Show me a sign!

I'm not much of a photographer. Ask my husband. He'll tell you. I have a hard time framing what I see in three dimensions into a 2 dimensional photograph. Likely the visual/spatial center in my brain doesn't do its job as well as it could. So I don't really bother schlepping a camera around with me.

I do, however, almost always have my iPod touch in my pocket and it has a camera. While the photos aren't award-worthy by any stretch of the imagination, it does allow me to take quick snaps of whatever I find amusing in the world.

The past few days it's been signs.

This is the door a few doors down from my hotel room in Southern California. Maybe it's a newfangled Californian spelling initiative. Or maybe it's just an expression of the laid back life style. (Yeah, that suite is really sweet, man.) I get a giggle out of it every time I head to the elevator.

                                                                                                                                                                       

Um, really? So which is it?

I'd never seen a sign that told me something *wasn't* and exit. Usually they tell you where the exits are. And isn't it kind of hard to have a path outside that isn't an exit for something?

This was a tattoo parlor. I couldn't decide what bothered me more--
the rabid weasles (sic) or the fact it would be open Tomaro (sic).

There is an enormous amount of beauty here in Southern California. The Pacific ocean is a constantly changing, mesmerizing landscape. I cannot help but stare at the contrast between the ice-blue sky and the dun-colored scrub of the hills and canyons. It is lovely to see the green of trees and flowering shrubs well into November.

Those photos are my husband's department. He'll have the patience to fuss with a camera, lenses, and exposures to get the perfect photograph. His pictures will outshine mine in terms of balance, composition, and artistry, but I think mine are much more fun.