Los Angeles is a city of contradictions. It seems to be made of dreams and sunshine. Sparkly and bright with a fountain on every corner, but we are in the midst of historic drought and it is literally one of the dirtiest places I have ever been and I grew up on a farm. It seems laid back and leisurely like no one is in a hurry, until you get onto a freeway and find out how much someone will risk of their own safety and the safety of nearby motorists to save 3 seconds of time exiting the 405 onto Venice Blvd. It has a glamour that is literally only skin deep. Publicists and social media managers and endless amounts of money spent on “beauty” and “diet” can only put a sheen on the reality that everyone and everything here is real and will inevitably fall apart. It is flush with cash and populated by the uber rich and people desperate to prove that money can buy happiness but I live near Beverly Hills and I can say without a doubt that that is not true. It can make you extremely comfortable, and it can make you more attractive and it will give you more opportunities but it cannot make you happy. If you cannot be happy with nothing you won’t be happy when you have everything. And there is the rub with LA. It is all just money and glamour and all of these things that look like happiness on paper but they can’t make you grateful or kind and they definitely can’t replace the love of family and friends. This city is expensive and frustrating and dirty and if you dig down one millimeter into its past it could easily be considered nothing more than the place where an endless string of dream crushing episodes were repeated an incalculable number of times over the last century by people trying to be something no one will truly ever be. Immortal… But here I am, in the beating heart of this sun drenched slice of American pie filled with organic apples and soaked in vodka.