I want to sue

In case you haven't been following the less-than-scintillating travails of my life (obviously I don't write about all of them), I've been doing a lot of driving lately. From here, in what was frumpy Culver City to fashionable Palm Springs to fix up my less-than-fashionable vacation rental. 

It's hard to keep up with the Sinatras and the Hopes.

As such I've logged many miles on the always under construction Rt. 10. As well as the windy and truck-laden Rt. 60. 

What first comes to mind, besides the glut of Jesus Radio out here in the Inland Empire, are the countless billboards from ambulance chasing and misanthropic lawyers who seem daring -- and hoping -- you to get into a fender bender so they can re-landscape their vacation rentals.

From the omnipresent Jacob Emrani and his iconoclastic (I'm being generous) upside down photos to the pedantic Jacoby and Myers to the prurient Adrianna, who it seems worked the pole before passing the bar. I would show you a picture of her billboards but that would require me pulling the car over and snapping a shot while parked on the side of the road.

In addition to being a bit pervy it's also a bit dangerous. Maybe that's Adriana's strategy?

As if the overabundance of these billboards weren't enough, they're also downright ugly. An awful indictment of our industry. 

Well, your industry. 

I'm out. 

Almost completely.

The sad thing is, outdoor boards were once a shining reflection of what we did best. I always loved a good OOH assignment. Challenging. Restrictive. Pointed. 

Everything a person in the creative arts could want.

Now? My biggest challenge is getting the caked-on orange juice off the bottom of the refrigerator. And stopping the bleeding from where I cracked my head open on a protruding nail in the Palm Springs house.

I should call Jacob and sue the owner. 

Oh wait, that's me.