Welcome to the 21st century...

... eight years late is better than never, right?

I've been on a technological roll as of late. Hot on the heels of acquiring a real-life computer and replacing the world's oldest cel phone (Seriously, the thing had a rotary dial on it) with my shiny new iPhone (Even covered it in a badass mirrored case that looks like the guitar Matthew Bellamy from Muse uses), I now have now ended my holdout as the last remaining American under the age of 40 *not* to have a blog.

Yes, sunshine, you're looking at it right now.

I'm not going to bore you with the mundane details of my life. Instead, I'll be focusing on my two true passions as I explore the backroads of California on my Kawi and wear an Eric-sized butt groove into the seats of as many of Los Angeles' reperatory movie houses as I can. For it's endless faults, LA really does have a righteous rep house scene that brings out some of the coolest filmmakers to press the flesh with us geeks. It's like one perpetual roving film festival that's allowed me to see some of my all-time favorites on the big screen as God intended and meet some of the people who've been prolonging my childhood for nearly two decades now.

Above is a pic to get the ball rolling, taken in the men's room of an overpriced cafe out in the middle of freakin' nowhere on a tire- meltingly hot day last weekend as I chased my mom on her modded-to-the teeth Harley Softail Deluxe and her friends, my "Uncle" Dave and Allison, on their two-wheeled Screaming Eagle monstrosity up the 101 to a tiny dot on the map called Los Alamos. The sign welcoming us and dozens of other middle-aged Harley riders that day to their tiny town was pimping this summer's "61th Annual Old Days." Maybe they didn't have an "s" to put an "st" after the 61, but I just assumed it was some kinda local dialect.

I still don't know why there was a John Wayne standee in the men's room of this cafe, but I figured it was worth capturing for posterity. Or maybe it was the heat stroke talking.