J.D. stroud
Bio
Venice Beach, CA
Photographer.
Journalist.
Enthusiast.
Stories (2/0)
I'm a 27-Year-Old White Male and I've Never Sexually Harassed a Woman
Sexual harassment lately has been overwhelmingly a part of our daily reads, and has made headlines across media sources across the nation. The #MeToo movement will accordingly go down in history as one of the most eye opening civil movements in my generation's days of yore, and rightfully so. Many women across the country finally must no longer be afraid to step forward about the abuse and bedevilment they have experienced from men that they work alongside, live with, or encounter in day to day activities. From politicians, to an overabundance of male Hollywood celebrities, to Olympic trainers; it finally seems as if men of high profile can no longer get a way with petty actions of sexual objectification and perversion, which we should all applaud!
By J.D. stroud6 years ago in Viva
The Concrete Perception of Surfing in Los Angeles
Through the obscureness of battling for waves and escaping airborne Wavestorm surfboards bought for $100 at Costco, I have achieved my own personal sort of paradise whilst surfing in Los Angeles County. Within the deluge of dilettante crowds, set on riding one wave simply to tell their friends back in Oklahoma that they are now a surfer, I have found the anonymity enlightening. Inside the depths of America’s inner cities, pseudo-individuality is brought upon by the commotion of everyday life. Another city light illuminates, a siren clangs on the ears, and a cheerless tenant’s scream echoes from their windowsill through the interurban boulevards; and as this happens, strangers' faces shift past one’s vision anonymously. No one knows who you are except for your shadow inside the vastness of concrete essence. Whatever the emotion is that translates into this feeling of ambiguity is how I have managed to keep surfing somewhat metaphysical for myself. Eavesdropping on the conversations in the lineup as sets of waves pass them by, sounds of the cars honking at one another on the freeway above, and the twinkle of the city lights that begin to touch the horizon at dusk, all highlight the existence of city dwelling in the water. It is a beautiful thing, really, shifting past out-of-stater’s faces while paddling out, weaving through a crowded intersection of traffic on a rising tide, all while knowing that the best guy out and the worst guy out are equals in the flocks and herds of “surfers."
By J.D. stroud6 years ago in Wander
