At my place, there's the Purple Lady. Everyone in Los Feliz knows who she is, and some dress as her for Halloween. She dresses in head to toe purple every day, and has wicked blonde hair. She's like Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

Anyway, Purple Lady stands outside and cries a lot. Then there's Dorothy, who sometimes cuts the lawn late at night with a pair of scissors. I leave her piles of books sometimes because she doesn't drive and can't get to the library easily.

Next is Jay, who is a very angry old man who hoards newspaper. Ophelia doesn't speak any English at all and is suffering from senile dementia. We're all afraid she'll forget that the stove is on and kill us all.

Kathleen is normal, and leaves me her old Gourmet mags and sometimes we go to Costco together on my off Fridays.

That's my building.

I have Opinions about people -- the unfriendly old lady with the yappy dog, the nice mom who smokes out front, the slow-moving man, the crazywoman next to me and her son who climbed through my window that one time -- but I still don't know their names, or talk to anyone about any other neighbor.

Guy in cafe to cafe barista:

"I dig this neighborhood and I dig this place and I dig Jarvis [the street we're on] and I dig what's been going on here."

Dude! You used "dig" four times in one sentence!

OK, that's what I didn't say to him.

I really want to know the story of the lady on 36th who lives in the decrepit house where all the rock and trim is painted a bilious peeling pea green and her front yard is this insane hodgepodge of dilapidated fencing painted the same color, yard all torn up and front walkway blocked by lawn furniture the same peeling shade, and symbolic things I've never seen before. There's some shrubbery amateurly sculpted into bowers. I've seen her out there; she's black and of indeterminant elderly age, wirey , dressed in floor length sweeping skirts and flannel shirts, all in muddy colors, hair wrapped up rosie-riveter style in similar muddy colors, coke bottle round glasses. Honestly, were it not for the color of the house, you'd think you'd be looking at her through some old-timey-fadey filter. I've seen people stop to talk to her, so the hood seems friendly to her, despite the crazy house & yard.

I'd love to know her story.

Oh Shit. Jim Carroll just died: [link]

Jim Carroll has died at age 60 from a heart attack at his home in Manhattan.

In 1978 he released “The Basketball Diaries”, an autobiographical account of of being a teenager in New York City, which in 1995 was made into a film staring Leonardo DiCaprio and Mark Wahlberg. In 1978 he also formed his punk rock/new wave group The Jim Carroll Band, which released the single “People Who Died” in 1980 and now sadly Jim is one of those people.

the hood seems friendly to her, despite the crazy house & yard.

In my neighborhood, someone would have called the cops on her for not having a manicured lawn and for being odd in public. It's not an oddity friendly hood.

I figure if I don't learn about these people, how will I ever judge them in a future essay collection?

Also, I am having a weird time with the online dating thing in that people often ask me what I've written. I can't give away what I've written without giving away who I am, really, and I'm not really ready for that in an initial email.

people often ask me what I've written.

"Some books... about stuff. You like stuff, right?"

Sorry. Do you tell them this?:

I can't give away what I've written without giving away who I am, really, and I'm not really ready for that in an initial email.

I'm sure it doesn't do great things for the property values of her immediate neighbors (we are rowhouses) but at the same time, I'm happy to see an eccentricity that looks to be long-running, and some acceptance of it. I'm not kidding when I say I'd love to know her story. I may introduce myself. That sounds all voyeuristic, but...well, she looks interesting. I've introduced myself to less interesting looking neighbors, why not her.

I love this hood.