I don’t know this solo sitter. My buddy and I hiked to the top of Mt. Baden-Powell in search of some sweat and solace, and while I experienced a bit of both, I also experienced tree sap glued to my underwear (I have no clue) and the kind of allergy attack that the makers of Benadryl salivate over. 

I don’t know this solo sitter. My buddy and I hiked to the top of Mt. Baden-Powell in search of some sweat and solace, and while I experienced a bit of both, I also experienced tree sap glued to my underwear (I have no clue) and the kind of allergy attack that the makers of Benadryl salivate over. 

I don’t know this T-shirted adventurer. I was wandering through Muir Woods with a friend, discussing Ewan McGregor or something similarly enticing, when we happened upon this dejected-looking dude. It was clear that he wanted to walk all the way across mother nature’s slippery little wooden crossing (instead of the man-made one right next to him), but the slimy log would have none of this, and he returned, head hung low, heart full of shame. I would have given him a pep talk, but I was probably too busy thinking about Ewan McGregor. 

I don’t know this T-shirted adventurer. I was wandering through Muir Woods with a friend, discussing Ewan McGregor or something similarly enticing, when we happened upon this dejected-looking dude. It was clear that he wanted to walk all the way across mother nature’s slippery little wooden crossing (instead of the man-made one right next to him), but the slimy log would have none of this, and he returned, head hung low, heart full of shame. I would have given him a pep talk, but I was probably too busy thinking about Ewan McGregor. 


I don’t know this Shining-esque lady duo. I was wandering towards the bathroom after an afternoon of Getty Villa culture intake when I spotted them assembling on the staircase, and might have quickly snuck in front of their Nikon-fumbling buddy to snap my own shot. Cameraphone bandit strikes again!

I don’t know this Shining-esque lady duo. I was wandering towards the bathroom after an afternoon of Getty Villa culture intake when I spotted them assembling on the staircase, and might have quickly snuck in front of their Nikon-fumbling buddy to snap my own shot. Cameraphone bandit strikes again!

I don’t know this dude. He was standing there waiting for a bus, and all I wanted to do was roll down my window and shout out, “DUDE! LOOK BEHIND YOU! I THINK IT’S A VINE MONSTER!!!” but instead I just kept driving to work because the last thing Los Angeles needs is one more crazy person yelling at innocent bystanders during rush hour traffic. 

I don’t know this dude. He was standing there waiting for a bus, and all I wanted to do was roll down my window and shout out, “DUDE! LOOK BEHIND YOU! I THINK IT’S A VINE MONSTER!!!” but instead I just kept driving to work because the last thing Los Angeles needs is one more crazy person yelling at innocent bystanders during rush hour traffic. 

I don’t know this rock-eteer. I was ambling along the Eagle Rock loop with my friend when we stopped at the trail’s namesake. Julianne took one look at the sloping backside of the rock and proclaimed, “I am not going up there because on the way down I will lose my footing and slide down on my butt and break all of my body.” So I took this photo as my consolation prize.

I don’t know this rock-eteer. I was ambling along the Eagle Rock loop with my friend when we stopped at the trail’s namesake. Julianne took one look at the sloping backside of the rock and proclaimed, “I am not going up there because on the way down I will lose my footing and slide down on my butt and break all of my body.” So I took this photo as my consolation prize.

I don’t know this sun-dappled trio. I was wandering Union Station with a friend, en route to ten pounds of tortilla chips on Olvera Street, when we ran into these pretty pretty princesses modeling their LBDs. I guess California girls need to get their rays whenever, wherever they can.

I don’t know this sun-dappled trio. I was wandering Union Station with a friend, en route to ten pounds of tortilla chips on Olvera Street, when we ran into these pretty pretty princesses modeling their LBDs. I guess California girls need to get their rays whenever, wherever they can.

I don’t know this shadowy figure. We were standing in the tunnel used by the Packers to run onto Lambeau Field during their home games; it was a sacred moment. I looked at my mother and she looked at me - we wanted to run down that tunnel, arms pumping in the air with green-and-gold glee, flush with the excitement stirred by a stadium full of fans in foam Cheeseheads and face paint. Instead, this dude sauntered out in front, ruining the moment.

I still sorted of trotted, though. Had to.

I don’t know this shadowy figure. We were standing in the tunnel used by the Packers to run onto Lambeau Field during their home games; it was a sacred moment. I looked at my mother and she looked at me - we wanted to run down that tunnel, arms pumping in the air with green-and-gold glee, flush with the excitement stirred by a stadium full of fans in foam Cheeseheads and face paint. Instead, this dude sauntered out in front, ruining the moment.

I still sorted of trotted, though. Had to.

I don’t know this New Year’s Day zenmaster. He was one of many on the trail today, another nameless dude perched on a rock, deep in thought at the start of another year. Or maybe he was just stoned - dunno.

I don’t know this New Year’s Day zenmaster. He was one of many on the trail today, another nameless dude perched on a rock, deep in thought at the start of another year. Or maybe he was just stoned - dunno.

I don’t know this Mouseketeer, but I DO know that I’ve never seen a grown man so excited to sit at Minnie’s vanity before.

I don’t know this Mouseketeer, but I DO know that I’ve never seen a grown man so excited to sit at Minnie’s vanity before.

I don’t know this dude. My friends and I were rambling around Rustic Canyon, marveling at the rusted-out, graffed-up remains of what was once a Nazi sympathizer compound, when we stumbled across this guy and his friends. While inside this dilapidated shell of a former power plant, my main concerns were to avoid falling through the multiple holes in the floor and avoid contracting tetanus; his were to sit there looking sullen and artsy.

I don’t know this dude. My friends and I were rambling around Rustic Canyon, marveling at the rusted-out, graffed-up remains of what was once a Nazi sympathizer compound, when we stumbled across this guy and his friends. While inside this dilapidated shell of a former power plant, my main concerns were to avoid falling through the multiple holes in the floor and avoid contracting tetanus; his were to sit there looking sullen and artsy.