Comments
ERIC PREVEN’S NOTEBOOK - Thierry Ardisson, the Man in Black, is gone — though anyone who worked with him knows he never really will be. You don’t bury a force of nature. You replay it, quote it, and remember it with a sly grin and a story that begins, “Did I ever tell you about the time…”
Working with Thierry in Paris was a gift — even if, truth be told, I was only there for three weeks, holed up in the George V Hotel, so I wasn’t exactly slumming it. The hard part wasn’t the gig — it was being away from my newborn son. But when Thierry Ardisson invites you into his eccentric, late-night, full-throttle world, you go.
He was a master of contradictions: mysterious yet brazen, exacting yet chaotic, cool as noir but always several steps ahead of the culture. He didn’t chase the zeitgeist — he dragged it into his studio and dressed it in black.
He brought a rainbow to the party early with Free Gay, a stately, radical segment on Free One, his dazzling, often baffling proposal for a généraliste channel. I once tried to translate that term.
“Ah, généraliste,” I said. “Like MTV?”
“Non!” Thierry snapped, aghast. “Of course not!”
Then, flashing that wicked grin: “But Erique gets it.”
Yes. I got it. Or at least pretended to — with conviction.
That Free One gig also brought me to Marc Antoine — the sharp French exec at Columbia (Sony), fresh out of Harvard Business School, who had a real eye for talent and a sense of humor to match. Thierry introduced us, and the rest is history.
And then… there was the Beagle Incident. NATPE, New Orleans. Thierry arrived from France with a young team, ready to charm the American market — but never made it past customs in Cincinnati. A USDA beagle at the airport leapt on him and uncovered a perfectly rolled, fully loaded hash cigarette.
These dogs will find the junk.
Marc Antoine, cleverly, tried to pass it off as a passport snafu. We sniffed out the truth fast. Thierry had been deported for smuggling. Oy. Only Thierry could turn a TV market convention into an international incident — and somehow make it chic.
If the LA County Board of Supervisors had been involved, they’d have demanded a 90-day report back on canine detection protocols — and probably commissioned a commemorative badge.
Which brings us to Tuesday’s board meeting.
After yet another disturbing contraband breach — 170 pills smuggled in by a visiting mother — the Supervisors did what they do best: considered a well-intentioned but low-IQ reform.
No hugging.
That’s right. In youth facilities where connection is scarce and rehabilitation is supposed to be the point, they’re now mulling a ban on hugs. Because moms — some of whom smuggle — are now considered a threat. And because our system is better at banning contact than building trust.
If Thierry were here, he’d raise a brow and deliver a cutting one-liner in French that translates roughly to: “Mon dieu, this is amateur hour.”
He would’ve advised them to:
- Diversify entry points. One bottleneck with 20 cameras and no staff doesn’t equal security — it equals theater.
- Invest in trained detection teams. (Preferably four-legged.)
- Target the supply chains inside the system, not just the desperate acts at the door.
Instead, our board continues to pour billions into “Evergreen” reforms, with Measure G now standing for “Guess again.” The jails are festering, probation is on life support, and the only thing being effectively monitored is the public comment clock.
So yes, Thierry is gone. But his clarity, mischief, and absolute refusal to accept mediocrity would serve this county well.
I miss him.
And I miss a county government that doesn’t treat governance like a talk show — with applause lines, guest cameos, and a commercial break every time things get hard.
We can do better. Even Thierry’s beagle would agree.
We Could’ve Made a Movie That Day
The Supervisors will roll out the red carpet for the Olympics.
I’ve worked in television long enough to spot a staged production. Tuesday’s Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors meeting had all the makings of a real scene — until it fizzled.
The room brimmed with Hollywood’s backbone: electricians, costumers, grips, focus pullers. A full crew, hungry for work, packed the chamber. Union caps, calloused hands — a quiet rebuke to the polished proclamations about to unfold.
Then a man stepped to the mic. He introduced himself as Lew Wasserman — half tribute to the titan who built Universal Pictures, half cry for relevance. A toddler’s pacifier dangled from his lanyard.
“I’m not desperate,” he said, steady but hollowed. “My wife’s pregnant. Our boy’s a scrambler. I’m a focus puller. I just want to stay in California.”
His words hung, raw and unscripted — a story of a city forgetting its storytellers.
The Supervisors, though, were directing a different picture. Smiles fixed, they breezed through ceremonial resolutions — Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, National Work Zone Awareness Week — before pivoting to their star attraction: Hollywood.
We could’ve made a movie that day. The talent was there. Ready to roll. Instead, we got a press release.
And then the punchline: Hours after the meeting, news broke that NBCUniversal — LA28’s golden child — had settled a $3.6 million lawsuit with the County for deceptive practices on its Peacock platform. Trapping subscribers in auto-renewals by burying cancellation options. The same company draped in Olympic glory, raking in millions in taxpayer-funded perks, was fleecing the public while workers in that room got lip service.
It’s Hollywood’s new script: studios pocket $21 million tax credits per production, offshore jobs, gut benefits, and lay off veterans by the thousands.
I wrote in 2023: “Greed doesn’t build anything lasting. It strips for parts.” That truth hasn’t budged.
The apprentice ladder — grips to gaffers, assistants to showrunners — has been kicked out. Middle-class craftspeople, the ones who trained the next generation, now line up at Board meetings, asking for a lifeline. Meanwhile, the County cuts deals with corporations that treat LA like a backdrop, not a home.
And when the County claws back a few million in damages? Who sees it? Not the workers. Not the subscribers. NBCUniversal gets a slap on the wrist and keeps selling the myth of Hollywood’s generosity — a myth as hollow as a soundstage wall.
The real Lew Wasserman built something with vision and grit. The man at the mic — pacifier swinging, focus tight — was fighting for the same thing: a chance to work, to create, to stay.
He wasn’t asking for charity. He was demanding a shot.
Los Angeles deserves a better story. Not a five-ringed spectacle propped up by subsidies and slogans, but one where the crew isn’t treated like background extras.
It’s time to rewrite the script. Before the lights fade, and the set goes quiet for good.
Portside Pour List: LA28 Council Cocktails
LA28 just charted its final sailing venue plan—and Councilmember Tim McOsker, who once called the Olympic committee “a bunch of bros,” is now the Commodore of the Harbor. He got exactly what he wanted: ten Olympic sailing events split between Long Beach and the Port of LA. It’s San Pedro’s time to shine—while LAHSA, the region’s homelessness authority, gets defunded and the county builds yet another department in its place. That's government multitasking: pull sails andrugs simultaneously.
But let’s talk revenue. With 75,000 projected sailing spectators over ten days, and tiered ticket pricing—$25 general, $125 VIP, and $500 “Yacht Tier”—the City and LA28 could net nearly $4 million in ticket sales alone. Add food and beverage? Boom: another $1.4 million, conservatively.
That’s $5.4 million in public spectacle liquidity—enough to cover roughly one week of legal fees for the City Attorney’s office.
Naturally, spectators deserve themed cocktails. And not just any cocktails. These are bespoke elected-official concoctions, shaken with satire and stirred with disdain.
The McOskertini (a.k.a. The Harbor Boss)– Navy gin, vermouth, a San Pedro olive. Strong, salty, union-backed.
The Marqueece Mai Tai – Rum, orgeat, legacy bitters. Unites flavors, redraws districts.
The Blumenfreeze – Frozen Aperol slush with an orchid garnish and a 48-hour FEMA reimbursement.
Katy’s Jetty Spritz – A restrained blend of elderflower liqueur, cava, and anxiety.
The Horvath Howdy-doo – Prosecco, lavender, irony. Pair with a selfie and a Farmer’s market permit waiver.
The Janice Hahn-Grenade – Tequila, lime, triple sec, and complimentary gunlock. Served loud.
The Hilda Highball – Mezcal, chamoy rim, confidential ICE report on the side. Smooth. Silent. Deadly.
The Hollypop Mule – Vodka, ginger beer, a splash of equity. Includes one free cluster meeting.
The Park-itecture Punch – Rum, mint, filtered media. Available in 3 curated colors.
The Raman Raft – Sherry, sincerity, and 80,000 city emails. You’ll feel heard... eventually.
Add a 3% “Olympic Legacy Surcharge” and funnel the profits to some nonprofit you’ve never heard of but Karen Bass “absolutely trusts.”
Bottoms up, Los Angeles. The Games are coming. And nothing floats like a city budget—except maybe a skiff full of consultants.
The Hills Had Her: A Mellow Miracle
Jindo Puppy.
It started with a bang—literally. A backfire, sudden and sharp, sent Mellow, a beloved companion dog, fleeing into the hills at dusk. One minute she was there. The next, gone, swallowed by the wild.
What a nightmare. Mellow and her mom are good friends of my dogs, part of the pack. So this wasn’t just someone’s pet lost—it was our friend, too.
Cue the panic: Tears. Terror. The math of predators. Coyotes. Mountain lions. Rattlesnakes. Jesus. The terrain is vast, and by 4 a.m., every rustle sounded like an omen. Two nights later, still no Mellow. Her mom was unraveling, and understandably.
What was she doing out there? Who was she with? Could a dog navigate this? Could Mellow?
Then—like Clark Kent out of a phone booth—entered Sue and Jen, two miracle workers from Dog Days Search & Rescue. They didn’t offer platitudes. They offered a protocol—and a slap of reality. “We’re 90% sure we can help,” they said. And they meant it.
Their advice was not magic, but it was close. Here’s what they laid out:
Day One: Go to the last place she was seen. Sit quietly with her toy and a piece of your clothing. Let your scent linger. No yelling. No chasing.
Day Two: Return to the spot. This time, drive up. Open the tailgate. Wait. Say nothing.
Day Three: Crack the garage door two feet. Leave water. Some food. No expectations. Just possibility.
Still, nothing.
But Day Four…
Just like that, Mellow came home. Dirty. Shaken. But alive. Four days without water is nearly the limit. A week without food? Dogs can manage. But what she saw out there, what she survived—only she knows. Coyotes? A deer? Did she lie low near a trail, watch the stars? Was she checking on her mom, or honoring someone? Who knows if that family’s recent loss of a centenarian had anything to do with Mellow running—or her return.
Either way, surviving nights like those… makes you stronger. If it doesn’t kill you.
Thanks to Sue and Jen, it didn’t. Mellow is back. Her mom got her heart back. And the pack is whole again.
Thanks to Dog Days Search & Rescue. If every agency worked as hard and smart as they do, the world would be a better place.
Welcome home, Mellow. You made it.
(Eric Preven is a Studio City-based television writer-producer, award-winning journalist, and longtime community activist. He is known for his sharp commentary on transparency and accountability in local government. Eric successfully brought and won two landmark open government cases in California, reinforcing the public’s right to know. A regular contributor to CityWatch, he combines investigative insight with grassroots advocacy to shine a light on civic issues across Los Angeles.)
