Voting for the villain: Why Spencer Pratt is LA’s last, best hope

Earlier this month I saw our old house in Pacific Palisades again, risen from the ashes in all its beautifully unremarkable splendor. In fact, the entire cul-de-sac had been restored, and when I followed Dulce Ynez to Jacon and then out onto Marquez, I passed all the familiar shops. There was Ronny’s Market, open for business, just as it was that Monday night 15 months ago when I stopped in for beer and toilet paper.

A mile or so down Sunset, Gelson’s supermarket was back too, along with the churches and the schools and the yogurt shops. So were other, more personal landmarks — sites of playdates and family dinners and Halloween parties, homes with addresses as familiar as my own.

We all remember Bass’ first public