On one hand there’s the old saw about the only stupid questions being those not asked, but every time I bike commute home from work past this wonderfully aged sign (dig the big blue stylized question mark) just off Jefferson Boulevard through an industrialized section at the border of Culver City and some mysterious L.A. designated community known as Cameo Plaza, I’m left answering this signage’s seemingly incongruous question with many more of my own: WTF? You talkin’ to me? That’s kinda personal don’tcha think? And just who in the what, where, and why are you attempting to address? Not to mention: even if I had hoses to disconnect and hadn’t, wouldn’t I have figured that out by now on my own?