It's really been a ridiculously long time since I posted anything. I've been mum since I got a job in October 2007. Lots has changed. The most relevant to this blog being that I don't live in West Hollywood anymore. I hope you'll overlook that. Silverlake (which I inexplicably prefer as one word instead of two) is more affordable. I did live in WeHo for a gay year (Halloween through Pride). It was brief but great. Now instead of living right around the corner from a multi-thousand dollar Balenciaga handbag:



I live right around the corner from shelled edamame, two buck chuck, organic blue corn tortilla chips, hipster employees, atrocious parking, good snacks and convenience foods:



Frankly, it's a good trade-off. There's also a regular grocery store and lots of other things. That said, there's a certain energy in WeHo I miss. And my commute was about five minutes from WeHo; now it's 20.

Anyway, there's a lot to catch up on. Today however, I was inspired to defibrillate the blog because I was thinking about my favorite homeless personalities in LA. It's a strange reverie I realize. It's not a joking thing. I have a lot of respect for folks who can make it on the street. I've learned a lot about resilience, choice, and harm reduction from my homeless clients. Certainly for some people, homelessness is not a choice; but you might be surprised to learn that not everyone who lives on the streets sees their circumstance as a transitional state or as something to be avoided or fixed. Certainly many of those on the streets continue to suffer repercussions from mental health policy deregulation in the 80's when the safety net for the most severely mentally ill was destroyed, but there are some who could work their way off the streets but don't. It makes you think.

There's the guy I call Man of LA Mancha who hangs out at a church on Fountain. He wears lots of layers, often a cape, and an awesome Roman centurion helmet like this:



except that his crest is purple I think. I've always wanted to say hi to him. Or there's the roller skating guy on Robertson (which is an upscale shopping area in West Hollywood where the celeb magnet restaurant The Ivy is located. J or I have spotted Jack Nicholson, a Hilton, and Tori Spelling on this street before) who is always shirtless, wears black tights and skates up and down all day long.

My other favorite is a woman who sits at the corner of Franklin and Vermont.



She might not be homeless but there's some pathology there. She is platinum blond, pretty put together, but just hangs out smoking on the corner. Sometimes she has some artwork--maybe hers or other people's--that she appears to be selling, or possibly just displaying, public street gallery style. She seems cool and I want to know her story.

Finally there's the woman at the corner of Formosa and Sunset who, when you're stopped at the stop sign on Formosa, trying to turn onto Sunset, comes and actually taps on the window or bangs on your car door. That's a little unsettling. Tonight she banged pretty hard. I don't have power windows so I feel a little rude not rolling down the window to at least say something like, "people in LA are crazy about having their cars touched, be careful!", but what can you do?

I guess what strikes me most about these particular folks is that they are homeless, or appear to be, but are completely rooted to where they stay or hang out. I've only ever seen these folks in these exact places, these microhabitats, and when they're not there, I really notice. Man of LA Mancha hasn't been around lately. Where could he be? It makes you think, how do you know you're home? What grounds you in a particular place?