In case you missed it, earlier in the week, my blog post about The Glades went up over at Criminal Element. If case you caught it and thought, that’s great, but I’d like to see more (MOAR?) pictures of Gibtown and its stand-in, I give you:
And photos from the real Gibsonton:
And for those wondering about the “Weeki Wachee and Tarpon Springs” references:
As the main squeeze (read: wife) of Sleep (the film)’s director, I have access to all sorts of fun stuff…like handcuffs and a fake Collier County Sheriff’s outfit. Better than that…I have FOOTAGE!
I also had to/got to (depending on how you look at it) hose off the actors and crew coming out of the swamp Monday.
The big orange cat thinks the circular mirror over the dresser is a magic portal leading to other cat worlds where another massive orange cat stands lookout for intruders. He’s pretty pissed about it, actually.
He’s a doofus.
He doesn’t know he’s a doofus, which is why he proudly perches on prized furniture and stalks the yard shoulder-to-shoulder with the rotund and fearless leader. He is the second in command who doesn’t realize he got the job because he makes both a good boxer and patsy and he’s too dim to snitch properly. Plus, he seems to have garnered and extra dose of cuteness that causes the humans to dote and fawn with treats and catnip which can be distributed according to the leader’s whims.
Yesterday, I reread the old Dream Country Sandman story about the writer who kidnaps a muse. I also went to the comic book store with my buddy, listened to some of the music he’s been working (electronic, club sort of stuff), and then wandered down to the Art Walk in Miami with him.
It amuses me that the old Fashion District has morphed into the Wynwood Arts District (though the old “El Barrio” series of warehouses does look prettier with the colorful graffiti than it did with the cyclone wire and bad dog signs). The cyclical nature of certain city areas interests me. That if the economy continues to tumble downward, the art students will have less of their parents’ money to spend on cute dresses and skinny jeans and art, thus the area will deteriorate again. If the economy picks up, the hipsters will grow up to be real estate developers and convert the whole area to trendy lofts and overpriced condos.
For now, it’s a hotbed of this sort of thing:
My buddy kept asking me if anything was inspiring me. He meant visually because I’ve also been known to shoot a lot of photos in my day. I’ve also had a tendency to experiment with old cameras, Polaroid transfers, etching, solar prints, pin hole cameras… you know all the hipster foolishness that has turned “shitty” photography into an art form because digital made non-shitty photos too easy.
I’m not sure it inspired me visually, but I did file a lot of things away. Or, the “hamsters” I joke do all the filing in my brain filed things away.
I do have a character that lives down that way. I haven’t revisited him in a while because I’ve been working on a different story at the present. Makes me wonder what he’d think of the changes. Methinks he’d be amused, too.
Plus, if I keep roaming the streets of Miami and the like, I won’t need to kidnap a muse for ideas.
A couple of weeks ago I tweeted something about being at the beach for a swim and the fact that TYE Studios was filming there at the time. The hubby happened to be shooting promo video for them that night. I give you the result. (No, I’m not in it & neither is Hubby, however his assistant is.)
If you’d like to just sign up for a class and go shoot your own models with TYE, check their Learning Center/Workshop schedule for the next Swimsuits at Sunset (or whatever else you and your DSLR fancy).
We went to Lauderdale-By-The-Sea beach again. There’s something about a beach vacation that you somewhat forget about when you live near the beach: the touristy shops that smell of cheap vinyl pool floats, T-shirt printing, and suntan oil; ice cream shops crammed with sweaty, salty people dreaming about the curative powers of waffle cones; the sunburnt look on faces young and old. Typically, there’s also a smell of old hot dogs, cheap chips, and deep-fried mystery foods, but LBTS magically avoids all that while still being an affordable escape. (Fort Lauderdale had parking for “only $10” but we ended up putting about 75 cents in the meter a couple of exits north.)
On our way out into the water, which was packed because the weekend had blessedly arrived for the locals and long-weekenders, someone starts yelling “shark.” We watched as the large — much too large to be a single shark — dark spot moved passed us at a leisurely pace. When it finally came up, it wasn’t a fin but rather a snout. Manatees. What they were doing so close to shore, I have no idea, but at least they were safe from boaters there.
Out at the reef, we saw a turtle, a bunch of fish, and loads of coral — some of it seems to be coming back or at least growing anew.