VIRB

So, I came to Los Angeles not knowing what to expect.

It's practically a miracle that I'm here in the first place.

I've decided that LA is the best place to read a classic novel in public. Well, perhaps New York is better, but the people of Los Angeles are more apt to strike up a conversation about it.

My book of choice is The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. I think it has been on every human's summer reading list except mine. I think it's because I've gone to Christian schools all my life and the book was off the list because it has a fair bit of profanity in it. I decided to read it here in LA and improve the quality and culture of my life.

Down the street from my North Hollywood apartment is a unique café called Aroma. There is a fair bit of outdoor seating along with cute, European style tables on the sidewalk out front. Inside towards the back of the café is a bookstore. The owner of the bookstore is very picky and protective of her books and only chooses the best covers or the most exclusive prints. It is at this bookstore/café that I chose to buy Catcher in the Rye.

When I asked for Catcher in the Rye the book woman was ecstatic. She found the copy and carefully withdrew it from the shelf. We chatted about the book as I was paying for it and she told me all about Holden Caulfield and her observations of the book.

Suddenly, she leaned in close and whispered, "I want to show you something. Look at what I found outside the Discovery Store in Hollywood today." She slowly pulled a tattered piece of paper from somewhere and slid it across the counter to me. It was actually an old, yellowed photo of a baby with bright eyes and a simple looking dress. It was probably taken in the early 1900's. The woman said she found it in the garbage bin outside the store.

"This is what happens when people don't have any family. Their memories either end up in flea markets or the trash. But not this baby. This memory isn't going to the trash because I rescued it."

I handed the photo back to her as if I were handing her a priceless Faberge egg. She smiled with a distant and dreamy look as she looked at the baby photo before placing my copy of Catcher in the Rye in a bag.  The book has a striking red cover with a drawing of a horse and New York City on it. I started reading it all curled up on a sofa at a different coffee shop down the street. I had read about three pages of the book when two LA style old men commented on it.

My famous-novel-in-public theory was proven correct.

I told them how it was never on my summer reading list and I'm making up for that this summer. They told me how much they loved it, though they couldn't really remember what it was about anymore.

That's another theory I have. People will talk all day about the books they read, but so many times they have no idea what they're talking about. I won't lie, I do it too. So many books I've read I only remember what I liked or didn't like about it, not the characters or the story.

Not so with this book. I think I'll remember Holden Caulfield for a long, long time. He reminds me so much of my little brother, Marcus: quick witted, full of profanity, and always able to describe the most minute details in semi-eloquent prose.

Anyway, I was still curled up on this sofa in a Hollywood coffee shop talking with two old men about my book. It was a good conversation and it was a good thing they couldn't remember much about the book because one of my least favorite things in the world is when people spoil then endings for me. I abhor it when people ruin my endings. I figure if the author wanted to spoil his own ending, he would write it sooner in the book. Therefore, no one but the author (or director in the case of movies) should be able to spoil an ending.

The second time I read Catcher in the Rye in public is now. I'm currently back at Aroma Café and I had a dinner of roasted goat cheese and walnut salad with an iced mocha to drink. I sat alone during dinner and I continuously got those, "Awww, how sad. She's eating dinner alone. She must be single and lonely" type of looks from happy dining couples. You know the looks I'm talking about. I didn't care though because I was content with my toasted goat cheese, a sure cure for lonely hearts.

After I finished eating, I pulled out my book and started reading. I already proved my theory correct so I wasn't "reading on the job" or anything, just for the sheer pleasure of observing Holden Caulfield and his New York fiasco.

An older man with a Hawaiian shirt and a black Americano coffee sat down at the table next to me.

"Oh no," I thought, "This guy is trouble."

I could read him like a book as I was reading my book. Within 5 minutes he had taken a sip or 12 of his coffee, then turned to me and asked if I was reading about politics.

"No, sir." I replied.

"Not politics?" said he, "But it's J.D. Salinger."

"Um…no. Right now the character is ice skating in the park."

"Oh. I bought a business book for 50% off the other day. I sent it to my cousin in northern California."

And thus the conversation transpired. We discussed business, cell phone plans, and the difficulty of the elderly in learning to use computers. I got a phone call and he made his departure.

Theory proved, once again.

His table was immediately taken by an obese woman in a leopard print blouse. She was struggling to open her designer Los Angeles bottle of water. I watched her for a bit and she had barely broken the designer Los Angeles silver seal on the lid when I decided to come to her aid. I asked if she was having the pickle jar syndrome. You know, when you get an impossible jar of kosher dills and go through extreme measures to open it until you give up and find a man with competent pickle jar opening skills.

This designer water was a piece of cake to open though. She explained how she had arthritis and could barely do the simplest tasks. I felt sorry for her. Pickle jars must be a nightmare.

Now the sun is setting and I have to go. People are looking at me like I don't deserve the table I'm sitting at because I don't have food. They're probably right. I've finished my coffee already anyway, so I should go.

This is Kate Gazaway in Los Angeles, signing out.

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