Where's Geraldo?

Here's a fun game: Where was this photo taken? Hint: It's really, really easy if you know LA.



Hmm. Considering the how the males within my chosen peer-group have a pension for covering receeding hairlines with fedoras, beanies ala Zissou, and a plethora of different shaggy haircuts, maybe I should reconsider changing the name of this post to Bears Baldo. Not that this particular kid was bald. I'm just saying. Also, as far as I know, there is no one named Geraldo in this picture. I figured I should note that before anyone spent hours looking for the one Waldo without a shoe or the one early 30's freelancer at the Pho spot without a beard.







Fuck. I spoiled the game.

There is something so pathetic about insomnia. What kind of asshole is incapable of the simplest task ever, an activity so easy a baby could do it?

B

Hey.

Remember that time we went karaoking in Williamsburg and I overdid it and someone dedicated Where Is My Mind to me because all of the things we associate with humanistic behavior had been replaced within me by something feral? And remember how when you came out of the bar I was standing proud on top of a van, like a lady mountain goat? And remember how I refused to be talked down until the owners came? And remember how they weren't even mad but weren't entertained either? Remember that tiny glimmer of smiling disappointment in their eyes, like my mom had found her way from one coast to the other at 3am just to make me feel bad?

Thanks for still being down.




W

P.S. When the man held my hand to help me off of his van, I knew what a stripper feels while collecting the cash after her dance.

For Saville.

(With a special thanks to Elmo and Mr. Paul 'If You Weren't Already Married..' Rudd.)

Signs

I saw this and thought "You don't know me."

Flat Red

Lens flare/aura

Ari