To be loved, be lovable. - Ovid

Today I helped a patron who was either homeless and insane or eccentric and brilliant or perhaps a combination of the above. He wanted to read an article referred to in the local newspaper and so came to me, working in reference, to trace a copy of the original article. It was in a journal called Neuron and was written about the genetic modifications to enable the erasing of fearful memories in mice. The writing was sophisticated and used quite a few terms that would have been foreign to me, but for my undergrad degree in psychology and the smattering of neuroscience classes I had taken. He was pleased with the result but only copied down a couple of the authors (the most Americanized of the list of Chinese names) and one of the two research institutes involved. He then wanted contact information for a person living in Iowa. His eyes were very lucid, he didn’t seem to be out of his mind, but he had a very strong odor and his hair and beard were matted together. He was, however, very polite and provided me with an interesting challenge during my work day. I also had a woman called who needed a review for Uris’ QB VII, a book published in 1970 and in the New York Times Book Review that year. Fortunately, we had microfilm for the publication she sought BUT she called at 5:15 and her book club met at 6:00. People can be strange.

I also learned that two librarians had been shot and killed in 1993 by a patron, at the very desk where I was working today. I am intrigued by that, in the same vein of interest that always compelled me to seek out the prostitutes working out of my last library or any other seemingly incongruent events occurring in libraries. I quite like my new home and the library district in which I work but it isn’t much different from the one I left. The city is, a complete opposite really, but the library is essentially the same. This is something I observed after reading books like Quiet, Please or Free for All, nonfiction essays on library work and patrons, but I can affirm that it is indeed true. Good thing I love the library.

So what have I been doing in my new home? Exploring, mostly. I attended a fabulous double roller derby bout and both times the home team dominated the visitors. I bought myself a logo-ed tote (to carry my library books) and a 2009 derby girls pin-up calendar. I spent a morning at a gigantic farmers’ market under the freeway and bought loads of fresh produce, cheeses, breads, honey, lavender sachets. I went to the Laundromat with cartoons painted on the walls and spent a pleasant afternoon huffing dryer fresh fumes and reading American Wife. There was a girl there folding her laundry and I found myself transfixed by the stretch of her back that showed above her tank top. I couldn’t stop imagining running my nose from the spot between her shoulder blades up her spine to the back of her neck. She had a gorgeously rounded belly and was cute in an ordinary sort of way but for some reason, whenever she turned her back to me, I was paralyzed with delight. I’ve also spent time just walking aimlessly around downtown to see what I uncover and I ended up finding an incredible salon filled with charming and adorable women who offered cupcakes, tours of the facility, and a great new haircut. I have never enjoyed getting my hair done quite so much. Today, after work, I found a comix store that had a recent delivery of some of my favorites like Peter Bagge, R Crumb, Ivan Brunetti, and Milk & Cheese (which reminds me very much of high school, “Let’s booze up and riot!”). Someone on the street gave me a “No on Prop 8” sticker, which I happily affixed to my handbag. I’ve found tons of fun little art galleries, fire dancers and belly dancers, a lesbian-owned sex toy/novelty shop, the list goes on and on.

My neighborhood is the only drawback I’ve had so far. The house I’m renting is cute, the cats love to stare out the security doors and pass judgment on everything happening outside but my neighbors are LOUD. I share a fence with the Hell’s Angels but they’ve so far been silent. Across the street is another story. Fighting, swearing, yelling, partying, music so loud it rattles my walls, throwing things at one another – it is constant. I’m exhausted with listening; I have no idea how they keep it up. But sometimes it is the flaw that makes the design all the more beautiful and I think that’s true here too. Now I’d like to meet a lovely high-femme girl (who loves to read) to spend some time with me. Fingers crossed, onward . . .