DIZ

Today I talked to Diz.

This is the middle of the afternoon. The sun is intense. I stop at a newsstand to find some shade and buy the British Elle. “We sold out…” the lady says. “I love your shades! What are they?” she asks. This is Diz. I like her warm attitude right away.

Diz works six hours a day at this newsstand in Hollywood but the place is open 24/7. She stands on the street to answer people’s questions and check on them if needed. She reads The New York Post every day. “This is how I got so smart!” she bursts out of laughter. Her favorite magazine is Vogue India. “It feels like you’re reading a book about beauty, fashion and photography”, she says. “It’s all about famous people from Bollywood. I don’t know about them, don’t even know how to pronounce their names but they’re nice”.

Originally Diz is from Boston, Massachusetts. She says that her sing-songi accent comes from there. She laughs willingly after each sentence. Her style is unique too. She wears a red tartan skirt, a vintage jacket, vintage Jean-Louis Scherrer sunglasses, and square brown shoes. The badge on her shoulder reads “American Legion of Illinois”. Each of her fingers is decorated with at least two rings. While a white haired man is paying for his newspaper, Diz continues our conversation. She tells me she has two hundred pairs of shoes displayed in her house. In her refrigerator, she keeps two hundred and fifty nail polish. “I put my champagne there too, and milk and eggs”, she says with a smile.

Every person who passes by the stand seems to know her. It looks like she is completely part of the neighborhood. Incidentally she lives by the Hollywood sign. “I live under the D like Diz”, she says in an amused voice.

Today the temperature is surprisingly high. Diz and I stay in the shade. “At home I have a Wizard of Oz shrine, a Marilyn Monroe shrine and an Auntie Mame shrine”. Auntie Mame is a 1950’s movie. The main character is Diz’ idol. “She is an eccentric glamorous lady who gets rich, and then poor, and then rich, and then poor, and spends all her money on clothes and friends. This is how I’d like to live my life”.

A chubby woman rushes to Diz and speaks in a semi-whisper: “I’ve got a script. Do you know someone at Disney?” Diz nods but does not answer. The woman leaves. Mysterious encounter. I ask Diz if she will be able to help her. “I see a lot of things. I have my nails on the pulse of the city”, she utters. It makes me wonder. Is she some kind of doorkeeper? Is she the secret path that leads to the Hollywood studios? The shaman who knows the sacred words? She definitely looks like one… I am interrupted in my thoughts when a wiry man rushes by and addresses Diz “Hello beautiful!”

Everything in this buoyant woman is unexpected. When I ask Diz if I could take a picture of her, she rushes inside the shop. “Let me put some more lipstick”. Then, she strikes an unconventional pose, displaying her nails around her face. When she finally sees the Polaroid picture, she exclaims: “Shee-whiz, that’s fa-bu-lous! My lipstick came out perfectly.”

More customers arrive. It’s time for me to leave. Diz hugs me warmly: “It all started with our shades”, she says. “Now we’re friends. You can always fly by”. I will for sure.

LAS PALMAS MARKET

Today I talked to Kyunghye (pronounced Kee-on-he). She is a 50-year-old Korean woman who welcomes me with a cold look. She softens when I tell her how much her store reminds me of the European convenience stores.

Kyunghye and her husband own the Las Palmas Market, a grocery store at the corner of Fountain and Las Palmas Avenues. Reminiscent of simpler times, this red painted wooden building stands out from the surrounding modern houses. A sign on the roof reads “Fresh Milk and Ice Cream”.

Outside the market the light is dazzling. Once inside my eyes take a few seconds to adjust. The place is full of things stacked from top to bottom with beverages, food, frozen food, a few fruits, umbrellas, nails, cigarettes, Indian incense, sunglasses, hair nets for fuzzy hair… “We have everything”, says Kyunghye quietly. Sometimes she sees the same person twice or three times a day. “They cook, realize they forgot something, and come back ”.

This place is the lively hub of the neighborhood. The locals call it The Red Market. “All our customers walk here because they live in the area. We don’t even have a parking spot”, she adds. I’m amazed to see that every minute someone walks in. A short Mexican man with a huge white t-shirt and a gangster look buys beers and packs of ham.

A few moments later, a smiling polite man buys a few Double Match cards. He asks me questions about my camera. His name is Derico. “My mom gave me an original name. She wanted me to be original. Sure I am”, he says. I notice his cool Black Dynamite t-shirt and find out he made it for a movie. He is from Michigan and has been living in L.A. for thirty years. “I just got my passport. I want to go to Belize, see new places. I’ve been around here too long”, he says. He scratches his Double Match card. No win. “A friend of mine won 25,000 dollars with that game”. Dericio’s goal is to be a professional bowling player. “I’ve got to go train now. My bowling balls are in my van”.

Shortly after, a platinum pale blonde with extra-short red shorts buys an energy drink and a pack of Band-aids. She has no eye contact with Kyunghye and leaves.

The Las Palmas Market is also an important role player in Hollywood. At least twice a year the place becomes a set for films, TV shows or ads. One of its most memorable roles was in the TV show called Southland – a crime TV series that takes place in Los Angeles. The episode was about a robbery. The market owner was wrongly accused to be the thief because he was holding a gun when the cops arrived. It makes Kyunghye laugh while she tells me this story and then suddenly becomes more serious. “Sometimes we have weird customers, so we have to watch”, she points to the round mirrors hanging from the ceiling.

Kyunghye is short on casual conversation and most of the customers seem to be in a hurry. She is concerned that her accent may be too strong even though she has been living in this country for sixteen years. For her the toughest side of being in America is missing her friends and family. “This business is a family business. It takes a lot of sacrifice”, she says. Kyunghye doesn’t see her children as often as she would like to.

When I ask her if I can take a picture of her she declines… even though she is aware of her beauty. She smiles mischievously, “I know I look ten-fifteen years younger”.

NATHALIE & CAROLINE

Today I talked to Nathalie and Caroline.

Every Sunday on my way to the Larchmont farmers' market, I walk past a bunch of dogs to adopt.

Enclosed in a small fence is a muddle of teensy five-weeks-old puppies. Their space looks like a circus school with each animal trying out some peculiar new trick. People stop to watch this adorable show. The children want to pet them and adults exclaim: “Look at that! So small and sweet!”

I notice a young girl with long curly hair who juggles the puppies with confidence. “They’re very mischievous”, she says. Her name is Nathalie. She is thirteen-year-old and works as a volunteer for the mission -Saving Grace- . “I just do this because I love animals”. She points at a younger girl, Caroline: “She’s here because she follows me around. We’re sisters”, says Nathalie. “She’s the one who starts the fights and I’m the one who takes the blame”, says Nathalie. Caroline looks at her oldest sister but doesn’t say a thing. “I’m better with parents”, adds Nathalie. Caroline utters timidly: “She thinks she’s pretty”. Nathalie laughs. Then Caroline gazes fondly at the cream puppy wrapped in her arms and her freckled face brightens.

Later the girls introduce me to Polly who created Saving Grace twenty years ago. She was an actress but found it too difficult to wait for calls from Hollywood. She explains humbly how much work the animals represent and adds that she paid four hundred dollars to get the puppies out of the shelter.

In the fence the puppies are fast asleep, crammed into a comical puppy-pile. A forty-year-old bald man holds a chocolate brown puppy in his hand and then raises it to his face: “I wish I could take you home with me but my cat won’t allow it!”. He turns to his friend: “I come here every Sunday to torture myself.” He puts the chocolate dog down and leaves.

A slender young woman grabs a golden beige puppy. “The good thing about them being so small is you can tell their character”, she says to her boyfriend. He points out to the little animals: “This one is timid and this one is a fighter,” he says. “Mine is a quiet one. It could be cool to have one like that”, the girl adds.

Two hours go by. Caroline is still holding her creamy friend in her sweater. “It’s a boy puppy. I like boys better, they’re more playful”, says Caroline. Nathalie glances towards the animal : “He is very sweet but I haven’t had a chance to hold him yet”, she says. She rolls her eyes and looks really annoyed. “Because she won’t let me have him”, she adds.

It's 4pm. Polly packs the pets and their fences. She is exhausted. Today, only one out of the ten puppies found an adoptive family.

The sisters’ dad is on his way to pick them up. Their secret plan is to foster the puppy for a week and have their dad allow them to keep it. “We have a dog. His name is Joe”, says Nathalie. “Our dad thinks we can’t handle another animal, even though we took care of a cat for ten days”, she says. Caroline is quick on the draw: “You’ll pick up his poo”, she says. “NO! It’s liquid poo. It’s disgusting”, answers Nathalie.

Their father, John, parks his car. Caroline holds the creamy puppy with outstretched arms and with an imploring look she asks: “Father, can we keep him?” - “We already have a dog”, he says. Caroline approaches the puppy to her dad: “But his name’s Sergeant Pepper!” she shouts in desperation. Her father smiles softly and looks away.

Tonight, Nathalie and Caroline’s little friend will sleep with his siblings. But now at least he has a name.







Saving Grace: http://www.savinggracela.org/

OSCAR

Today I wanted to talk to Oscar but Oscar didn’t want to.

The sky is purring. Helicopters are patrolling and their cameras filming the streets. The whole city is a buzz. Today is Oscars’ day.

I walk up the streets of Hollywood. The road signs say Work Zone Ahead or Do Not Enter. I ask a police officer sitting on his motorbike, which is the best way to reach Hollywood Boulevard. He tells me to walk further down on Sunset. Two women overhear our conversation and advise me to drop my expectations and go back home. They were there, saw nothing but a big black screen and couldn’t access the red carpet.

I decide to go on with my quest anyway. My goal is to find out where the magic hides. I join a herd of interested and dreamy fellow human beings. After half an hour of wandering, a few of us reach Hollywood Boulevard. The excitement floats in the air. Tourists, professional photographers, and cops mix with each other. The stars on the pavement are all wet with rain.

Elvis walks up to me and asks: “You want a picture with me, babe?”. He takes me by the waist. “No thanks. Just you alone”, I say. Then I ask him his name. “Romeo”, he answers. “My porn name is Barry Sausage”, he adds in a laugh. “Barry Who?” I ask - I obviously didn’t pick up the joke -. I notice a pack of dollars in his hand and dig into my purse to give him a few. “I’ve been Elvis for seven years, seven days a week, and I make seventy-five kisses a day”, he says. A group of excited girls is waiting for him. Elvis quickly moves to them and strikes the King’s pause.

On my way to the red carpet, I stop by Jesse and Chase, two cops leaning on their car. “Are you enjoying the Oscars?” I ask. “It’s boring as hell. We just stand here all day”, says Chase who looks really pissed off. “And we have to wear these stupid hats”, he mutters. “It’s definitely more fun working in the car”, adds Jesse. A thick rain suddenly starts and they both exclaim: “For Christ’s sake!”

The crowd sticks together behind high guardrails. The entrance to the ceremony seems close but I can’t see a thing. A thirty feet limousine slowly drives by. Then a hand – visibly a woman’s – waves out of the tinted window. The crowd yells and waives back. But the burst of joy fades out as the car drives away. The street is empty again. I realize how disappointing this place is. I feel annoyed by this purportedly popular event that keeps people as far away as possible. Surely, the magic must be somewhere.

On my way back home, a rap flow catches my ear. A man holds an amplifier in one hand and a microphone in the other. His name is Dr. Geek. He is improvising lyrics about May’s beauty. She stands next to him and seems to enjoy the moment. Later, I find out that May is a Brazilian journalist/writer working for a Brazilian TV show. “I’m looking for weird stories. Mr. Geek is my best one so far”, says May.

I leave the hustle and bustle and take a side street. I'm vaguely looking up at a crumbling motel when I hear: “This is the hotel from Pretty Woman”. A smiling middle-aged couple walks by. “They told us that in the tour we took last week”, the woman adds.

Here, the Hollywood stars live in the walls, buildings and pavements. You rarely see them in the flesh. Yet a few blocks from there, I finally get to meet them. On a painted wall James Dean and Liz Taylor are staring at me with vibrant eyes. I wonder. Are they waiting for the movie to begin?

DALE

Today I talked to Dale. On our way to Death Valley, my boyfriend and I stopped in Beatty, Nevada, to fill up the car with gas and drink some coffee.

It’s 11.30am. The saloon smells like warm cake. The owner of the place, KC, serves us coffee and his wife Carol says across the kitchen: “I just made cookies, there’re fresh from the oven”. Through a glass door I see a bar and notice a man with a cowboy hat who drinks alone. The man comes up to us. His name is Dale. He wears a black and red checked shirt, a silver buckle at his belt, and worn out cowboy boots. His grey mustache gives him a severe look but his eyes are kind. I can't believe it. I am meeting a cowboy. Being a European city girl, I haven't seen so many of them. He hands me his business card and explains he is part of a group that does cowboys shows and events. “We do it for fun. It’s a non-profit. We take tips if people wanna give some. But we don’t expect a tip if we don’t put up a good show”, he says.

Dale was born and raised in Massachusetts, lived in Las Vegas, and settled in Beatty twelve years ago. He is a quiet man who speaks in few words : “I’m a cowboy, that’s what I do. If you live on a ranch in Texas or on a farm in Massachusetts, you do the same thing”, he utters in a sing-song voice.

I tell him I wish I could ride a horse. Dale jumps in. “Well, it's not difficult. You sit on the saddle and the horse takes you wherever you wanna go”, he pauses, seems to picture himself riding. “Until he doesn’t want anymore and that’s when it hurts!” he breaks out in laughter.

“Do you know why there’s about 30 miles between every city?”, asks Dale in a witty tone. “Has it something to do with the horses?”, I say. Dale looks amused and surprised. “Yeah, you’re close! That’s the time you can ride a horse for a whole day. In the old days, people were stopping to feed their horses and have a drink. And the communities grew around. That’s what happened”, says Dale.

KC and Carole join us at the bar. We talk about their saloon and how it transformed over the years from a bank, to a hardware store, and a mechanic shop. Then I shyly ask Dale if I can take a picture of him. “Too bad I don’t carry my guns today”, he says and notices my amazed look. “The cops here know we carry our guns, but they can’t do anything cause it’s legal”, he adds with a sparkling smile. “And I don’t have my outfit neither”. I tell him he will look perfect. He couldn’t look more like a cowboy to me.

Dale leans on the bar, asks KC for another Jack & Coke, and lights a cigarette. “Are you married?”, I ask. He watches me straight in the eyes. There is a long silence. I think to myself that Dale is not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. The cowboy extends his solid bare hands. No ring. “Nope. But I’ve got a girlfriend”, he answers.

Today it rains on Death Valley and it is time to hit the road. I thank Dale and reach out my hand to shake his. He bows, gently takes my hand and barely kisses it. “It was my pleasure”, he says. No doubts. I just met a real gentleman-cowboy.





The Beatty Cowboys:
http://www.beattycowboys.com/index.html