Hello, Stranger

I wish I could say that the above title is the worst I will ever come up with, but I know myself, and I know there will be worse.

The reason it came to mind is because there is a guy who comes here who always says "Hi" to me as if we know each other outside of Avery. This makes me anxious not because I think he is being v. forward (in the quiet quiet that is Avery, things like a personalized "Hello" can seem like a marriage proposal), but because I feel senile. At 3rd Ward this weekend, we ran into a friend-of-a-friend I arrived with, and whom I did not recognize. Evidently we were well acquainted enough for him to kiss me on the cheek, though, and remember my name, while I stood there gawking and saying things like "Nice to meet you."

Which makes me think, do I know said patron from somewhere else? He does look familiar, but I think it is only because he is here all the time, and I assume he looks all the more familiar because he is always saying Hello and Goodbye in that smiley, wavey sort of way! As if it is not to any of the other GAs, because he is not friends with them.

Perhaps next time I will ask him if I know him from somewhere besides Avery. I am fairly confident the answer is no, and that I am not going senile but just look at so many "familiar" faces at work that I can't keep track of "familiar" faces that aren't at Avery.

He just walked back in. He did not have his ID out. I told him, "I know you were just here." (Because you waved good-bye to me on your way out.) "Yes," he said, "I left my laptop in another building." "What?" "I left my laptop." (I am deaf.) "What?" "(pointing at laptop) I LEFT MY LAPTOP." "Oh, ok." "It is hard to write an essay without one." "True. I used to write all of my essays by hand, and then type them up." "(groans) No!" "I know, up until only a couple of years ago, too. I'm writing my thesis this year though, so there will be none of that." "What are you studying?" "Art History. Are you a graduate student?" "Yes, I am getting my PhD in Philosophy." "Oh wow, that sounds much more interesting than my field." "Not as practical." "Nothing at Columbia is practical. Did you do undergrad here?" "No, I have only been in New York City for a month and a half." "I remember my first year here; it kicks you in the ass a bit but you'll stay. Where are you from originally?" "Montreal (explains the hint of a French accent), and I went to a tiny undergraduate school there. And you?" "Los Angeles." "West Coast! What about...San Francisco, do you like it?" "Yes; my father was born near there. But I prefer here for a city." "What is your name?" "THIS." "B." "Well, I'm sure I'll see you around; you are always in here." "I am. Take care."

He probably read what I had written before the conversation because it was right here, in front of him. Such is life.

And just said Hi to yet another patron I saw at 3rd Ward. And just remembered that I saw a Barnard "Senior Experience" tote bag in one of the rooms. What the hell.

A New Address

This weekend I went to the 3rd Ward party in honor of Nonsense's 10th birthday. For a Nonsense event it was tame; I had planned my weekend around being out until sunrise on Saturday night, looking like a raccoon, limping, reeking of smoke - but I was in pajamas and asleep sometime between 4 and 5, when it was undeniably dark out and I even forced myself to wash my face before getting into bed. No less, it was a fun night of mad dancing and Brooklyn nostalgia.

I was recently explaining to a friend that I get a physical, anxiety-driven reaction when I get too far away from Avery. It is where I go to do my thesis research, so the more distance between us makes me worry that all of a sudden my notes and books on my carrel will run away or reshelve themselves in an entirely wrong call number section, somewhere I would never think to look or never be able to find them, like the top shelves of the balconies that I am convinced are just prop books.

But Avery knows when you leave and it never lets you get that far. As my friends and I were exiting a room onto one of the stair landings, I noticed the back of someone's head: a bun held together by a Bic pen. "Like that guy in Avery, the one who reminds me of Devendra Banhart in Converse and a foot shorter," I thought. Then I realized, my life being what it is, that of course this was that guy from Avery, and he was out, with people, with an alcoholic beverage. Maybe it was the tall boots that I was wearing, maybe it was the cold air, or the Red Stripe, but I firmly put my hand up to his shoulder - in other words, grabbed him - and said, "I know you from Avery." He looked at me in that same "Oh, God" sort of way that NE sometimes judges me with; but then, he unfurrowed his brow and said "Yes, yes! How are you?" "Good! I'll see you around!" And with that I sashayed away and probably this is where I tripped on a grate in my tall tall boots and fell down half a flight of stairs. But I had to stop the conversation short. Some things must be left to the abandoned lofts of Bushwick.

Later on in the night, we were dancing on the second floor and I saw him through a mass of hipsters, eyes closed, jumping side to side, his bun perfectly in tact thanks to the pen. I was glad that we were not anywhere near Avery.

Thesis research, getting an early start because I have to leave at 11:30. Been here for about half an hour. Sitting upstairs, but I'm cold.

Burberry Trench is here! Seated across from Off-the-Shoulder - a beautiful blonde, possibly Australian. She is very tall and thin and thus can pull off all of her high-waisted Marc Jacobs jeans. She always wears knit sweaters that fall of off her bare shoulders. Trench is too prim for her.

Moved downstairs because I thought it would be warmer. Nay. I am wearing my blazer and scarf all wrapped around my head like a fluish person. Professor FB, who is an Avery phenomenon unto himself (in short: using claims of a dissertation or whatever as a disguise, he comes here to pick up on every single female in the building), once asked me, upon entering, where "the warmest spot in the library was." Avery obviously planned this out accordingly. The warmest spot in the library is the right side of the stacks. These are books mainly on photography. The right stacks lead into a secluded study room with carrels where, in the back of the room, I have found a woman sleeping on the floor before - it is that remote and unchecked. So FB can take care of whatever academic research he needs to find over there and stay warm at the same time.

HOLY SHIT. The Spaniard who I ALWAYS, SINCE I HAVE BEEN HERE, THOUGHT HAD AN ACCENT, DOES NOT. HE DOESN'T. I am shocked. I thought I knew someone in a very particular way, and it was all a fabrication in my head. I just assumed that since he spoke Spanish with the two friends he always enters with that he was another product of GSAPP. Well, I'm still going to pretend. We only smile at each other, anyway.

Still here. Took a lunch break for a meeting. "Just" just walked in and is wearing, perhaps for the first time, a black button-down beneath his soot-black sports jacket. He is always ready to go out.

Reality Slap

At the Reserves Desk. Just witnessed my first kiss in Avery, and I have been here for "some time." A girl who always spoke just to hear her voice in my History of Photo class and a guy in the very early stages of a receding hairline and striped Picasso-boatneck shirt kissed each other on the stairs, his arm around her.

This upsets me. Nothing is ever so blatant here! Everything should be kept mysterious, taboo, left for the mind to create outlandish stories and fetishes. We know what goes on in Avery, but don't ruin the fun of imagining for us. Please. So take it to the balcony stairs next time so that our fantasies can be appeased. No one's heart races over the thought of a peck on the stairs.

Avery International Airport

Desk this hour. I was hoping for Desk because I've been doing thesis research for the hour before my shift started but that ended up in a nap, more or less. Followed by perusing the Lanvin S/S 2010 show as part of Paris Fashion Week at nymag.com. Since my thesis is related to fashion, I feel like browsing current fashion shows is "helpful" and "supplementary."

Have relocated to checking IDs at door. Everyone has their own way of greeting patrons at the door. A lot of GAs just look up, then look back down; others do the head nod; all silent. I play Secretary when I'm up here. A typical exchange goes down as such: patron enters, I say Hi, and do my best attempt at a smile where my nonexistent cheekbones really stand out. Patron fumbles for ID. I patiently wait, pretending not to notice receipts or change flying from their purse or wallet. "Sorry, it's here somewhere." I giggle, or smirk, or a combination of the two. Patron flashes ID; I nod and say Thank You. If I'm familiar with the patron, the same scenario goes down but they usually have their ID at the ready and I may ask "How's it going?" If you re-enter and I'm still at the door, I make you show your ID still (unless you are a dick and left your wallet inside), but I do a little shruggy thing and roll my eyes a bit, like, "Yes, I know you, isn't this ID policy harsh, lolol, etc." I do not limit myself by patron's gender; I am flirtatious with everyone.

Once a man told me that it would be much more convenient for us to have an ID scanner a la Butler. Clearly this man did not realize where he was. Avery is not just a library or any other campus building; it is a courtship. You need to make person-to-person interaction in order to start a relationship here. The scan is a one-night stand, where you don't have to place a name with a face, or worry about encountering them again the next day - naivete, I call it. This is sophisticated, look-me-in-the-face-to-make-sure-I-am-who-my-ID-says-I-am, committment.

Shit went down later on. A girl walks in, standard mess of hair, cut-off denim. She has forgotten her ID. It's around 5pm; I tell her that what she needs to do is go to the Library Information Office and obtain a Visitor's Pass. "But I'm not a visitor, I'm a student," she says, at this point halfway through the entrance bar (it swings out, saloon-style). "I realize that, but we have a strict policy that if you do not have a Columbia student ID on you, you need to obtain a Visitor's Pass. They are open until 6." At this point she starts the privileged-white-girl temper tantrum and starts yelling to me that this is ridiculous, she has to look up one book, she's late to class, do I want to see her state-licensed ID (WHY THE FUCK WOULD THAT HELP ME?), this isn't an airport, bitch bitch bitch. I tell her that we make exceptions for no one, and if she takes one more step inside I am going to call the reserves desk and have them stop her, like airport security. At this point, my boss walks back inside from his break. He sees this ho yelling at me, so I explain the situation as quickly as I can before she starts yelling again, in the red zone. "No," he says, simply, to Lara Flynn Boyle, "you need a visitor's pass to come in." She goes ballistic; as my boss crosses the entrance bar, she tries to push past him and he drops it on her. She yells This is fucking crazy, and then - the best part - tries to push open the door ON THE RIGHT! Everyone who has ever been to Avery knows that The Door on the Right DOES NOT OPEN! So she is puuuuuushing and puuuuuuuushing and at this point might light on fire, so she pounds her fist on the door and tries the left side. Which does open, but is an automatic door, so you need to put some back into it. Finally she stumbles out and I hope that we ruined her entire day and Columbia career.

The Red Shorts

Some days this blog will function like an expanded Twitter, so that I'll write about things as they come up instead of a "Dear Diary, here's what happened over the course of the day etc etc" format. Today is one of those days.

I am not working for money today, just to study. I go down to the second floor so that I don't have cell phone service and because it's warmer. I see a couple of people I know but pretend not to notice. I don't feel like making the first move and need to concentrate on H (one subject of my thesis).

NE here. It's been a while. I had him for a class once and it was a great class, but anytime I tried to say something insightful, it came out as a lot of stuttering accompanied by blushing and then "Er, I don't know." He would look at me with an expression of "Oh, God" while I spoke and then would continue on as if nothing had happened. I think I appreciated this more than if he were to actually respond to what I said. I find him to be very collegiately attractive; he is only just 30, I believe, and already completed his PhD. The streak of grey at the front of his hairline - the punctum - is a testament to this.

We made eye contact and neither of us acknowledged it. It's how things are at Avery. No one should be friendly. Save that for the sidewalk.

He goes to print out a document. Someone approaches him, and they start talking; NE absent-mindedly leans against the printer avery200a. Just then a girl wearing a puffy jacket, silver kitten heels, and 90-degree-weather-short red shorts (no leggings, stockings, tights, or underwear, probably) slides directly in front of NE and says with her ass to him, "Excuse me, are you printing something?" He jumps back before her red shorts get all over his suit and says, "Oh, no, go right ahead." He has a speech impediment with R's that is only slightly noticeable but is equal parts sexy and confusing because he is 30.

The boy who always wears a stripped button-down and American Apparel glasses reading his Engels, again. Strand bookmark, natch. He looks up and around the room more frequently than he looks at the pages.

The man reading across from me - older, perhaps 60s - is literally holding a large text on Bosch right up against his face; both of the covers have completely enveloped his face up to his ears. This I attribute either to a library fetish or that he is trying to recreate "The Garden of Earthly Delights" on some kind of metaphysical level and make out with the painting. Sure enough, when he puts the book down, it's that work. He removes Chapstick from his pocket and reapplies it. I am watching him the whole time but he does not notice.

I go outside to have a bit of a bagel. I see J enter the library. I love J! I looked up his name once out of curiosity and it means "just(ice)" in Danish. Every day he wears a black tailored suit and white button-down, always crisply ironed. He slicks his hair back and looks like a much less pummeled version of Adrian Brody. The way he addresses you at the door he does it in a manner that is like blowing a kiss. He shows his ID every single time as if it is no hassle, which is a respectful gesture.

I go back to my seat; the man across from me has evidently set his watch alarm while he naps on Bosch, and the alarm sounds. He jerks up, turns it off, and reads, his face too, too close to the pages.

An After-Hours Tour

Hello.

Welcome to The Red Zone, a blog homage (blomage) to Avery Fine Arts and Architecture Library. You see, Avery is a Red Zone - no food, no beverages, and, most recently added to the table sign on a bright green sticker, no cell phones. But really, Avery is a Red Zone outside of any CU Libraries regulations. It is, objectively, the sexiest place on campus. Yes, the sexiest. (Clearly this is my first blog and I am taking text-color liberties, with emoticons to come if appropriately sexy). First and foremost, the architecture of the library itself is beautiful, especially in comparison with the Barnard library and most classroom interiors, and, well, Butler. McKim, Mead, and White designed those enormous plate-glass windows to equal the heights of their tallest stacks - the balconies - and the dark wooden tables and chairs bring a warmth and charm to the third floor, which is usually chilly due to said windows. (Notice how I am not mentioning the second floor: this is because it is more simply "useful" than beautiful, in that it is warmer than the top floor and you don't get distracted by cell phone service.)

Secondly, the library is attached to the Graduate School of Architecture, Planning, and Preservation (GSAPP), all encompassed in Avery Hall. Many, many of the students that attend GSAPP are from abroad. So, you have very attractive, very smart, very driven well-dressed European architects coming and going throughout the entire day (no one ever leaves - but we'll discuss this phenomenon later). Or at least, even if they are American, my first assumption, checking their IDs at the entrance desk, is that they are not and thus instantly more interesting. (Example: A man who looked like Harold from Harold and Maude dressed in a Burberry trench leaned into my face at the entrance desk to ask me where the "toilets" were this afternoon. Instantly sexy and more interesting than telling the occasional bro that accidentally wanders in to go downstairs and make a right. We will also delve into the bros-at-Avery phenomenon in due time.)

Thirdly: come winter, the second floor and basement feel like saunas. You are forced to strip off as much clothing as respectfully possible for as long as you're going to work it down there.

And lastly: the quiet. The blanket of silence makes everything feel like a taboo; somebody coughs and it sounds like a mating call.

These are the principle reasons as to why Avery is the sexiest place on campus. In the coming days and weeks, we will get into the whole cast of characters and seductions and clandestine affairs and everything else that happens behind open folios. As for my limited introduction, I am a General Assistant at the Library and have worked there for "some time" - I won't be more specific than that. But I encourage you, at this point, to check out the library so that you familiarize yourself with the collection; even if you are not an art history or architecture student, Avery provides unlimited resources for all kinds of research. Just remember that most of the books are non-circulating, so plan on staying a while.

Until the next work day,
GA