New Home No Home

I’ve been in Los Angeles nearly two months now.  I’m blessed to be a student in the number one film and television producing program in the country in the number one film school in the country.  My only reluctance about moving to this city was the reality of its unreality.  The glitz and glamour were to be expected along with daily sightings of botched plastic surgery and botox injections gone wrong.  I’ve seen fake smiles and mile-long lines of people waiting to get on the other side of a velvet rope.  Between school and work my social scene pretty much consists of the occasional Skype session with old friends and the “Recently Added” and “New Releases” sections of Netflix.   

Despite my social seclusion, a material possession obsessed society, and L.A. Live traffic I was recently reminded that some realities exist everywhere. Last week outside my building a homeless was man picking up rotten berries off the pavement and eating them.  Every step meant a new berry.  This fruit, and I use the term loosely, had fallen from the trees and even the birds wouldn’t pick at it.  That is the world I live in.  Eventually one of the cooks from the food truck regularly parked on my street saw the same man and gave him some food.  This is the L.A. I like.  This was a glimmer of hope on South Hope Street.

Shortly after that experience I read an article in the LA Times that reminded me of the stories I want to tell and the personalities that make up the collage of humanity. Check out the article below.,0,2512278.story

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