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ERIC PREVEN’S NOTEBOOK - This was a week for the books—or more accurately, a week to bury the books in memos. Between seven marathon budget hearings (April 25, 28, 29, 30 and May 1, 2 — with more starting now on Cinco de Mayo) and three City Council meetings, Los Angeles put on a dazzling display of civic choreography. If quantity equaled quality, we’d be thriving.
More than 300 budget memos were requested. Every department had its moment—some wielded sharp fiscal cudgels, others offered vague metaphors or relied on birthday wishes. The word "wonderful" was uttered 17 times across the May 1–2 hearings, gradually losing meaning as layoffs loomed, tree trimming cycles stretched to 19 years, and Councilmembers pleaded to restore funding to programs they couldn’t quite define.
Occupational hazards for DCR include... executives who could be slightly stoned.
Councilmember Katy Yaroslavsky—daughter-in-law of old Zev—chaired many of the hearings with the air of someone grading an extremely long group project. By the end of the week, the council had generated more documentation than a tax audit, while public comment had been conveniently smushed into the front of each day like parsley on a plate. Nice to look at, but mostly decorative.
The public was given only two short but inconvenient windows to speak—one in Van Nuys and one downtown—each allowing just a single 60-second shot per Angeleno. This marks a record low for public input in a city budget process. Zev Yaroslavsky would be proud. Read about the legacy of limited comment:
The result? A perfectly engineered fog. The “zero layoffs” outcome now being softly floated is more rosy conjecture than reality. Because in past years, the only way to tame a bureaucratic department with vital public functions—like trash collection—is to threaten: “Find the cuts, or 200 of you are gone.” Miraculously, the cuts are found. This year, the deluge of memos and non-stop hearings help mask activity as achievement. And soon, after a short recess where lobbyists finalize their influence, a city narrative will be declared: No civilian police department workers were laid off. Not a single chick lost. The Mother Goose budget prevails.
Smart Speaker: "Mother Bass! Not a single fish was lost.
Get him out of here!"
General Manager Janisse Quiñones is paid $750,000 per year. [REDACTED]
Meanwhile, Friday’s City Council meeting opened with a flourish: a full Chinese dragon dance, orchestrated by Staffer B (who should be preparing for his Ethics hearing). The ceremonies rolled out like red carpets: Hugo Soto-Martinez honored Bamby Saucedo and the Trans Latina Coalition. Councilmember Jurado, newly installed, introduced herself as a queer attorney, and the white-haired trans Asian attorney — well known from the now-famous Studio City Walk Over video — was back, poised and passionate, among a robust and vocal API delegation. And Nithya Raman, away on South Coast AQMD duty, was rumored to be “joining for lunch on the forecourt”—a phrase better suited to a donor brunch than a budget crisis.
Then came the farewell to Ratepayer Advocate Fred Pickel. Adrin Nazarian, trying to keep it light, reminded us that "energy markets are not sexy." Fred, understated as ever, noted that Krekorian didn't always like what he said, but always wanted to hear it. My blood pressure spiked!:
Because earlier in the week it was casually revealed that more than $3.2 million had been allocated to the Office of Major Events—that’s $600,000 plus another $2.6 million for what’s colloquially known as Mr. Krekorian’s World Events Department. The problem? The actual terms of the deal between Krekorian and Mayor Bass have not been disclosed.
Sorry, I’ve digressed… back to LADWP
Fred: "Hello, Mr. Preven. You’re off topic. (Laughs) We miss you down here. Want to be Ratepayer Advocate?"
Smart Speaker: "No, thanks. I’m busy running the Olympics into the ground."
Public comment that day saw an outpouring from legal cannabis operators—especially social equity licensees—who described being punished for following the rules while 3,000 illegal dispensaries flourish. The message was clear: fix the system, or admit the game is rigged.
And as always, there were the rituals: Candido Mares nominating Monica Rodriguez for mayor, Groat cementing his folly by insisting that speakers “sign up once,” and Nazarian sending off Doug Mensman to Metro, where we presume the escalators will still not work… but evidently the revolving door does.
All aboard... Doug Mensman shimmies over to Metro.
Earlier in the week, a USC whistleblower revealed a sketchy “cash-for-keys” program. A chorus of educators backed a the C-word-and-F-word-Ban motion led by Harris-Dawson—idiot is too strong, or possibly not strong enough. Yes, words hurt, but censorship with a smile is still censorship.
Then came the week’s most ironic moment: Imelda Padilla warned against politicizing Hollywood jobs, while politicizing Hollywood jobs.
And Raman offered a curious anecdote about her husband’s writing career, prompting their move to LA, though public records suggest they met out here on a picket line. Close enough, she’s rezoning the city, not publishing poetry.
Even a cell tower dispute over whether the FCC “shot clock” had expired got bulldozed through the agenda. A dozen speakers objected. Ysabel Jurado bravely made a peep. But Raman and Harris-Dawson pushed that mutha through!
And as the dragons slinked away, the motions passed, and the memos piled up, Blumenfield closed with his signature send-off:
Want the rankings? The memos that should have been deleted? The quotes they’ll regret? It’s all in the FREE Budget Supplement—we would charge for it if we thought you'd pay. But this one is FREE. The link is waiting. For the caffeinated. For the curious. For anyone who ever thought, 'Did he really say that during a budget hearing?'
“Go out, serve the city, be creative, make it better.”
Yes, Bob. But maybe next time, do it with fewer PDFs and more honesty.
Smart Speaker goes to 4th Period:
Scene: A bright classroom. Inspirational posters. Kombucha in the teacher’s mini-fridge. A bulletin board reads: “Speak Truth to Power.”
TEACHER: Class, today we have a special visitor. He’s a writer, producer, watchdog, and rescued three dogs… please welcome Mr. Eric Preven!
(Mild applause. One kid claps ironically. Another is filming for his TikTok civics account.)
Smart Speaker, strolls in equal parts relaxed and furious: Thank you. Wow. I haven’t seen this many curious faces since the City Council tried to pass Judgment Obligation Bonds during a recess. (silence) Okay, I’m here to talk about… deception. Real estate deception. Developer deception. You know that cute outdoor mall you like—the one with Tocaya, Uovo, the absurdly expensive coffee kiosk?
KID #1 (Oakwood, sage hoodie, arms crossed): Yeah. That place slaps. What about it?
Smart Speaker: Well, turns out, the same developers who brought you that very walkable, reasonably overpriced plaza—Midwood—told everyone they were going to save the historic Sportsmen’s Lodge Hotel. Said they were keeping it. Operated it. Used it to get liquor licenses. Then… quietly applied to bulldoze it. To put up over 520 luxury units.
KID #2 (Campbell Hall, blazer over graphic tee): Wait—what?
Smart Speaker (nodding): Oh yeah. They even let the City use it to house unhoused Angelenos during COVID. Took public money. Then kicked those people out once it was time to "redevelop" but cashed a check for $400 thousand to restore it back to nice.
KID #3 (Carpenter, earnest, already red in the face): That’s like… evil. We went to a wedding there. My aunt met Burt Reynolds in that lobby. There’s, like, history!
KID #4 (Oakwood, raising hand dramatically): They said they were keeping the hotel. They put it on the permit!
Smart Speaker: (sipping from a Stanley cup he didn't bring): Correct. It’s what grown-ups call fraud-adjacent. They used the hotel to grease the wheels, then rolled it off a cliff.
KID #5 (Campbell Hall, speaks like a lawyer): That’s not just shady. That’s perjury, isn’t it?
Smart Speaker (eyes twinkle): You’re hired.
KID #1: So wait—they lied, took money, wrecked the historic hotel, and now we get overpriced condos and no more weddings?
KID #6 (quiet, emotional): I learned to swim in that hotel pool. My grandpa used to get the French toast there. He thought it was haunted… but in a good way.
Smart Speaker: Fire up the video.
(The class falls silent.)
Smart Speaker: So, not to upset you before recess, and obviously they’re hoping no one notices. Because once it's all dressed up with succulents and valet service...
KID #2: This is greenwashing. But like, with limestone and valet.
KID #4 (grabbing his phone): I’m making a petition. “Save What’s Left.” We boycott Midwood. We boycott the Mall.
KID #5: I don’t hate the mall… I just hate the betrayal.
KID #1: We can eat somewhere else. Let Erewhon suffer.
Smart Speaker: Erewhon wants the hotel! Look—I’m not telling you what smoothies to drink. I’m just saying: this kind of quiet corruption is how cities become unaffordable, unrecognizable, and unfair. Developers lie. Politicians look the other way. And if nobody calls them out—
ALL KIDS (rising, shouting): WE CALL THEM OUT!
(One kid is already designing a T-shirt. Another is live-streaming. A chant begins...)
KIDS: "No more lies! Save the Lodge!" "No more lies! Save the Lodge!"
Smart Speaker (backing out, pleased): Well. That went better than the LA Planning Commission.
4 Minutes and 49 Seconds the LA County Board Hopes You’ll Never Hear:
(Eric Preven is a Studio City-based TV writer-producer, award-winning journalist, and longtime community activist who won two landmark open government cases in California.)
