don’t read this unless you’ve lived in los angeles

One of the great legends of the Los Angeles freeways came to an end this past January when Cal Trans updated the freeway signs on the 110 north towards Pasadena. Artist Richard Ankrom got lost trying to get onto the 5 north from the 110 north because the signage that indicated the left hand exit for the I-5 was barely visible on a pole the right shoulder. So he took the matter into his own hands, literally.

Ankrom got the government specifications for freeway signage, including size, font, raw material and paint colors. He then constructed two signs in his shop. An interstate shield with the number 5 on it, and a sign that read “North”. When the signs were cut and painted, he applied a technique that aged the signage so it wouldn’t stand out as new.

On August 5th, 2001 Ankrom donned an orange safety vest and a white hard hat that he purchased from Home Depot. He also got a lucky break. Cal Trans work crews had already set up orange cones for work occurring up the road. He installed his pieces in the middle of the day and walked away totally unnoticed in about 20 minutes.

Ankrom eventually outed himself to the Los Angeles Downtown News nine months later describing his work as “Guerrilla Public Service”. Surprisingly Cal Trans did not pursue charges against Ankrom and left his work in place for over eight years until they replaced the sign last January. You can see the new one below.

Ankrom made a documentary of the event that you can see here.

smile like you mean it

I got bitched slapped from out of nowhere by the politics of this business last week. Without revealing specific details; someone with far too much free time, and all the bravery of a nosey neighbor peeking through their blinds, complained about something that I did over a month ago which made ninety-nine percent of the people who have seen it laugh. For those of you wondering why I backed down from the fight, I can only respond with a cliche’; one must pick one’s battles. Had I decided to go to the mat, I would have lost.

Some people, because of their position of power or influence, can affect your life and reputation. It’s no good complaining to your significant other that these devil kittens should have been tossed into the river at birth, you’ll just add stress to your relationship and end up having to make yourself comfortable on the couch for a few nights. So what does one do when one finds themselves watching reruns of CSI in order to research a plan for the perfect murder?

The answer is here.

fu fb, stay away from my bbfaf

Unless you’ve been in the LA County Jail drunk tank for that last few days, you’ve undoubtedly received a note, a tweet, or an email about facebook’s new richer internet experience through privacy intrusion. What they’ve done is opted in all of their users into a new program in which they analyze your facebook interactions with your friends and then hand that information over to select partner web sites. When you navigate to one of the facebook partner web sites, you’ll be gleefully logged in using your facebook credentials and presented with ads and information based on the matrices that facebook has conjured based on conversations with your friends.

Even if you opt out of the service in your privacy preferences, it turns your friends against you in a bizarre McCarthy-esque marketing plan. Any of the conversational information you trade with friends who have not opted out is still accessible by facebook.

For example the app that controls the information scraping for CNN will still derive information about what facebook thinks you’re looking for on CNN via your interactions with your friends who have not turned off the service. So beware conveying any dirty jokes about nuns and orangutans.

The thought of having a virtual salesperson lurking over my shoulder listening to my chats to conjure up offers for me when I go out shopping is nauseating. I’d rather have a colonoscopy. At least the law protects the privacy of what I say when I’m in the hospital.

This solipsistic move by facebook really chaps my ass. I understand it’s their service, and they offer it for free, but I can’t reconcile this in any way as being a good thing. It’s just way too creepy. Also I fear for the most vulnerable facebook users. Namely those folks like parents and grandparents who aren’t the most savvy at tracking down obscure privacy settings because they have a life that doesn’t hinge on their facebook account.

We’re all going to have start talking in acronyms on fb from now on. That way if I tell a friend about my proclivity for bbfafs, fb will have no idea what I’m talking about.

Shit.

the starving artist life

This past week my friend and business partner Michael Britt and I were the fortunate dwellers of a nine-bedroom-pool-jacuzi-tennis-court compound while we covered the NAB convention as journalist. You may be thinking that this is western imperialist decadence at its most obscene, with a finger in the general direction of the starving artist stereotype.

You’re absolutely correct.

Viva Las Vegas.

chasing bambi

My current mad dash to Las Vegas this morning to cover the NAB convention for PhotoCine News brings with it a side assignment. The quest for Bambi.

Bambi is the most excellent Vegas name ever. My assumption is that someone, somewhere, working in one of the casinos will know a Bambi. I’m going to ask around until I find her. Or him. A transgender Bambi is fair game.

All experiments have control conditions. Mine are as follows:

• Bambi can only located via personal recommendation. That is say no internet searches.
• The name Bambi needs to be a real or regularly used moniker. No “for 20 dollars I’ll be whoever you want,” deals.
• Bambi needs be a resident of Las Vegas.
• Bonus points if I find a show girl Bambi.

Throne Room

A little while back I received an email from Brent Hatton;

Hi Lou, my names Brent, 20 years young from Perth, Australia. I work in a camera shop, and while sitting in the loo at work today I read an article about you in an old ProPhoto magazine. Flattered?

Hell yes I’m flattered. There something regal about being the subject of preferred reading in the throne room. A room where one can sit comfortably and have a cogitate in the miasma of yesterdays supper.

Lavatorial reading is a decidedly male pursuit. True there are a few female followers of the ritual, but they are a minority to their gender. Taking a few moments quiet time at home or at work should be taken seriously with the following comforts considered;

• Lighting: a well lit reading space is a happy reading space. Sadly most bathrooms have awful lighting. Consider the purchase of soft style light bulbs.
• Library: a healthy selection of reading material organized in a magazine rack can make your visit to the loo diverse and interesting by catering to your mood of the moment.
• Seating: although a seemingly innocuous activity, reading in the can is rough on the back and butt muscles. Assign the same considerations to choosing your toilet seat that you do when choosing a couch.
• Supplies: the calming effect of concluding a novel can be shattered by having to yell to someone outside your sanctuary to toss you a roll of toilette paper. Avoid this unfortunate circumstance by checking the roll before dropping your pants.
• Finally, practice good hygiene by shutting the lid before flushing. Tests have shown that flushing without a lid sends up a cloud of spray, invisible to the naked eye, a considerable distance away from the toilet (easily filling the volume of an average bathroom). The spray has the potential to contain a variety of viruses and bacteria, which will happily eke out a wretched existence on anything it can in your bathroom.