adventures in fabric softener:

tony visits the venice beach wash n' dry. a photo essay.

venice is a tiny beach town in west los angeles, just south of santa monica. charming. bohemian. no big city hustle n' bustle here, sorry. passing through you get the impression that the people don't care to move into the twenty-first century; the architecture and establishments are anything but modern.


life here is slow.


and that's okay.


photoblogging is trickier at the laundromat than in other public spaces.


when you photograph someone in public, you invade their privacy. ironically.


at the laundromat you have to be extra careful to stay out of people's way.


after all, people come here to get their skivvies cleaned.


who the hell wants some stranger with a camera lingering around them while they wash and fold their unmentionables?


not most people, i conjecture. however, there must be people out there who get off on getting photographed. at the laundromat. folding their long-johns and girdles and what not.


there are probably also people out there who have been arrested for photographing other people at the laundromat.


now that i think about it, that's what i love about laundromats. not the whole invasion of privacy bit. the act of washing clothes is, in itself, very private,


but the laundromat adds a social dimension. everybody gathering at one location. to do laundry. together. a community of launderers. people don't necessarily speak to each other, but there is this unspoken feeling of social integration that brings everyone together--


it's as if through the shared silence people are acknowledging, "yeah, you just saw my lacy panties. and i just saw your dad's briefs. but it's all good. i respect you. regardless of your day job, at this moment you are a courageous, wonderful human being. rock on with your bad self."


and that is what makes the laundromat a beautiful place.

on my way out, i met Steve, an ex-baseball player.
"are you a photographer?" he asks.
"somewhat of one," i replied.

we shot the breeze for a while. he's originally from pasadena, and went to fullerton state. his brother, also named tony, worked at ucla for twenty-two years. his mother passed away of cancer at forty-four. "a beautiful woman," he described her. we talked about sociology (he majored in it as well), freddie prinze (sr.), gene autry, gangs, the recent fights at south la high schools, the business aspect of sports, gambling (he avoids it), hikes in tuition fees, etc. he congratulated me (early) on graduating. he advised me to appreciate life and just "go for it." whatever it is.

"you can wake up dead tomorrow," he pointed out. "how old are you?"
"i turn 22 today."
he laughed and shook my hand as if i said something admirable. "you're a gemini! you're okay! i believe in that shit. gemini and tauruses are the best people."
"good luck! you'll be all right!" he yelled back as he biked off.

come to think of it, that is precisely what i've needed to hear for the past few weeks. as of late people have suspected that i've been down. i don't know what it is about me that gives that away to total strangers.


since then, everything has seemed...brighter.