Sin Citizens

"Hey Camera Man. Come on down to The Hood."

I'm excited to see "The Hood." It can't be any worse than North Vegas, where most of the city's homeless hang out. I stopped by my earlier stomping grounds a few days ago and was shocked by the depressing nature of the area. The downtrodden men patrolling the sidewalks looked empty, almost soulless, with no expression in their eyes. The smell was worse than I remembered.

"The Hood," on the other hand, is pitched to me as a magical place where camaraderie and spirit trump economic depression and violence. I imagine a much tougher version of Disneyland; you know, with less animatronics.

The person inviting me to "The Hood" is JB, a young man I met earlier in the week while playing pick-up basketball. He is 26, but looks much younger. Despite coming from economic hardship and becoming a father at the tender age of 15, he finds himself to be financially prosperous. He is married with two kids, owns a car business, various property, and is working on becoming a music producer.

He invites me to one of his group's recording sessions at midnight. The studio advertises on its website that it has provided recording for various celebrities, including but not limited to Missy Elliott, Kanye West, and Britney Spears. I am greeted by a group of rappers (talented rappers, based on what I heard) and various hangers-on.

I am there to interview JB, but the interview is an afterthought for the rest of the group and the music overpowers the audio. I wait to film the group recording material, but after three hours of bickering (I knew inviting Yoko was a mistake) that results in very little productivity, JB directs me to follow him out the door.

The next day JB tells me to come down to "The Hood." When I get there, I stop for gas at what may be the seediest looking gas station I've ever seen. The credit card machine doesn't work, so I head inside to pay. After filling up, I pop the keys in the ignition and...

Nothing.

I try again.

Nothing.

I'm pretty sure my van is trying to kill me.

It has stopped working twice now: once, on top of a mountain; the other, as soon as I enter "The Hood."

The van eventually starts and I head to the house JB has grown up in. It's pretty nice, with furniture from the 1960's and a striking collage of African American history that JB's cousin made in college. The neighborhood actually reminds me a little of home. It turns out my skiddish van had no reason to worry.

Unfortunately, JB's childhood home has no camera locations that fit his desired image, so we reschedule for later.

He never returned my calls.

The following are the other people I met in Vegas that had an impact on my stay, but whom I have not had an opportunity to film and never mentioned in this blog:

+ Steve and Michelle. This couple stopped by my van on one of my first nights in Vegas. They were warm, inviting, and helpful. Their open friendly nature provided an early pick-me-up and reminded me one of the main reasons why I am out here: to meet and learn from the genuine and interesting people that comprise this great country. (Wow. I just read that last sentence and, though it was sincere, I now feel the need to assure you that I will not be running for political office in the near future.)

The only thing that bothers me about my encounter with Steve and Michelle is their joking offer to pay me to take their 19-year-old daughter on the road and teach her what is important in life.
A complete stranger, admittedly living in a van, and I'm still the nice, "safe" guy that parents trust their daughters with. Jack Kerouac I am not.

Steve has actually kept in touch so far. If the people in Vegas are this nice, the folks in the Midwest probably come with cupcakes.

+ Desiree. This is another person who has kept in touch so far. An attractive woman in her early thirties, she has encountered rough times due to health and financial issues. She recently was evicted from her apartment and it has (justifiably so) made her bitter towards Vegas.

"The only good thing about this town," she nods towards a young man sitting next to her, "is him."

+ Daryl and Tara. I give money to a young woman panhandling, which prompts her to remark how much she likes the signatures on my van. So I pull over to let her and her husband sign it. Not wanting to interrupt their "work," I schedule a time to do a camera interview.

"It's not going to be a pretty interview," she says excitedly. "But it will be real. Damn real."

I never found nor heard back from them.

+ Mike "The Plumber Man." (No relation to the guy from "Desperate Housewives.") I am approached by a relatively young clean-cut man curious about my project. I soon find out that he too is living out of his vehicle. After working as a trucker for a few years, he decided that long hours and tiring manual labor was not the "meaning of life" and quit his job. Despite a positive mentality ("God has a plan for me.") and a strong spirit, he has not been able to land on his feet recently.

A prize fighter, Mike is looking for the right promoter to put his fighting career back on track. Should anyone reading this have any connections in the boxing world, email me at Logan@projectmeaning.com and I'll put you in touch with a great guy with a good story who needs a change of luck.