The Brief

SAULT STE. MARIE, Mich. — The idea came to Danielle Boyer in a toy store. The inspiration? It was Tickle Me Elmo.

"Whenever you'd press his belly, he would talk, and he would teach you things," she said. "There are toys that teach us in English, but there aren't toys that teach us Anishinaabemowin. And I wanted that to be different."

Anishinaabemowin includes the Potawatomi, Odawa and Ojibwe languages. Exact estimates vary, but there are fewer than 10,000 people in the U.S. who speak Anishinaabemowin. That number is around 25,000 in Canada. Some Native languages have just a few dozen fluent speakers, while others have none.

Boyer has seen how quickly language loss can happen. Her grandmother speaks Anishinaabemowin, but she is one of the last fluent speakers of their dialect.

"It is devastating to feel like your language could be lost," said Boyer, a member of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians. "You lose your culture, you lose a way to describe who you are."

U.S. Indian boarding schools played a major role in the loss of Indigenous languages. Children separated from their families were taught, sometimes violently, not to speak their native tongues, and many did not pass them on to their children.

Today, some Native youth are learning their languages in schools. But Boyer said many of them still aren't invested. "They see it as another homework assignment."

Boyer and Hoy work on some last-minute adjustments to his AI-powered SkoBot before presenting at his school's end-of-year showcase, called the STEAM Museum.

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That's why she invented the SkoBot. It's a customizable toy robot designed to get Indigenous children excited to learn their languages.

"I can say 'Hey SkoBot, what is bear?' And it will say, 'Bear is makwa, makwa,' and it'll repeat it, right? So I can say, 'What is crane?' It'll say, 'Crane is ajijaak, ajijaak.'"

SkoBots use a form of artificial intelligence to speak Indigenous languages, and they're small enough to mount on the user's shoulder. They sort of resemble mini R2-D2 droids, from Star Wars, except these robots are designed to look like woodland creatures and decorated in Native American florals.

Through a nonprofit she started when she was 18, Boyer, now 25, has mentored hundreds of Native American children across the country, teaching them to build SkoBots of their own. One of them is 12-year-old Holden Hoy in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

"I was already a big fan of robotics and how they work, how you can bring inanimate objects to life," he said. "And I'm Ojibwe, and so I've always wanted to save the Ojibwe language."

Hoy, a rising seventh-grader, showed off his design at an end-of-the-year science fair at his school, JKL Bahweting Anishinaabe School in Sault Ste. Marie. Like Boyer, he is a member of the Sault Tribe.

He programmed his SkoBot to answer three questions ahead of his presentation. One of them was, "What's your name," to which the robot would respond in Hoy's voice: "Aaniin, Hello. Sabe indizhinikaaz, Bahweting indoonjibaa. I was built by Holden Hoy. I will not gain sentience and take over the world. Or will I?"

Hoy named his SkoBot Sabe, which means Bigfoot in Anishinaabemowin. In Ojibwe culture, Bigfoot represents honesty, one of seven sacred teachings.

His classmates and their parents stopped by his booth to see Sabe in action. Boyer was there too, helping Hoy with his presentation.

"I'm very happy that people are actually coming to this booth," Hoy said. "I'm happy that they are learning things, and I'm really happy that I'm part of the Ojibwe."

Sabe has one eye, a sensor that detects movement and lets it know to start listening.

Hoy's Sabe, or Bigfoot, SkoBot on display (right), alongside three other SkoBots that Boyer brought with her to show off at the STEAM Museum. Each represents a specific animal: a wolf, turtle and bear. Hoy's SkoBot is 3D printed in light gray, and its face is adorned with a footprint surrounded by floral designs.

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"Basically, when it hears that one trigger word, it then plays a prerecorded audio file. So there isn't synthetic speech, there isn't any generative AI," said Boyer. "It's simply listening to what you're saying, identifying it and playing [audio files] that already exist."

That means the SkoBots will never make things up, often called AI hallucinations. Hoy said it's important not to use generative AI. "AI tends to falsify things a lot, not get things from trustworthy sources."

Boyer's goal isn't to replace interactions with real language speakers. Instead, it's to get kids interested in not only their languages, but in subjects like science, math and engineering as well. That includes getting them to think about how to use AI ethically.

"Artificial intelligence, especially when it's not created by Indigenous people, stands to do a lot of harm to our communities," she said. "When you are putting accurate information into these models … you're giving away sacred information to companies that don't have our best interests at heart."

And as chatbots have become more popular, Boyer said some people have turned to them to help them learn their languages. She's even seen large language models like ChatGPT invent fake words in Anishinaabemowin, which she said is dangerous. "If we're not learning our language correctly, we shouldn't learn it at all."

Jocelyn Hoy is Holden's mom. She's excited that her son is not only exposed to their culture, but he's eager to know more. She said he's even been teaching her new things.

"As someone who, at a time in my life, did not want to be identified as Native American … now as an adult, I cannot wait to learn more, and I think the SkoBots are going to help me and so many kids — so many people in general — learn their heritage and who they are."

Holden Hoy said that heritage and the language are inseparable: "The language is the culture!"

He added, "It is important to protect it, because it's some people's way of life. Generation after generation is based around this culture."

Edited by: Steve Drummond and Lauren Migaki
Visual design and development by: LA Johnson
Copyright 2026 NPR

It may be entering a new era, but walking into the Original Pantry Cafe still feels like stepping back in time. The caged cash register is still there, with a worn spot on the floor in front of it, and the wood-board menus listing the day’s specials in chalk.

The iconic diner, which had served downtown L.A. from the corner of Ninth and Figueroa streets for over 100 years, closed in March 2025 amid a labor dispute, after the trust that owned it decided to sell the property. Now, under new ownership, it reopens Thursday, Nov. 19.

Leo Pustilnikov, a developer, bought the building in September 2025, and Hope the Mission, a San Fernando Valley nonprofit, will now run it, with all profits going to shelters for L.A.’s unhoused community.

Longtime staff are returning under a new contract with UNITE HERE Local 11. Rowan Vansleve, president of Hope the Mission, called bringing them back “incredibly emotional.”

What’s back and what’s not

Fans of the Pantry will find familiar names on the menu, including the famous coleslaw and sourdough toast from Frisco Baking Co. And of course, the beloved pancakes make their triumphant return, now made from scratch.

“We’ve got the same sourdough that we were using prior to Hope the Mission coming in,” Vansleve said.

The Pantry’s dining room and long counter keep their classic diner look, with a new bakery case near the front windows.

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Other dishes got a 2026 makeover. The Denver omelet now uses poblano peppers, the fried chicken sandwich comes with a spicy chile glaze and pickled radish, and a new bakery case is stocked with cookies, pies, chocolate malt crunch cake and peach cobbler.

“There are a few alterations on the menu,” Vansleve said. “Tastes have changed, and this needs to be successful.”

Two new sandwiches are named after donors who helped fund the reopening. The Betty Burger comes with Cooper sharp cheese, grilled onions, house pickles and Pantry Gold sauce on a sesame bun. Grant’s Sky High Deli piles half a pound of warm corned beef with Gruyère, horseradish slaw and mustard on toasted rye.

“I’m really excited for people to try our burger,” said executive chef Daniel Hur.

A stack of buttermilk pancakes made from scratch costs $16.

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Buttermilk pancakes are $16, and the classic breakfast platter — eggs, meat, Pantry potatoes and toast — is $21.

“We did a lot of research to make sure that we’re just under pretty much everyone else in the local area,” Vansleve said. “We’re not gonna gouge you.”

The Pantry no longer runs around the clock, and it now takes cards.

But Vansleve hopes the shortened hours will be temporary. “The Pantry’s not truly back until it’s 24 hours,” he acknowledged, adding that hours will expand as demand allows. He also hopes to reopen Riordan’s Tavern, the adjoining bar, “in some renewed format sometime late next year.”

Not everyone is sold

As soon as the new menu was posted online, commenters flooded the restaurant’s Instagram page and Reddit, pleading for nothing to change.

Hur, who grew up in Culver City, said he understands. “I love Tito’s Tacos. It’s been around since the ’50s. If someone came in there and changed the Tito’s Taco, I’d be like, ‘Why?’” he said. “So I get it.”

The specials board greets Angelenos ahead of the Nov. 19 reopening.

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Hur said he’s had to weigh purists against diners looking for something new, aiming to welcome back regulars while drawing in a new crowd. He’s open to feedback. “I know even if I’m not open to it, I’m gonna get it,” he said. “So I might as well be open to it.”

Vansleve’s pitch is simpler: “Give it a go, come in.”

Every meal helps, he said. “100% of the profits is gonna go back to the charity.” Hope the Mission runs 35 shelters housing about 3,500 people on any given night, according to Vansleve

To reach its 24-hour goal, he said, “We need to see those lines around the corner like they used to be.”

One of Broadway’s most popular shows in years, Oh, Mary! is now at the Ahmanson Theatre through Dec. 6. It stars drag performer extraordinaire Alaska Thunderf*ck 5000, known mononymously as Alaska.

Alaska caught up with LAist host Julia Paskin to talk about taking the Tony Award-winning dark comedy on the road, how competing on RuPaul's Drag Race has changed over the years, and where to see a great drag show in Los Angeles.

A role she was made for

The list of actors who have played the titular role of Mary ranges from seasoned comedians, like show creator Cole Escola, to Jane Krakowski and Bowen Yang, the latter of whom is currently on an extended Broadway run.

Jane Krakowski during her broadway run in "Oh, Mary!"

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“It's going on my tombstone,” Alaska said. “Like, it's the biggest deal ever.”

The role not only has big proverbial shoes to fill, but also requires donning a large, heavy hoopskirt for a costume. That was not a problem.

“If you ever just wanna, like, change your entire personality, just put on a hoopskirt,” she said. “It really changes the way you move and the way you kinda act and the way you stand. That's drag, I guess, because drag is sort of transforming based on what you're putting on your body, and it really does change everything.”

The higher cost to compete on Drag Race 

Speaking of drag, Alaska initially rose to fame appearing on Season 5 of RuPaul’s Drag Race in 2013 and the second season of the All Stars spinoff in 2016, which she won. Longtime fans of the reality show can confirm a lot has changed over the years with the competition becoming more expensive and queens investing in pricey, commissioned costume pieces and drag accessories.

Alaska said she’s grateful she competed when she did.

“I got in under the wire,” Alaska said. “I got onto that show back when you could show up with a bag of dirty laundry and you could do pretty well. When I went on that show the first time, I was borrowing stuff from other girls. I really just went to the thrift store and got some stuff. I had my friends make some stuff with me as well.”

She says the pressure is also more intense with the audience expecting a high production quality.

“The viewership is so knowledgeable about fabrics, and designers, and fashion, and polish and wig lines,” Alaska added. “That's good. I mean, I think that it's a pendulum, and it swings back and forth. Yes, we love to see exquisite, fabulous costumery on Drag Race. But, we also like to see some, stupid, silly drag as well.”

Where to catch great drag in LA 

Alaska recommends Meatball’s Phat Slut show at Precinct in downtown L.A., and added "anything happening at Precinct is going to be unique, fierce, fun, and just like an excellent vibe.”

Another top recommendation is “The Golden Girls Live” from drag queens Jackie Beat and Sherry Vine.

“It happens in a very small room,” Alaska said. “So you're literally sitting onstage with the Golden Girls. There's really nothing like it.”

You can see Alaska in Oh, Mary! at the Ahmanson Theatre and when her Revolution Tour stops in at Pacific Electric May 8, 2027.

Rhea Borja and her husband, Eric Wee, bought their home in Altadena in 2022. After the January 2025 Eaton Fire, it still stood, in a pocket of other homes that also survived.

At first, that was a relief. As many fire survivors have found, though, remediating smoke damage has been nearly as daunting as rebuilding a home that burned.

That has been true for Borja and Wee too. They’ve been living in Northern California since the fire, while they work to get their home cleared of the toxic remnants of the smoke.

The Eaton Fire destroyed 9,414 structures, including homes and businesses. For the thousands of structures were left standing, Gov. Gavin Newsom signed laws in September setting new rules for smoke damage cleanup.

What has that looked like in practice? Three Eaton Fire survivors spoke with LAist recently about the challenges they’ve faced.

Remediation challenges

Rhea Borja stands in her driveway just a month or so before the January 2025 fire. All of the houses behind her across the street burned down, including all the trees and greenery.

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On the blocks around Borja’s home, the frames of homes being rebuilt are taking shape. But her home has stood empty for 22 months.

“It has been an enormous test of patience,” she said.

Her home has gone through four remediations. The lead test results after the most recent remediation cleared EPA standards. Since then, Borja has had a new HVAC system installed.

Next up, re-insulating the attic.

She’s hoping to be back in Altadena early next year but recognizes there’s still a lot to do, including remediating the front and back yards. She’ll have to pay for those projects out of pocket.

“I miss Altadena. I miss Los Angeles. I miss being by the San Gabriel Mountains,” Borja said. “So I just feel kind of removed from the area, and sometimes it almost just seems like a dream.”

A hallway in Rhea Borja’s home after it was remediated for a third time in June 2026.

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Rhea Borja removed the remediator’s tape and plastic covering over a living room window of her Altadena home in mid October.

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Simon Perry and his partner have two properties in Altadena that still require remediation.

One is their home right outside of the fire zone, and the other is a rental property right in the middle of it.

At Perry’s home of 15 years, the contamination was off the charts.

“To give you an indication of how badly contaminated it is, the attic crawl space tested at 3,391 units of lead,” Perry said. “So there's 50 times the safe level of lead in the crawl space of the attic.”

Perry had intended to retire the week of the Eaton Fire. He postponed that while he dealt with the fire’s aftermath — spending hours itemizing personal items, then throwing them away.

By the end of September, he and his partner moved for the fourth time since the fire.

Before that move, their temporary home was “full of cardboard boxes and boxes full of stuff, you know, because everything is in transition and has been in transition for 20 months,” he said.

A return home

After 19 months of being displaced, Susan Mohini Kane, husband Bernard Kane and their cat returned to Altadena.

Being displaced was unsettling, but Kane said she learned a lot.

Susan Mohini Kane shared this photo with LAist from March 2026 after most of her home’s contents were removed. The walls were cut up for rewiring.

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Susan Mohini Kane and her husband Bernard Kane began moving in over the summer. A friend gifted her hand-sewn quilt to replace one they lost to smoke damage.

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“More things happened every day that I didn't expect,” Kane said. “They ended up, basically, having to tear our house down.”

The walls of the Kane home were removed and then replaced. They filled and hauled bags of fire-damaged goods out of their home.

Now that she’s back, Kane is excited to return to her work as a voice teacher, singer and songwriter.

Susan Mohini Kane and her husband Bernard Kane are happy to be back in their home after 19 months of remediation and repairs after the Eaton Fire.

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She wants people who didn’t experience the wildfire to know what people are still going through nearly two years later.

“We're still here. We're still suffering. We're still needing so much help,” she said.