Where's Waldo?

I have to admit, I am a fragile person, on the inside at least (the outside is pretty damn sturdy).  I don't handle the inevitable cruelty and criticism that come with exposure.  It seems people will say anything they damn well please, as long as they can post it with the anonymity the www will provide.  So, I have been a bit down since the recent influx of looky-loos to my blog and flickr page.  Thank goodness it's just about over, and everything can go back to normal.  But I let some of the negativity get to me.  Since then, photography has lost some of it's appeal.  I don't feel good about most things I've photographed since then.  The wind is out of my sails.
We visited the SF Museum of Modern Art today.  I like art, but I am very critical.  If it looks like something a small child could paint, or isn't much more than a heap of garbage poorly glued together, I don't like it.  I would say that I found about 10% of the art at the MOMA to be interesting and deserving of merit.  Yet, someone likes it.  They must, to be in a museum.
So, I pondered the criticism thrown my way, and  came to realize that art is very personal.  The art one creates usually only appeals to a small demographic.  The old adage, "You can't please everyone" comes to mind.   And I never wanted to.
It's just a shame that for every ten compliments I get, it's that one person who feels the need to piss all over everything I do that resonates.

I took this picture from inside the MOMA today.  It's certainly nothing about technical nor aesthetic achievements.  It's just for fun.  It's a life size "Where's Waldo?"  Just like the books, in this photograph somewhere is Waldo.  Red striped shirt, Waldo.  If you've been to the MOMA, you probably know where it is already.  Your going to have to open the picture to the larger view to find it, no doubt.  Let me know if you find him!