Stars are people too

Wildfires are devastating. They consume more than homes. They also devour memories, history, and a sense of safety. This year, flames tore through Altadena, Malibu and the Palisades, leaving ashes where homes and lives once stood. Yet, instead of compassion, a bizarre and unjustified wave of callousness has reared its ugly head, with people dismissing the losses of celebrities and residents in these areas.

How often in the past week have you seen a post or heard someone say, “They can afford to rebuild” or “They can just move to their other house”? It’s a cavalier, ignorant, jealous, red-state, right-wing, California-hating dismissal that reveals a staggering, although sadly not surprising, lack of empathy and understanding.

Let’s be honest: there’s no faster way to show the world your heart is three sizes too small than by shrugging off someone else’s tragedy with, “Well, they’re rich.”

Not everyone who suffered a loss is rich. Sure, these communities, especially Malibu and the Palisades, are known for luxurious homes. But they’re also home to teachers, small business owners, retirees, and others who’ve built lives there. Some have lived in these neighborhoods for decades—long before they became synonymous with wealth. Losing a home is financially devastating for anyone.

And no, Karen, not everyone has a secret vault of gold coins to dive into when things go south.

Even for those who ar e wealthy, the idea their losses don’t matter is disturbingly cruel. Yes, a celebrity may have the means to rebuild, but wealth doesn’t erase the pain of losing irreplaceable items: photo albums, keepsakes from loved ones, artwork, and more. Money can’t replace that painting your kid made in first grade that held a place of honor on the fridge. Wealth doesn’t shield anyone from the trauma of displacement or the heartbreak of watching a cherished home—and all the memories it held—go up in flames.

To imply their suffering is any less valid because they’re in the public eye is to deny their humanity. And yours.

Many celebrities who’ve lost their homes are still stepping up to help others. They’re donating significant amounts to relief efforts, volunteering their time, and using their platforms to raise awareness and funds for victims. Their losses haven’t stopped them from giving back, which only underscores their humanity and generosity.

A loss is a loss. Home is more than just four walls and a roof. It’s the space where we build our lives, celebrate milestones, and find comfort. When people lose their homes to natural disasters, they’re not just losing a building; they’re losing memories and a piece of their identity. This is true whether you’re living paycheck to paycheck or have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.We reduce celebrities to their wealth or fame, forgetting that they laugh, cry, and mourn just like the rest of us.

They’re just better lit while doing it.

This mentality often extends to others perceived as “better off” than us. It’s a dangerous way of thinking. Instead of coming together to support those in need, we’ve created a hierarchy of whose suffering is “worthy” of our compassion. Spoiler alert: this isn’t a competition. There are no prizes for being the most dismissive.

Next time you see news of someone’s home destroyed by fire—whether they’re a famous actor or your next-door neighbor—think about what it would mean to lose the place where you’ve built your life.

The last thing we need is for callousness to spread faster than the wildfires.

Rustic never sleeps

You know the old saying—you can take the boy out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the boy. Whatever. I'd actually hoped that saying would propel me into some kind of pithy segue into this blogpost about the most rustic restaurant you'll ever eat at.

Come to find out I was wrong. So let's just dive straight in, shall we?

This past Sunday we took my son—a newly-minted 21-year old—to the Saddle Peak Lodge for his birthday brunch. The wife and I have been there many times over the years, but not recently. And when we were thinking about where to take him, my wife was the one who came up with the SPL, which like many of her ideas, was a brilliant one (Hear that? It's the sound of me scoring marriage points).

The SPL is definitely unlike any other restaurant in L.A. For one thing, it's not in L.A. You'll find it on the side of a mountain in Calabasas, about five miles up the road from Pepperdine University and the Malibu Colony on Pacific Coast Highway.

Like someplace out of the 1800's, the SPL is built from logs, and has stuffed animal heads hanging all over the walls, looking down at you while you're dining on the superb, pricey food. Maybe it's that I've been to Disneyland too many times, but I kept expecting the heads to turn and start talking and singing like at Country Bear Jamboree. Or maybe the scene from Diner. "You gonna finish that?" "If you want it, just say it!" "Well, if you're not gonna finish it..."

They didn't. But it would've been bitchin' if they did, amIright?

Dining there, you really feel you've gone somewhere away from the city, and time-traveled to a more genteel era. Or a more gentile era, if that's possible. I may be getting off track here.

Anyway, the point I'm getting at is its rustic charm and semi-isolated location (even though only a few miles from the coast and a freeway) makes it feel like more than a nice meal. It becomes an easy getaway.

Unlike the Rainforest Cafe or other fabricated "theme" restaurants, the SPL comes by its rustic charm honestly. According to its website:

"Part roadhouse, Pony Express stop, hunting lodge, European auberge, perhaps even a hint of a bordello, Saddle Peak Lodge has been many things to many people in its long history. For 100 years—some say even more—Saddle Peak Lodge has been a place of enchantment, romance and great dining for generations of those who seek a unique experience."

In case you were wondering, my son had steak and eggs, and to celebrate his new 21-ness, washed it down with a mimosa. I had Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon and a heart-stopping good Hollandaise sauce. The wife enjoyed California Goat Cheese and Broccoli Quiche, you know, like they had in the old west.

Everything was exceptional.

The only suggestion I'd make is if you're going to dine there, it might be a better idea to visit at night. Away from the glare of the city lights, you can see the brilliant light of the stars against the dark blue blanket of the night sky. Also, the restaurant is decorated with lights inside and out. There's a lot of twinkly magic going on after the sun sets, and it brings out the enchanted quality even more.

Not to mention it hides all the bone-dry brush in the canyon that's one cigarette butt away from a raging inferno.

That might be the city boy talking.