From Fairfax: Characters and Photographs

The Fairfax Library is full of interesting people. In my experience this is true of all L.A. libraries, but it seems especially true today. Three chairs to my left is a man whose biceps are about as big as my head. He’s wearing headphones, but they’re not plugged in. He’s scanning Fox News videos, and it’s not very loud so only a few of us can hear, but I think he thinks the headphones are in. I thought about saying something, then I remembered his biceps. I guess Fox News isn’t too bad as white noise, mindless entertainment humming in the background.

The lady in front of me looks like a mid-aged Maya Angelou, headscarf and all. I want to ask her to tell me stories about caged birds, but she seems pretty engaged in her reading about backroads in France.

To the right and two tables up are two girls, probably just a couple years younger than me, who have been talking about Glee for an hour now. Have you seen this show? I haven’t yet, but its fans sure are enthusiastic. Kara, the girl on the left, thinks Finn is really cute, but her friend (whose name I haven’t learned yet) has a thing for Puck.

What kind of name is Puck? I don’t think I like him. Unless we’re talking about Shakespeare’s Puck, of course. That’s different.

Since I’ve been sitting here, I have heard at least six people approach the information desk behind me and ask about a job. They should hang a “Hiring Freeze” sign out front and save everyone a lot of time.

Speaking of, I’m still on the hunt. I’ve had e-mails and conversations that were immediately promising, but none of them have actually led anywhere yet. It’s pretty easy to get discouraged about it, but I’m trying to take advantage of the extra time I have.

And Britton’s been super busy, which is awesome. He’s working as a production assistant on Wipeout, and he’s doing an internship at this brilliant little photography studio. At least he says it’s brilliant. I haven’t seen it yet, and everyone knows I am the authority on photography. I think Britton, his interests and gifts and dreams, fits really well in Los Angeles. It’s an exciting thing to watch.

The verdict’s still out on me, though.

At the table in front of me, next to Maya, a Jewish man just sat down with his son, who I would guess is about twelve. The boy is wearing the black pants, white shirt, and black yarmulke to match many of the other students in this area. Have I told you about all the Jewish people in our neighborhood? It’s been a joy. The dad is reading The New York Times, sitting quite close to his son who is working on math homework. Whenever the boy has a question his dad leans over, puts his arm around the son’s shoulder, and walks him through the problem. They speak softly, so I can’t understand them, but even so I could watch them for hours.

Make that seven people asking about a job. Sorry, hiring freeze.

Today’s volunteer reader just walked in. She looks frail and is remarkably older than the girl from last time. I’m a little disappointed about that.

A few nights ago David and Neil took us to the Getty museum, which was incredible and will be worth many revisits. They have an Irving Penn exhibit right now, called “Small Trades,” pictures of city workers from Paris, London, and New York in the 1950s. Each person stands in front of the camera, dressed in work uniforms and holding whatever tools he or she works with, and stares into the camera.

Those stares are what grabbed me. There was one, a street photographer with his camera and a cigar, that I could not get out of my mind. His gaze ignored the lens and the frame and the five decades between us, and I could not help but feel that he knew something about me, something that would surprise even myself. But he remained silent, as did the undertaker in the next room, whose raised brows and wrinkles under his eyes suggested that he was full of fascinating stories.

In one section, a panel on the wall discussed the differences between the three cities. Penn said that the Parisians were constantly skeptical, certain that there were ulterior motives involved. The Londoners were consistently passive, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for someone to invite them to a studio to take a picture of them in their work clothes. The New Yorkers were the most unpredictable, every day a few ignoring the directions and showing up showered and in suits, convinced that this was their first step to Hollywood.

The experience of the evening was heightened by the gardens and fountains and all of the different displays, topped off with a brilliant view of the city. From up there, if you can ignore the smog and the painfully absent stars, Los Angeles is quite beautiful.

It’s beautiful down here, too, again if you can ignore the smog. This library alone probably has more nationalities represented than the entire populations of Bradenton and Jacksonville combined, and that has been endlessly refreshing. And I am still enjoying the energy here, the life and movement and all of the people trying to do something big.

Even if my place in that energy is an ever-growing question mark.