Andrew Wyeth in San Benito County

I realize the lameness in writing a post that essentially says, “Guys, I did a neat thing on Instagram! Go look at it!” But that’s essentially what I’m doing. Instagram may be a place for people to post photos of sandwiches and dogs who think they’re people, but occasionally you see something that’s not Insta-filtered within an inch of its life and not entirely ugly and not pointless. And this may be one of those.

It’s also a different angle on a house that I photographed immediately after receiving a new camera for Christmas in 2003 — and this is a standard camera that didn’t double as a phone, if that dates this story at all. That photo also skews a little Andrew Wyeth, but more Andrew Wyeth by way of The Ring, horse and all.

In fact, to this day, the original posting of the old photo still gets hits from people trying to find Moesko Island.

Photos of places, previously:

• Maui
• My parents’ back yard
• Santa Monica Boulevard
• A rotten oasis outside Las Vegas
• The Pinnacles
• Paihia

Ten Takes on Maui

I won't elaborate on what I did, because I didn't do much aside from drink and swim. Really, Maui itself did all the work, what with the light and the foliage and the majestic, saturated hypercolor. It will be the least painful of vacation slideshows, I swear.

Yes, all photos link to Instagram. Do follow, if you're so inclined, but be forewarned that the photos won't look this good again for some time.

Sweets for the Sweet Who’s Addicted to Opium

From the UCLA archive of old L.A. Times photos, I present a photo that ran in the June 5, 1947, edition of the paper with the following caption: “UNDER THE CANDY: A District Attorney’s secretary exhibits $40,000 worth of opium found concealed beneath candy in box. Drug was discovered in connection with investigation of robbery, kidnapping ring.”

And now, how this happened, according to my brain:

“Hey, Rocko — what’s the name of that set of ankles at the desk in the D.A.’s office? You know, the one who’s been sore at me ever since I busted her ma for pushin’ hop. Doris? Dorcas? Doreen? Ah, okay — Ada. Well, lemme run by you my idea to make Ada sweet on me like she yoosta. I assume you recall that stash of gum that Lou and Maloney found in that Jamaican candy store that turned out to be a dopehouse. Here’s what I say: We ask ol’ angelface Ada to pose for the news hawks tomorrow afternoon and finally yank that sour look off that button of hers. Yeah, see? It’s the ol’ gooseberry lay. Tell her that she needs to go out, find a fancy new set of rags to pin on, get her hair done like Betty Grable and then show ever shamoo in Los Angeles how greats she looks. I even got the lined picked out: ‘That’s some fancy candies you got there, but they’re not half as sweet as you, Doris.’ What’s that? Oh yeah — Ada.

And if Ada’s not my new lady by the end of the week, I’ll just tell everyone she’s a communist.”

If You’re Happy and You’re Handless, Clap Your Nubs

Because Friday is the day I blog without trying very hard, here are two photos of handless boy mannequins that I spotted at an airshow. They — along with this posting — were easily the most interesting parts of the airshow.

Why were they handless, you ask? I can only imagine that it stemmed from the presence of antique airplanes and a desire to teach children about propeller safety.

(Via my Instagram account, which I'm apparently plug on my regular blog because 2012 of course.)

An Easter Bunny More Full of Fear Than Chocolate Eggs

Four Easters ago, my father made the holiday less than joyous for a real-life rabbit. The incident probably would have disturbed me had I been an impressionable child then, but I was merely an impressionable 25-year-old. I understood that a wigglenose loses its magic when you’re protecting backyard produce, much in the way that a deer’s sparkling black eyes take on a sinister glint when heirloom roses hang in the balance. What I took away from this nontraditional celebration of Easter was that the Easter Bunny truly was inferior to Jesus Christ, for the former lacked the latter’s magic resurrection powers.

This year, the rabbit arrived a day early — Holy Saturday, if you’re a big fan of Holy Week, and who’s not, aside from Satan? My dad spotted baby jackrabbit in the tall grass, in dangerous proximity to the bean sprouts. Because no shotgun was handy, the little guy was only photographed, with the understanding that he’d be on file as having been warned to stay away. He was ushered to the great land beyond the fence, where at least our dogs wouldn’t be able to lay a tooth on him.

 

He says “quiver.”

In case you’re wondering, he vanished when I turned my back for a moment. I assume that he either hopped his way toward new adventures or a predatory bird plucked him a way in a single, silent instant. Either way, circle of life.

The Office Desk Mystery

Two clues. I’ve not yet determined what the crime was, who the victim was, if there was a crime, if there was a victim, if I could have been the criminal or the victim, if suspicious deskmate was an accomplice, and (I repeat) if there was a crime.

But I’m pretty sure there totally was a crime.

Another Catholic Nightmare

So I got bored. Voila! That’s how gifs are made!

 

My LACMA Catholic nightmare — snapped, shopped and now finally giffed. I am pleased for having attained a skill already mastered by junior high school students.

Kids, Our Prayers Are Answered!

I need to say nothing, I realize, yet the post looks weird if I transition straight from hed to photo.

It also looks weird if the footer comes right below the post image. Which is why this text is here.

Two Views of Los Angeles From Behind My Windshield

This city has its moments. For example, weather reminds you that you are alive, even when the regularity of your daily commute could fool you into thinking that you’re some undead schmuck forced to complete the same impossible task again and again, Sisyphus- or even Third Policeman-like. (In this geographical context, I should note, weather means in this geographical context as anything more dramatic that sunny sunshine.) These events make for ideal moments in which a person can experience Los Angeles. Proof:

Here, weather takes form in the sky over Pico and Santa Monica Boulevard, respectively. It was unexpected to experience weather and therefore fantastimagical.

Two Cinematic, Catholic Nightmares

It took place at LACMA, while I was awake. And while technically it occurred only in the space between these statues and the camera, but that doesn’t make it seem any less sinister, I say.

What with the monks and the rampant Catholicism, it could also be a Dario Argento nightmare. Here, let me make a few alterations.

There. Now you’re dreaming in all the colors of the night.

No Casual Hauntings, Please

Posted on a Hollywood telephone pole:

But you have to ask: How many people would classify their ghost problem as anything less than severe?

It’s a Beautiful Night Out There

The sun has charred the other side of the world and come back to us and painted the smoke over our heads an imperial violet.

You are listening.

Hunt for the Gay House Elf

Examine this indisputable evidence for yourself.

All efforts to locate the inhabiting elf have so far proved futile, but I least I have the evidence to prove that I found his footsteps in the hall.

Buttercups in High Definition

Now I offer four strange things I saw but did not purchase at the sale at H.D. Buttercup. (And yes, non-Angelenos, that really is a store, and no, it’s nowhere as twee as it sounds.)

Lamps that suggested Marcia, Jan and Cindy Brady had they been scalped during the family trip to the Grand Canyon.

Rampant sexism!

A doll that I imagine was not designed to have a broken leg but whose facial expression made a hell of a lot more sense with the leg being broken.

And finally a small statue in the form of that extraterrestrial that either abducted me or is just a creep and has been hanging around my bedroom window.

Not pictured and not purchased: an affordable coffee table.

How the World Ends

Not with a bang but with whimper-growling muffled by foam.

While saner minds stood guard, even. (And sorry, Africa — like, for the millionth time.)

Apocalypse notwithstanding, it was a lovely December afternoon spent on grass.

And the world, you’ll be happy to know, was placed out-of-reach, on a shelf, where it belongs.

As Close as I Got to a White Christmas Was a Gosh-Darned Alien Invasion

The alien landed in the yard at my parents’ house, in the corner where no one noticed. It might seem harmless enough, what with its French vanilla design, but upon completion of its larval stage it oozes out in every which way, Blob-style, and smothering all in fluffy, white death.

Of course, at the rate it’s going, it will take a year for anyone else to notice what it’s doing, and by then it will seem downright festive.

Oh yes, this alien is clever. Death is a holiday cliche.

Red Rocket Reducer

One day, some clever person will invent an app to address and eliminate the problem of obstructive dog wang ruining otherwise pleasant photographs.

 
If this exists — and I’m talking about a mini-program that can turn canine peen into mere furry underbelly with a single swipe — then there’s hope for amateur dog photographers anywhere. In the meantime, I’m inclined to just tell people it’s an extra foot.

The Sound of the Trumpets of Conscience Falls Deafly on a Brain That Holds Its Ears

A topsy-turvy, dystopic cityscape...

... as only the streets of Beverly Hills could create.

Grievous Grape

Grievous Grap Even with purple, cough syrup-tasting Lemonheads being a fairly low bar for a candy to jump over, I was disappointed in these beyond words.

No, not cool. Not cool at all. Your sunglasses are meaningless. And the eyes in the Os in the candy name are just confusing.

Also, the candies themselves look less like grape bunches than purple artichokes.

I had to let that out. I really did.

Lesson Learned: Don’t Recycle

Hello. I am significantly less inclined to visit my apartment building’s recycling bin in the middle of the night. Thanks, life!

Some context: It was very dark. You can see as well as you can in this photo because I used my flash. But at the time, I could just barely make out the features of a human face, blankly peering out from the garbage.