2001-07-18 - 7:57 p.m.
This afternoon I did something I haven�t done since high school.
I went to a public library. Hell, I even got a library card.
One of the many perks of working at home is being able to take your work elsewhere whenever you want. I may kvetch about having to work in my living room because I can�t find and/or afford an apartment with a spare bedroom or an office, but the fact that I can print stuff out whenever I feel like it and edit it off-site more than compensates. Phone won�t stop ringing? TV too tempting? Too nice a day to be sitting inside? That�s what the beach, Balboa Park, or the harborfront is for--I�m about twice as productive when I can go someplace to chill out and be free of distractions.
During my time as a freelance writer I used to spend a lot of time in coffeehouses. You�d think that with my current job situation I�d fall back into the habit--except that the whole concept of the coffeehouse-as-local-hangout is pretty much dead. Starbucks killed it. My favorite local coffeehouse, right down the street from me, went out of business two years ago (after Starbucks opened two--count �em--two franchises on either side of it) and was turned into a store selling cherubs, fountains and stone columns of various sizes. Just what Hillcrest needs--another twee boutique full of overpriced home accessories. And yes, I�m still bitter about it.
There are still a handful of homey, independently owned coffeehouses scattered around town--but even there the vibe has changed. I just don�t feel right parking myself there for the day with a house coffee anymore. For one thing, they�re all locked in a life-and-death struggle with the Evil Ones from Seattle and I feel guilty unless I at least buy a sandwich. Also, they seem to have gotten LOUDER. Ever notice how so many coffeehouse habitues talk at full volume, as if they want to make sure everyone knows how clever and insightfully hip they are? Dear hipsters: Quentin Tarantino is not eavesdropping on you and he wouldn�t put your calculatedly postmodern conversations in his next film even if you paid him so shut the fuck up already, I�m trying to work.
Plus, I�m actually trying to reduce my caffeine intake again. Having the jitters in the morning followed by a splitting headache in the afternoon is cutting into my productivity.
That�s where the library comes in.
I used to hang out a lot at the library in college. (I only rarely checked out any books, though, because the books I needed were usually checked out indefinitely--by faculty, which meant going to the professor�s office and groveling until he or she let you photocopy the relevant chapters.) The place was huge, with gigantic windows looking out over the smogscape of the Valley and lots of overstuffed chairs and couches where you could nap till closing. The German literature section was the library�s main makeout zone--I know this only because I took a German lit class one semester and I went there late one night in search of a Heinrich Boll anthology to find about half a dozen people Sturming und Dranging each other�s brains out. I was like, Heinrich who?
My neighborhood public library isn�t that exciting--though I didn�t check the men�s room--but it�s got something even better. Silence--blissful, stay-out-of-my-face-and-I�ll-stay-out-of-yours silence.
The library is just about the only public area left in our society where your personal space is respected. Where you can open a book without some nosy dweeb coming up to you with his halitosis and cold germs and asking, "Hey, whatcha readin�? Is it good? What�s it about?" Where you aren�t subjected to corporate BUY! OUR! SHIT! messages on every flat surface. Where parents--yes!--actually shush their kids when they�re making too much noise. Even that one homeless guy who stands out on streetcorners and rants in what a Jewish friend once told me was Yiddish clams up when he walks into the library. The place has a fully functional shut-yer-yap field. I almost wept with joy.
Plus, anyone who watches Buffy knows that every library has a portal to Hell under the floor that could open up and swallow you at any time. When this one does, I want to be there--I�ve got a running bet with a friend of mine and if the devil does look like Carrottop I win fifty bucks.
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