Jtwo Welcomes Intern Benny Flora

The waves rolled in under a quaint and colorful town in southern Italy. A small, aged villa that had been converted into a hotel housed a single family of Americans; a mother and three sons. It was March and on the colder side, and so an off season for visitors. The family ran out of their picturesque cottage and sat looking at the ocean. There were two brunettes and a blonde kid. The blonde one happens to be me, the writer of this very blog post, and the middle of the three brothers. So I can speak from experience when I say it was a truly breathtaking environment. My oldest brother, 15 at the time, was the tallest and clearly undergoing puberty, with awkward mannerisms and an asymmetrical face (sadly for him he is still ugly). My little brother was short with long straight hair, and a little chubby (in a couple years he would outgrow both of us). And I was on the brink of puberty, with straight blonde hair and sporting a European soccer zip-up. Carefully painted tile lined the walkways of the hotel and moss hung from the stone walls. We had everything we needed out there in southern Italy… Except one thing was missing: Video games! As a 13 year old kid I could not go without my video games for more than a week. I loved them as much as any other 21st century adolescent, and I was eager to return home so I could crack open the latest Dragon Ball Z game that had released while we were abroad. I could not wait to play it. But we still had about a week left on this trip, so I began to play the game in my head, seeing the characters in the beautifully aged palaces and streets of Italy in order to appease my cravings. I tried to get my brothers in on it, too, but they weren’t interested. Funny enough, viewing Italy in this way did not increase my love for Dragon Ball Z or even video games; instead it allowed me to see how much story and life can exist in a setting. Suddenly, I was imagining stories that came from the smallest and most ancient cracks in the stones lining the European streets. I came up with stories that came from the blocked off and crumbling staircases in the background of our tour of the coliseum. 

Naturally, upon our arrival back home I busted out my new game and played it for hours. What was strange though, was that it was not as exciting as my imagination made it out to be. Surprisingly, not playing the game was actually more fun than playing the game. I longed for the streets of Italy that let my imagination go crazy. Video games did not satisfy my imagination anymore. I wanted to see the stories in real life, not on my screen. I started paying closer attention to details in life, the things that make an object look worn or old or aged. Those are what the stories originate from; every crease, bend, bruise, or crack has its own story. 

Years later, when it was time to decide where to go to college, I had my sights set on sunny Los Angeles. I had to get out of the cold weather, and I wanted to be in an action-packed environment for film school. When I finally got there, I quickly noticed that everything is a whole lot newer than the Philadelphia area where I am from. Suburban sprawl and motor malls dominated most of the land, with the “new” and “fashionable” taking precedence over the historically buildings. When I’m in LA, I feel uninspired by the modern simplicity of everything. Often I turn my back to my friends who want to go downtown to check out the fast excitement of modern urban living. I prefer the run-down beach shacks that sit by the water, stained by sand and ocean salt. There are still buildings and environment that hold the history of Los Angeles, but my worry is that they will soon all be gone.