such a ruling might be written.

Although the decision would not affect criminal proceedings, the high court judges have expressed concern that court systems may use their ruling to roll back the broader recruitment push as a cost-cutting measure — a worry labor leaders share.

“Electronic recording is cheaper,” said Justice Joshua P. Groban. “It allows any court to just say, for example, that no more court reporters are needed.”

When advocates for the Family Violence Appellate Project told Groban and the other justices hearing the case that such a move by the courts would amount to “bad faith” and should not weigh on their decision, the judge appeared skeptical.

“Either bad faith or fiscal responsibility, depending on the budget that year,” Groban said.

I rose from my living room couch before Mexico’s World Cup match against Czechia when the Telemundo announcer stated it was time for the Mexican national anthem.

The public address system at Azteca Stadium in Mexico City played a short string intro. My back straightened. I pressed my right hand against my chest horizontally in the traditional gesture that accompanies the tune. And then I recited the opening lyrics to a song I’ve heard all my life but that I only began committing to memory this month:

Mexicanos al grito de guerra/El acero aprestad y bridón/Y retiemble en sus centros la tierra/Al sonoro rugir del cañon

Those florid 19th century words — “Mexicans, at the cry of war/Ready the steel and the bridle/and may the Earth tremble to its core/at the cannon’s resounding roar” — make “The Star-Spangled Banner” seem as anti-war as “Give Peace a Chance.” My kumbaya heart nevertheless jumped as the anthem continued.

Goosebumps blossomed on my skin as Mexico’s head coach Javier Aguirre, he of a stern face and gray haircut worthy of a drill sergeant, beamed while singing. My eyes watered as the camera panned over his arm-in-arm players as they shouted the line, “Think, o beloved homeland! That heaven/gave you a soldier in each son.”

Millions of Mexican Americans like myself have stumbled through the himno nacional during this World Cup, whereas in previous years, we might have just hummed some bars or stayed silent. It’s a boisterous way to connect with one half of our hyphenated lives and get in the right mindset to root for El Tri, but otherwise something we don’t really have to know all the way through given we’re in the U.S.

Yet seeing stadiums and bars packed with Latinos wearing the jerseys of their ancestral homes and warbling their national anthems during this World Cup has been a jolt of inspiration I wasn’t expecting. Those few minutes before each match have become a reminder of what we’re up against at this moment in the Western Hemisphere, as President Trump thirsts to smash Latin America into submission while persecuting too many of us stateside.

In downtown Santa Ana earlier this week, Alicia Rojas quietly recited Colombia’s national anthem word for word before a game against the Democratic Republic of the Congo, even though she was just one of a handful of Colombian fans at Chapter One: The Modern Bistro.

“It reconnects me to my roots, my family and the memories of home,” said Rojas, who was born in Bogotá and moved to the U.S. at age 12. The artist has helped to organize against federal immigration raids in Orange County and volunteers for local political races. “Those few minutes remind me that beyond our differences, we share a history, a culture and a love for the land that made us who we are.”

Latinos are a famously divided bunch, to the point that we don’t even like a catch-all label for “us.” A 2024 Pew Research Center survey found that 52% of Latinos prefer to refer to themselves by their family’s country of origin, while only 30% identify as Hispanic or Latino and just 17% use plain ol’ American.

One thing that can unite us all — and all lovers of liberty, for that matter — is those Latin American national anthems. Many were written in the aftermath of wars for independence. Most are bright, rousing listens, even if you don’t understand Spanish, because their chords reflect the Romantic classical music popular at the time of their composition in the 19th century. All call for their countrymen to fight against tyranny.

Fans cheer after Lionel Messi scores a goal against Algeria during a World Cup watch party at Mercado Buenos Aires on Tuesday, June 16 in Van Nuys.

(Ronaldo Bolaños/Los Angeles Times)

Cue up this soundtrack for your summer:

Paraguay’s national anthem starts by stating that the people of the Americas were “oppressed for three centuries” until they rebelled. Ecuador’s recalls how its founding fathers “cried out a holy voice to the heavens/that noble voice of a unbreakable pledge/to defeat that [Spanish] monster of blood.” Colombia’s similarly doesn’t shy away from how violent its fight for independence was, but takes solace that “in furrows of pain/good now germinates.”

On and on, these songs stir the soul. Argentina: “Hear the sound of broken chains/See noble equality enthroned.” Uruguay: “Tyrants: Tremble!/We shall cry out ‘Liberty’ in battle!” — a boast backed by flutes and violins that make it sound like a Rossini overture. I especially like how Panama’s national anthem concludes by urging “shovel and pick/to work without delay” — a reminder that the job of creating a better society is never done.

Conservatives have, unsurprisingly, long railed at the very idea of singing the national anthems of other countries on American soil. But that just reinforces Samuel Johnson’s adage that patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.

There’s nothing wrong with taking inspiration from the clarion calls of other countries. “O Canada” is as soaring as “God Save the King,” while revolutionaries across the world have chanted “La Marseillaise” for centuries. And yes: I sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” with all my heart as well — and I definitely know the words to it.

But the message of the U.S. national anthem isn’t enough for Latinos right now. Hailing survival against an invading force is important, but it’s a mindset too many of us have resigned ourselves to under Trump.

The theme of Latin America’s national anthems is the demand that we stand against despotism and push for a better world through sacrifice and valor. They should be a wake-up call, especially for Latinos, to lead the electoral charge against Trump this November. We helped put him in the Oval Office in 2024, and we have the power to take Congress away from his GOP vassals.

Alas, all those paeans to freedom have played out better in song than in real life. Latin America is swinging rightward again, electing presidents who promise to channel the strongmen of yore and rule the region through might, not right.

On the same night that Rojas was cheering on Colombia, she was bemoaning that her homeland had elected Abelardo de la Espriella, a millionaire criminal defense lawyer and political novice who earned Trump’s endorsement for his “tremendous accomplishments in life” — which include claiming that female voters would pick him because of the supposed size of his genitals.

We must channel the hopes and dreams of Simón Bolívar, Emiliano, Zapata, José Martí and other heroes of the Americas who fought for freedom for their countrymen, sought to cast off the long reach of colonialism and imperialism and urged pan-American alliances over forever wars.

Nothing like the World Cup’s unofficial pre-game soundtrack to reinforce this eternal, universal message.

Mexico dominated Czechia 3-0 and finished first in its group. When El Tri plays again on Tuesday in the first round of the knockout stage, I will stand at a packed Chapter One with other fans and so many more across the U.S. and sing again Mexico’s national anthem.

I will hope to have it all memorized by then instead of reading off my smartphone — the thing is hard! The Spanish is archaic, the intonations are complicated, and the words tumble over themselves like a hard charge toward the goal posts.

But I will do it — a little victory in the long battle for freedom that never ends.

Ben Gibbard remembers late 2023 as a time of competing realities.

Onstage, the frontman of Death Cab for Cutie and the Postal Service was thriving as his two bands toured together to mark the 20th anniversaries of Death Cab’s “Transatlanticism” and the Postal Service’s “Give Up.”

Behind the scenes, Gibbard’s personal life was in shambles.

“I was getting off phone calls — very difficult phone calls — 20 minutes before going on in an arena,” he says. The singer and his wife, photographer Rachel Demy, were in the middle of an agonizing breakup that would eventually lead to divorce. Yet audiences in the thousands were turning up nightly to see Gibbard reanimate the peak-millennial classics that made him one of indie rock’s defining stars.

“I’d just tell myself, You’re a professional — you’re gonna go out there and do it, and no one’s gonna know,” he recalls. “It was all waiting for me when I got offstage, of course. But for two hours I was able to disconnect and be a performer, which was incredibly …” Gibbard, 49, trails off into a laugh.

“I don’t know if it was healthy,” he says. “But it was helpful.”

Two and a half years later, that split-screen experience — “this idea of how we compartmentalize our pain or our grief or our trauma,” as Gibbard puts it now — forms a through line of Death Cab’s ruminative new album, “I Built You a Tower.” Due Friday from Anti Records, where the group landed after leaving its longtime home of Atlantic amid a corporate shake-up, the LP sets thoughts of broken fences and never-ending storms against tuneful arrangements that can churn, shimmer or chime.

“I pledge myself to your misery / I kneel at its throne,” Gibbard sings in his still-boyish tenor over the sleek new wave groove of “Trap Door,” “Respecting your proclivity / To languish on your own.” In the fuzzed-out “Envy the Birds,” the frontman recounts an argument between two lovers “spraying bullets of grievances”; the driving “Riptides” is narrated by a guy “too tired to end the war.”

“This record is definitely the result of a divorce,” Gibbard says plainly during a recent visit to Los Angeles from his home in Seattle. “But I didn’t want to make a score-settling record or an angry record. This wasn’t an opportunity to defame someone or make this about how I’d been wronged. People drift apart — relationships don’t work. And I think how that’s affected me at almost 50 is a very different mindset than I found myself in when I was 33 or whatever the last time it happened.”

Gibbard means his first divorce, in 2012, from the actor and singer Zooey Deschanel — a split that inspired Death Cab’s 2015 album “Kintsugi,” on which one song asks, “Was I in your way when the cameras turned to face you?” and another chides an unnamed celebrity: “You’ll never have to hear the word ‘no’ if you keep all your friends on the payroll.”

“There’s some gnarly stuff on that record,” says Gibbard, who’d moved to L.A. to be with Deschanel then promptly left as soon as their marriage collapsed. “It’s not exactly a kind album.”

Bassist Nick Harmer, who formed Death Cab with Gibbard in the late ’90s after the two met as students at Western Washington University, agrees that “I Built You a Tower” represents a shift in perspective. “There’s so much more self-examination — and so much more self-indictment,” he says. (Death Cab’s other members are drummer Jason McGerr, guitarist Dave Depper and keyboardist Zac Rae.)

Which isn’t to say that Gibbard entirely resists placing blame. In “Trap Door” he sings about “a trap door in your heart and a button on your desk well-worn from being pressed.”

The frontman says that in recent years he’d “tried to get away from using the word ‘heart’ because that had been a touchstone for so many of our early records.” Yet this line seemed worth holding onto when it came to him.

“I Googled it to see: Did I already write this?” he says, laughing. “Or is there a very popular song called ‘There’s a Trap Door in Your Heart,’ and now I’m just rewriting it? We’ve made a lot of songs at this point — you gotta check your work.”

Indeed, “I Built You a Tower” is Death Cab’s 11th studio LP. After the band’s previous album, 2022’s “Asphalt Meadows,” fulfilled its deal with Atlantic, Death Cab reupped with the major label for one more record, Gibbard says, based on its strong relationship with the company’s then-CEO, Julie Greenwald.

“Julie was our shepherd and our protector the whole time we were there,” the singer says of Death Cab’s nearly two-decade run at Atlantic, which began with 2005’s Grammy-nominated “Plans.” Yet just days after they reached an agreement for “Tower,” Greenwald was fired and replaced by a new leader, Elliot Grainge, about whom the band felt less than optimistic.

Ben Gibbard

(Cielito Mercado Vivas / For The Times)

“We weren’t given the impression that Elliot had spent a lot of time with ‘Transatlanticism’ in college,” Gibbard says of the 32-year-old exec, who made his name signing rappers like Ice Spice and Trippie Redd. With Greenwald’s help, Gibbard says, Death Cab negotiated an exit from Atlantic with ownership of the new album.

Did Grainge try to persuade the band to stay?

“Never heard a word,” Gibbard says.

In an email, Grainge (whose father is Universal Music Group Chairman and Chief Executive Lucian Grange) said that Death Cab’s music “has meant a great deal” to him.

“Working together may not have been in the cards for us; however, that does not lessen my enthusiasm for the band,” he wrote. “They have delivered an impressive body of work over their decades-long career, and I am looking forward to their new music.”

Death Cab’s Harmer says he and his bandmates “talked for half a beat” about putting out “Tower” on their own before thinking better of the idea.

“We’re not businesspeople,” Gibbard says. “Music is the only thing we know how to do.”

At a friend’s wedding in 2024, the frontman had been seated next to the musician Allison Crutchfield, who was then heading up Anti’s A&R department; early this year, Death Cab announced that it had signed to the indie label, whose other acts include Fleet Foxes and Madi Diaz.

This summer, the band will tour behind “I Built You a Tower,” including two shows in August at L.A.’s Greek Theatre. After the “Transatlanticism”/”Give Up” anniversary outing — not to mention a subsequent tour on which the group looked back at “Plans” — Gibbard is “very ready to play some new material,” he says.

Doing the hits was fun. “But at a certain point,” he adds, “it’s really about moving ahead.”

Well, I gave him a chance, offering my services.

I was willing to give the young novice a primer on what a mayor can and can’t do, and let him know City Hall is a reality show like no other he’s been on. But Spencer Pratt didn’t call me in response to my column last week.

I did, however, hear from a slew of his most ardent supporters.

Steven C. had this to say: “You’re a left-wing idiot, and … it’s time for you to retire. You’re a joke!!! You always have been!!! God bless Spencer Pratt and the 45th and 47th President of the United States Donald Trump!!!!!”

You may be onto something, Steven!!! I’ve been thinking about retiring!!!! But then a former reality TV star like Pratt comes along and tells Vanity Fair he had a chat with God, who told him He wants Pratt to be mayor of L.A!!!!! With people like this running for office, how can I retire?!!!!!

R.W. wrote to say: “You say Spencer has never done anything in his life…What credentials do you have? From what I’ve read about you, you are a lousy commie journalist who has never accomplished anything in your life!!”

Just recently, R.W., I replaced a broken toilet tank flush valve and I learned two Willie Nelson songs on the guitar. That’s not nothing.

Peter did not mince words: “Your piece on Pratt is a hit piece filled with bull— . You should go f— yourself before someone takes you out, which is the appropriate response to a s—bag like yourself. So please f— off and drop dead, which is exactly what you deserve.”

Peter, I did drop dead once. Cardiac arrest. While on the other side, I saw God, who told me to snap out of it because He was going to tell Spencer Pratt to run for mayor. Who knew God had a defibrillator?

All of these, by the way, were actual emails, and there were many more just like them. But it’s only fair to note that despite the fulminating knucklehead wing of Pratt’s posse, he’s tapped into a justifiable sense of frustration with City Hall, given homelessness, the Palisades inferno and budget issues that squeeze all manner of basic city services.

That’s why Mayor Karen Bass is paddling furiously, trying to keep her political career afloat. In the latest UC Berkeley-L.A. Times poll, Bass is at 26%, Nithya Raman at 25% and Pratt at 22%. That’s so tight, it appears that no one will get the 50% needed to win outright, and if we get a top-two runoff, it’s not clear who will go to the dance.

So as we close out the primary, with the election on Tuesday, five talking points come to mind.

Which candidate knows the city best?

Los Angeles has 114 distinct neighborhoods spread across 470 square miles (that’s 10 times the size of San Francisco), with an estimated 220 languages spoken. Diversity is a defining characteristic, and roughly half the population is Latino, which makes it a shame there’s no Latino candidate for mayor, especially given the raids and roundups by President Trump.

A mayor doesn’t have to speak six languages and know every corner of the city, but residents want to be seen and heard, and feel like they’re understood and represented.

Raman is well-versed on homelessness policy, and she’s spot-on about the need for greater urgency in problem-solving, but as my colleague Noah Goldberg reported, constituents in her district complain that they haven’t seen enough of her.

As I said, Pratt has wisely targeted municipal failure. But in the realm of outsider candidates with Republican credentials, Rick Caruso, who ran against Bass last time, was comfortable whether he was in the Valley, South L.A. or anywhere in between. And he easily connected with people. Would Pratt be a tourist in his own city?

By virtue of her job the last four years, Bass — who raised a blended Black and Latino family — knows the city best, although her unfavorability rating is a big problem.

What about the other candidates?

In the aforementioned poll, minister and housing activist Rae Huang had 9% and former educational technology businessman Adam Miller had 5%. Virtual unknowns, neither had a legit chance of winning, but they could be spoilers for one of the top three candidates.

I spoke to both, and if you’re undecided, you should read up on them before voting. On Huang’s website, the first words are “Homes are for people, not profit.” Miller wants to bring his success in the business world to City Hall, and when you consider his policy agenda along with his nonprofit work with veterans and homelessness, he’s a better candidate than Pratt.

But he wasn’t on a reality TV show.

Democrats ruined L.A. and California, right?

If only I had a nickel for every time a reader suggested that.

By 101 measures, Los Angeles is one of the great cities of the world and California has built the world’s fourth-largest economy while leading on climate change, so apocalyptic diagnoses are a bit off the mark.

Also, local elections are nonpartisan. You don’t run for mayor as a D or an R.

And yet it’s true that Democrats and their policies and sensibilities rule the day, and they have a lot to answer for in Los Angeles and in California.

But would the same critics suggest that in conservative cities like Fresno and Bakersfield, which have their own homelessness and other problems, Republicans are to blame?

When it comes to housing, poverty, healthcare and streets occupied by people who are addicted or mentally ill, the failures go back decades, touch all levels of government, and cross party lines.

Have I given up on Los Angeles?

When I pointed out that Pratt seemed unaware of these complexities, and of the structural limits of mayoral power, readers suggested he was rising to the challenge while I was giving up on L.A.

Not at all. I care about L.A. enough to hold its leaders to a higher accountability, and to scrutinize posers and pretenders who think they can do a better job.

My advice for the next mayor.

Fix what’s broken, celebrate what works and take responsibility for what doesn’t.

Now let me try one more time:

Spencer, give me a call.

You can’t tell us you had a conversation with God about running for mayor and not share more details.

Did God scold you for referring to the mayor as Karen “Basura,” which means trash in Spanish?

Did He say we should pull out of the ‘28 Olympics, or have any advice on how to fill potholes and fix sidewalks?

If you’re having regular conversations about City Hall with the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, we’re dying to know:

On homelessness, what would Jesus do?

steve.lopez@latimes.com

Spencer Pratt is a showboat, a loudmouth, a troll and a self-proclaimed villain who seems willing to say anything in his quest to be the next mayor of Los Angeles.

Little wonder that his critics rolled their eyes when the former reality television star told CNN host Elex Michaelson a few weeks ago that his campaign role model is Jesus Christ, because “he was a politician.” How on earth did Pratt — a man who tosses insults with the ease of someone spitting loogies — come off boasting that his political hero was the Prince of Peace?

But anyone who ridicules the exchange as a blasphemous moment by a deluded wannabe isn’t paying attention — which is exactly the error that has allowed Pratt to storm L.A. politics. He isn’t running on an explicitly Christian message — that would be risky in a city with large Jewish, Catholic and secular constituencies. But the proud born-again evangelical is channeling the zeal of an old-fashioned tent revival, even if some of his rhetoric falls far outside the bounds of the Good Book.

In his recent memoir, Pratt recounted his conversion — actor Stephen Baldwin baptized him in a river during the 2009 season of the reality show “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.” Before that, his Christianity had consisted of wearing a black diamond cross necklace he described as “thirty grand of Jesus bling” bought from a Beverly Hills boutique. Pratt credits his faith with providing direction at a low moment in his life, as he embraced Jesus with such fervor that a pastor told him to stop joining altar calls so much during church services — once was enough.

“I needed the receipt stamped weekly,” Pratt wrote, “like a parking validation, just to make sure it stuck.”

Seventeen years later, he’s still seeking that affirmation.

The memoir comes off as a millennial version of “The Confessions of St. Augustine” — perhaps the most famous literary example of someone who saw their wreck of a life not as a series of mistakes to apologize for but as necessary failures on the road to grace. That’s why Pratt and his followers don’t see his sketchy past as a disqualifier, but rather his biggest strength. Only someone who says he was reborn in the inferno of the Palisades fire could possess the clarity and willpower needed to bring salvation to an accursed land, they argue.

In another era, Pratt would have been a welcome edition to the roster of bombastic Southern California preachers a la Aimee Semple McPherson, Chuck Smith and Gene Scott, as well as radio titans such as George Putnam and John Kobylt. His claims that only he can deliver us from damnation and that we need to repent of City Hall’s status quo at the ballot box are nothing less than a modern-day gospel to his followers. Pratt feels the pulse of L.A.’s civic malaise far better than Mayor Karen Bass or another of his opponents, City Councilmember Nithya Raman. Like any good pastor, he knows how to distill that discontent into soundbites and stories.

That’s why the self-designated “Pratt Daddy” has cast this moment in L.A. history as a modern-day Armageddon, urging voters to wage war against apostates and usher in a Second Coming, lest the city continue its supposed descent into hell. He admits in his memoir to holding “epiphanies and apocalyptic visions” in equal measure — no wonder he told a Canadian podcaster in March that life for him is a “spiritual battlefield” where “however I can be to stop evil at this point feels like a purpose.”

Spencer Pratt is shown on a television while journalists work during the 2026 Los Angeles mayoral debate at Skirball Cultural Center on May 6.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

Far from me to criticize someone’s faith. But I urge Pratt to reacquaint himself with the words of the messiah in whose path he professes to follow. Humility, frugality, turning the other cheek — it’s what Jesus taught and what Pratt has long rejected.

Nowhere does Pratt need more of refresher on Jesus’ lessons than when it comes to homeless people.

Instead of offering compassion or viable initiatives, Pratt consistently calls the unhoused “zombies,” “vagrants,” “drug addicts” and “bums,” with a particular fixation on the naked ones. He vowed to ABC 7 recently that he would push people off L.A.’s streets and onto federal land — like herding stray wildlife. The mayoral hopeful added that “scam homeless nonprofits” exacerbate homelessness, which must have been news to Scripture-based organizations such as the Los Angeles Catholic Worker, Union Rescue Mission and the Salvation Army, which have been trying to help homeless people since before Pratt was born.

Pratt also told ABC 7 reporter Josh Haskell that most of L.A.’s homeless are not locals.

“These people, when I unplug them … they’re all going to Seattle, where the mayor will welcome them,” Pratt proclaimed.

Jesus would not only roll out the welcome mat for homeless people — he would embrace them.

Spencer, what New Testament book says that your crude campaign against the most destitute among us is holy?

Christ never looked down on itinerants, famously saying, “The Son of man hath not where to lay his head.” In the Book of Mark, when Jesus sent his disciples out into the world, he told them to bring no food or money, because good people would take care of them.

“And if any place will not welcome you or listen to you, leave that place and shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them,” Jesus said.

Christ did do some name calling, but his ire was directed at the powerful, the braggarts, the hypocrites — the Pratts of his time. The Nazarene saved his kindest words for the meek, the poor, the peacemakers — who are sorely lacking in Pratt’s caravan of disaffected liberals, Trumpers and the wealthy. Christ didn’t offer counsel to the comfortable but to outcasts — lepers, prostitutes, people possessed by demons or afflicted with disease — whose modern-day contemporaries live on our streets and whom Pratt World blames for all of L.A.’s ills.

Jesus especially embraced outsiders — the Canaanite woman he initially compared to a dog because she sought help for her daughter, the Samaritan lady at the well, the Roman centurion in the Book of Matthew of whom Jesus proclaimed, “I have not found so great faith” anywhere in Israel. Pratt would have rounded up all of them in donkey carts and dumped them in Babylon, if he had been around back then.

I understand how frustrating it is to see homeless encampments in neighborhoods and to deal with unhoused people who disrupt one’s day, as my wife does at her restaurant in Santa Ana. But whenever annoyance gets the better of me, I remember what Jesus told his followers: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me,” warning that he would keep this in mind on Judgment Day.

Those who didn’t take his advice? “Depart from me, ye cursed,” Christ thundered, “into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.”

Christianity — and good society — calls for us to look to our better angels, not to demonize others, as Pratt regularly does. He knows this too.

“When the whole world hates you,” Pratt wrote, “it’s comforting to think at least the big guy upstairs has your back, so long as you repent.”

But repentance means admitting you’ve done wrong. Instead, Pratt is doubling down on his anti-homelessness nastiness as more and more people join his crusade.

Let’s see how many Angelenos embrace this false prophet on election day.

WASHINGTON — Shrey Parikh felt the pressure of arriving at the Scripps National Spelling Bee as a favorite, but his confidence showed every time he got a word he knew. And when the bee came down to a lightning-round tiebreaker against Ishaan Gupta, Shrey left no doubt.

Shrey turned a tense, high-quality final into a blowout Thursday night, racing through the 90-second “spell-off” and getting 32 words right to be crowned the best young speller in the English language. Ishaan spelled 25 words correctly in the tiebreaker.

A 14-year-old from Rancho Cucamonga, Shrey finished third in 2024 but lost his school bee last year when he was battling a fever. He has dominated the bee circuit since, winning several highly competitive online competitions against many of the same kids he outlasted this week in the nation’s capital.

Ishaan, a 12-year-old seventh-grader from Jersey City, N.J., was a semifinalist this year, outperformed some veteran spellers in the finals, and has another year of eligibility left.

Sarv Dharavane, a 12-year-old sixth-grader from Dunwoody, Ga., finished third for the second consecutive year and has two more years to improve that placement.

For the first time in the bee’s history, second- and third-place finishers from the same year have gone on to win. Faizan Zaki won last year, and two years ago he was the runner-up, just ahead of Shrey.

Sporting a business-casual look with a dark, long-sleeve collared shirt, khakis and sneakers, the lanky Shrey strode to the microphone with a dour, apprehensive expression that instantly vanished when he heard his word from pronouncer Jacques Bailly and nodded vigorously — his tell that, yes, he knew it.

Upon hearing the announcement confirming his victory in the spell-off, Shrey turned and shook his competitor’s hand.

He can credit his victory to intense preparation. Shrey’s coaching team included Sam Evans, who has tutored each of the past three champions, and Sohum Sukhatankar, a co-champion himself in 2019. He competed nonstop against other top spellers, pored through advanced study guides and tried to eliminate the variables that had led to the few unexpected exits of his long spelling career.

Former spellers, coaches and other observers described this group of finalists as unusually strong, and they showed off their skills early by going 18 for 18 to start, breezing through the first spelling and vocabulary rounds. Aiden Meng of Orinda, Calif., ended that streak when he was tripped up by “catometope” to start the second spelling round.

Then the crowd gasped when the bell rung on two thought to be capable of winning it all: Oliver Halkett for “Faesulae” and Zwe Spacetime for “vaesite,” words with tricky combinations of origins and vowel sounds.

The bee’s move to Constitution Hall, a point of contention for spellers and their families because of the inconveniences it caused, helped imbue the event with a lively atmosphere, with more intimate seating and better sight lines bringing the crowd closer to the action.

New television host Mina Kimes of ESPN narrated the action smoothly alongside longtime bee analyst Paul Loeffler.

Nuckols writes for the Associated Press.

A charming market town in the Cotswolds with a thriving independent scene and a backdrop of honey-coloured cottages, has been named as one of the best in the UK

A picturesque market town boasting a thriving independent scene has been crowned as one of the finest in Britain.

With rolling hills, cobbled streets, honey-hued cottages and picture-perfect towns that resemble something from a storybook, the Cotswolds are undeniably one of England’s most stunning regions. There’s Bibury, home to the iconic Arlington Row cottages hailed as the ‘most beautiful village in England’, Bourton-on-the-Water with its stone bridges earning it the moniker ‘Venice of the Cotswolds’, Broadway celebrated as the ‘Jewel of the Cotswolds’ with its broad high street, and Burford, famously described as the ‘Gateway to the Cotswolds’.

But among these Cotswold gems, Cirencester outshines the rest as it’s been crowned Gloucestershire’s best market town. It was also ranked as one of the top market towns in the UK by Bullock Coaches, thanks to its long-established markets, antique shops, boutiques, and cafés.

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Dubbed the ‘capital of the Cotswolds’, I’ve visited Cirencester on countless occasions, but my most recent trip only reinforced my affection for the bustling town and confirmed its stellar reputation as the best market town.

Home to roughly 19,000 residents, the town’s close-knit community spirit is plain to see after just an afternoon wandering its streets – far from the sleepy charm found elsewhere in the Cotswolds, it boasts a thriving independent scene and celebrated markets. There are even glimpses of its Roman heritage, when it once ranked as the second-largest city after London, which are visible throughout its grand architecture and ancient medieval streets.

I strolled along cobbled high streets flanked by warm, honey-coloured stone buildings, which whisked me away to something straight out of Downton Abbey, while the Parish Church of St John Baptist stands proudly over the market square. This is where I discovered the renowned outdoor Charter Market, one of the oldest in the country, held every Monday and Friday, reports Gloucestershire Live.

The stalls overflow with everything from plants and outdoor furniture to fresh produce and household essentials, and are clearly a major draw for the town as locals peruse the vast array of goods before nipping into a nearby café for a cuppa. I settled on a warming cappuccino in the snug surroundings of Keith’s Coffee Shop, its shelves bursting with tempting treats to take home, from loose-leaf tea to biscuits, jams, chutneys and chocolates – resisting the urge to grab something sweet is no easy feat!

For those in search of a freshly baked treat, KNEAD Cirencester is an independent bakery well worth a visit, offering all the classic pastries — a personal highlight being their pecan and maple danish. The charming Heather’s is another brilliant option for a decent coffee, tucked away down one of the town’s characterful lanes, conveniently close to a handful of delightful independent retailers.

Cirencester’s flourishing independent shopping scene is arguably one of the town’s greatest draws, making it an absolute goldmine for finding unique gifts for family and friends. During a recent day out, a browse through Octavia’s Bookshop turned up a great read, while the gift shop m.a.d.e. and the welcoming Corn Hall Indoor Market also proved well worth exploring.

Open year-round, Sunday to Thursday, the indoor market is packed with warm and friendly traders flogging everything from organic beauty products and jewellery to art, bags, scarves, cards, wood, craft, Persian rugs, and even carpets – a real one-stop shop. Just a stone’s throw away is the Corn Hall Cellars Wine Shop, stocking a fine selection of wines, beers and spirits – ideal for those hosting evenings, along with all the tasty treats needed for a cracking night in with friends.

Beyond the independents, familiar high street names such as White Stuff, Seasalt Cornwall, Barbour, Mountain Warehouse, French Grey and Waterstones are also well represented. While the independent retailers and bustling daily markets were the real standout attractions, Cirencester is undeniably a thriving town in every sense.

Those keen to soak up the delightful character of Cirencester will find it just a 30-minute drive from both Gloucester and Cheltenham, or less than a two-hour train journey from London. Alternatively, you could make it a weekend escape and take in some of the surrounding Cotswolds villages, such as Bibury and Tetbury.

Do you have a travel story to share? Email webtravel@reachplc.com

Jaxon Smith-Njigba was sent a trophy for Offensive Player of the Year that contained multiple typos.

But, hey, at least they got his name right.

The Seattle Seahawks receiver posted a video to his Instagram Story on Monday in which he displays the award from the NFL and Associated Press with an engraving that appears to read “2025 Defensive Player Of TheYear.”

“It’s getting disrespectful, guys,” Smith-Njigba says before pointing to the word that indicates the wrong side of the football on which he plays. “DEE-fense? Come on, bro.”

He then pointed to the two words that were merged together without a space at the end.

“One word?” he said. “Man.”

In a statement emailed to The Times, the NFL owned up to spelling the word “Offensive” wrong but said it was actually spelled “Oefensive” and the font made the first letter appear to be a D. On the trophy, the first letter of that word does appear the same as the one in “Of.”

“The league made the mistake. We sincerely apologize to Jaxon for the error and are in the process of creating and shipping him a new trophy,” the NFL wrote.

“Of course, like the teams he played against this year, we know how great an offensive player he is. We just had a problem spelling it.”

The third-year player out of Ohio State made a second straight Pro Bowl last season for the eventual Super Bowl champion Seahawks, with 119 receptions for a league-high 1,793 yards (eighth best all-time) and 10 touchdowns.

This offseason, he was rewarded with a four-year, $168-million extension that made him the highest-paid receiver in NFL history.

Comedian Druski mispronounced Smith-Njigba’s name several times when announcing him as the Offensive Player of the Year during the NFL Honors ceremony in February.

The Mike Vrabel and Dianna Russini saga has been forever subtly immortalized in a Chargers schedule release video.

It seemed inevitable that the Chargers’ social media team would poke fun at the NFL’s biggest offseason story, and they did just that Thursday in their 2026 schedule release video.

In the Halo-themed video, the Chargers made a couple references to the ongoing drama when revealing their Thanksgiving weekend game against the New England Patriots. A sign with the words “Next Photo Dump 1 Mile” was in the video as was a pop-up notification from the New York Post, which broke the story about the Patriots coach and the former Athletic reporter. You can watch the video here:

This isn’t surprising. The Chargers’ last game was a playoff loss to Vrabel’s Patriots, so nothing short of an edict from the NFL probably would have stopped the franchise’s social media team from referencing the Vrabel-Russini controversy.

And when “Inside the NBA” put Vrabel and Russini in a “Gone Fishing” mock photo earlier this month, it probably sent some NFL social media teams into a frenzy. If ESPN, which is 10% owned by the NFL, can get away with that, why couldn’t they?

It’s good the NFL isn’t as buttoned up as it used to be regarding its public image, although it’s probably wishing this story would go away.