Location scouting or looking to recreate a scene from "I Piss On Your Grave"?
This one seems to speak to me. It's sauce!
They're coming to get you Olive!
Nothing can sober you quicker than a trip through Baby Land. The fact that the area of Greenwood Cemetery is titled Baby Land belies that it is a cheery place but all I could feel was sorry and an eerie presence.
Of all the plots in Greenwood, this by far has the creepiest feeling to it. It is not so much the sadness of all the little lives cut short, although that plays a big part, but how the graves are represented that sends shivers up my spine.
Many people that tell stories of actual ghost sightings or supernatural episodes from Greenwood Cemetery tend to always have one thing common...where they were when it happened...
Ooooooooooh, it's motherfucking Halloween!!!! Not that you could tell. By any stretch of the imagination Orlando just doesn't cut it as scare central unless you count the fact that you take your life in your hands every day you climb up on I-4. Interestingly we have Casadega, the psychic enclave just to our north, and a yearly Halloween bash that oozes over every single theme park in the area (which is...a lot). But all in all, Halloween just doesn't have that feeling as it did back when I was growing up. I mean, it is rather hard to trick or treat in a town where everyone lives in an apartment and the roadways are treacherous enough that you dare not let your kids out on their own. Luckily, I live near one of the spookiest places in all of Orlando...
Nestled between the East/West Expressway and the brick streets of downtown, Greenwood 
Cemetery is the resting place of Orlando's first families and it should be noted, one of the most haunted spots in O-Town (that's what all the cool kids call Orlando; that and Whore-Lando).
After I first moved to the downtown area I went out to survey the land trying to locate my nearest gas station, Publix, dry cleaner, McDonald's...you know, the essentials. It wasn't for me trying to find it that stumbled upon Greenwood Cemetery with its rolling green hills, it sort of found me. I couldn't have missed it if I tried though, it is practically within zombie attack distance from my apartment. This isn't surprising though as I have always been "too close" to a cemetery every place that I have lived and well, you all know my feelings toward the "Z" word.
During the day though, Greenwood Cemetery is a very 
lovely place. It has nicely kept grounds with gigantic Live Oak trees and quaint twisting thouroghfares. And yes, even though the sign states that no pets are allowed, I find that it is a perfectly fine spot to walk the dog. Given the fact that not many people living or dead (thank God) are seen visiting the park, it is also a very quite place to go if you ever need some down time or just want to roam and take in the artwork on the tombstones or gander at the very historic names of the residents of Greenwood Cemetery.
I apologize if you are not from this area but for those of you who have driven anywhere downtown, the names on some of the graves should ring a bell to you: Joseph Bumby, Mayor Mahlon Gore, Cassius Boone (Great-Grandson of Daniel Boone), Mayor Capt. James Parramore, Mayor Bob Carr, Mayor Beardall, T. G. Lee, David Lockhart, Samuel Robinson, Elijah Hand, Carey Hand, Joe Tinker...Batman. Yes, Batman!
Although I could not find a Bruce Wayne living in Orlando, the grave certainly gave off an austere presence and commanded my upmost respect.
The story of Greenwood Cemetery is exceptionally ripe with textbook examples of why it should very well be the most haunted place on earth short of being the former site of some ancient druidic society. In 1892, the city of Orlando purchased the site which had been named Greenwood Cemetery from its private owners for $3000. At the same time, the city bought an additional 14 acres adjacent to the cemetery. This made a total of 60 acres. At the time, most graves were moved from downtown graveyards and other family plots to Greenwood.
Did I mention that the downtown graveyard referred to above was moved to make way for a church? (hence the name Church Street for all you locals) Oh yeah, it's classic Hollywood exorcist/poltergeist material in the making. It seems that this transaction was so hastily done that not until they built the foundations for the church that they found - 
Oopsie! not all of the graves had been moved! Couple this with the fact that the relocated bodies in Greenwood were lost after some time due to the fact that the simple wooden grave markers that were used had deteriorated. You can also attribute any ghostly activity to the dense Civil War burials and...get ready for it, Baby Land area. Yes, I said Baby Land. Trust me people, even in daylight this is one freaky section of the cemetery.
Yes, Greenwood has all the typical visual ephemeria that lends itself to tales of restless spirits whether the be real or not. There's the ubiquitous dead tree, the hanging spanish moss (suposedly a sign of a haunted place), the barely readable-because-it's-so-old headstone and the ominous creepy mausoleum. All of this is well and good but it is the other crap (with all due respect) that mixes in with the old to make this one heck of a visual romp!
For historical referrence (and sorry to bore you) here is a recounting of Greenwood's history from its architect and founder, Mr. Samuel Robinson as told to the Orlando Reporter-Star back in 1915, before it became the Sentinel and spent all its time slamming Disney.
"Some time since, Mr. C. A. Boone and I, who are the only original stockholders of the Orlando Cemetery Company who now live in Florida, petitioned the Honorable City Council of Orlando to name said cemetery "Greenwood." After the publication in the newspapers of a request that names be sent to the council for consideration, the Honorable Council finally decided upon the name which we proposed.
In 1875, the Town of Orlando was incorporated. It took all of the twenty-five voters living in the two miles square to legally incorporate. The importance of a large burial ground was not contemplated and interments were made in many places in this vicinity. Some were taken to Conway, some also to Powell's, south of Orlando, and some to the Beasley plot six miles west of Orlando. In the north part of Orlando, overlooking Highland lake, many burials were made, but there is now nothing left there to show a single grave. Many were buried north of a building which stood on the north side of Church Street in the east part of the Tremont hotel yard. I think that there is not a vestige of anything left that will show where Samuel Russ and many others were buried. The building above referred to was used as a church and schoolhouse, and was the means of the street being called 'Church Street.'
I designed, surveyed and platted the cemetery, and it has been pronounced by experts as being one of the best original designs.The City of Lakeland, Florida copied my design in laying out their cemetery last year.In 1911, the boundaries of the city were changed by an act of the legislature, so as to include the forty acres owned by the city. The city management of the cemetery has been good, and the present council are very ably upbuilding and beautifying Greenwood.
Respectfully submitted,
Samuel A. Robinson, September 14, 1915"
I have not seen any orbs appear in my photos, encountered any apparitions, nor have I felt anyone watching me aside from the groundskeeper making sure that Olive didn't go #2 on T.G. Lee's grave. I did take a few really neat photos that I would like to share with you now. Happy Halloween!
The detail at Greenwood is amazing, beautiful and creepy all at the same time.
"I want to be laid next to Ma"...priceless sentiments like this are everywhere. Click to Enlarge.
I just liked the graphic in the middle. Reminds me of a graphic they would use in an ad for a 1950's community.
I was drawn to this interesting bit of architecture.
More of it.
1. a column. 2. Please don't tell me that a 166 year old main is still alive and kicking in Orlando. Come to think of it, I might have been behind him at Publix when he was trying to use a check. Fred is a strange guy for picking that quote for his grave. Doesn't bode well for him. Click to Enlarge.
Another odd sight. This was taken in August!!!
I have to tell you seeing this was profoundly intriguing.
People in Florida are cool.
A creepy Mausoleum.
detail
Stairway to Heaven?
Greenwood Cemetery, 1603 Greenwood Street, Orlando
Concerts are funny places. In the past you knew exactly what you were getting into, the crowd you would see, if it was going to be clove cigarettes or pot you would be smelling. Now though, much like going to see a movie, it is an amalgam of noise, trash and vomit.
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Last night's Nine Inch Nails show is case in point fuel to my "The Art of Rock" diatribe that I have been spouting for some time. Unfortunately, you are now a captive audience so I feel I can dispense with its nuances.
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For starters, Trent Reznor and company know how to put on a show and entertain the young'uns so let's understand that the artist has no bearing on its patrons. In fact, last night was a very enjoyable concert going experience shared with some of my very best friends, and let's face it, that is what it is all about; sharing good music with good people. But I am a cynical son of a bitch so with that territory comes the gift of acute observation.
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The Art of Rock is all about knowing your etiquette while in the presence of others at a concert, this includes everything from stupid hand gestures, attire and nasty social habits. The caveat for any statement I make here is that music makes you feel good and sometimes do stupid things, I got it.
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Hand Gestures: The Basics
The most common and overused has to be the air guitar. Unless you are proficient at the real thing and can teach me a move or two, this is tired, old and OUT! Please stop immediately. Instead, try air keyboards for a change...just to be different, if you have to let your "Hey!" out.
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Next is something I like to call Raise the glass of Stupidity. You are out of the house and away from your youth pastor, why not partake in a libation. Concerts are your weekend in the middle of the week so drinking is fine. What isn't fine is feeling the need to "offer" the performers on stage a sip of your Lynchburg Lemonade from 30 rows back by raising your glass in the air as a symbolic gesture. I came here without beer in my hair and plan to leave that way. Also, I could see perfectly fine every other second when your cup finally came down for you to take another sip...you lush. Simon LeBon doesn't want any of your beverage, he has his own and it's better than what you're drinking.
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Devil Horns. When did you start doing this? Please reserve this for when you pose at a Metallica show or at Ozzfest. Instead a simple fist hand pump is acceptable, or possibly a lovely "heart" made with your hands (a skinny tie original), or better yet, bring a Chinese finger trap and save the cliche hand outbursts for your bedroom.
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If you are looking for a good use of energy output, instead of acting foolish with one of the above offenses, why not try good old fashion hand clapping. Why, think of the benefits. All that energy pent up inside of you, there's that one part of the song that makes you want to shoot the devil horns or dump beer on the person in front of you, start clapping your hands in time with the beat. You might even start something that catches and before long, everyone is one big time keeping happy family! Besides, the artists love this. As a matter of fact, just last night Trent Reznor felt the love and started waving his hands over his head in a clapping motion. Too macho to clap your hands? Take it from Mr. Self-Destruct, even he likes hand clapping!
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Attire
No one is safe from the critical eye of the arena walkway. No, not in today's world where accountants, lawyers, McDonald's employees, porn stars (amateur mostly), moms, dads, kids and oldsters all mix in at the same Staind concert. I am no fashion plate (nor Staind fan) myself but I do know some fairly simple rules when it comes to dressing for success at concerts.
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Do NOT wear the shirt of the band you are going to see. This is a very basic and, for many of you, already understood rule of the road. We all know that you really really REALLY love Weezer but if you are going to the show, do not put on the tour shirt. Hell shit and damn you can scream all you want that you were there in River's garage back in 1992, but wearing their shirt makes you no more of a fan than the 10 year old next to you. Not to be a rock snob but in this case, showing your support makes you a loser.
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I saw it on Mtv! Why is it that people try sooo hard to dress a certain way for a show just because they saw someone do it on Mtv or The O.C. when in fact by day, they wouldn't be caught dead in their concert get-ups? I often wonder where the girls in the ripped fishnets with raccoon eyes and studded collars go during the day. Do they take my car payment at Suntrust? Are they the one I buy my gummi bears from at Walgreens? It is not so much that I dislike people getting in the mood of a certain group, it is just that some people take it too far and adopt the "attitude" that goes with it. To butcher a line, It is when people start being fake and stop being real that really gets my thrift store Penguin shirt and funky dress slacks in an uproar! I have no claim to anything hip or cool, trust me, but it is really frustrating when you have been flying the (actual) skinny tie for quite some time without taking hints from a hit TV show and then see people adopting it like a fucking Live Strong bracelet. We are all victims of pop culture, I admit it and happily embrace its effect, but don't' go to a Tilly and the Wall show dressed like you are a reject from Blink 182...you just don't get it. I know it is hard, but find your own style. Put a plastic bag over your head, maybe it will catch on.
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Just kidding. Wear whatever you want but at least try to be yourself.
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I saw it at Hot Topic! I think this one speaks for itself. We know you "heart" your penis. Great.
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Finally, here is a wish list of things that I pray to Debbie Gibson will go away soooon: Hair coloring "just because." Green hair coloring is the worst offender, it's just gross. Studded collars (you are so tough!), Black dusters, knee high army boots, Vote for Pedro t-shirts, wearing a skinny tie out of context (i.e. around a moronic t-shirt...gasp!), mesh shirts, black angel wings, face painting...basically anything from the aforementioned Hot Topic, Spencer's or if you just plain old look like you stepped out of an episode of Chris Angel, Mindfreak!!!
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Conduct
Let's make an analogy, shall we? Going to a concert = going to church. For some, this truly is the case. With that in mind, just like in church, there are some rules and regulations to be observed and some common decencies you should know while church..ahem, NIN is in service.
Phrasing. Please do not say "Woooo!" or "Freebird." The first one makes me imagine you just had to get out of the sorority house for the night and are looking for the nearest kegger. The second just makes you look like an ass and just so you know, it wasn't even funny the first time someone said it a million years ago before Lynyrd Skynyrd wrote that song. That is how damn old and tired that phrase is.
DO: sing along with the artist. Of course, it would be nice if you sounded halfway decent but it is dark and no one is really listening. tee heehee
Tall people to the back! Not like I really feel that because of your height you should be relegated to the back of the floor but...Hey! I heard they were giving away free beer in the back of the room, you oughta go get some! Actually, I have a friend that I attend shows with who is well over 6'3"...6'5"...God, how tall are you Brad? Anyway, since this is my blog and it is pretty much a fantasy world we are talking about here, this is my rule of etiquette: Tall people to the back. Ha! Tall people with that urban afro shit going on, please step to the waaaay back. I always seem to get behind the tallest, frizziest person in the place.
My next rule of conduct is something I call I think I can fit!...at the last minute! It never fails, just as the lights go dark and the headliner takes the stage, a wave of humanity rushes down to the floor where you have stood since an hour before the show and slowly forces you away from the stage until you are ultimately assisting the merch booth kids. In real life, these kids couldn't parallel park correctly if they had a hundred tries at it but come concert time, they are the masters of finding enough space to fit their entire big boy brigade. So here's the etiquette. If you like the group that much, afford yourself time to get a good spot 'cause this skinny white boy ain't moving! It's just plain rude to immediately inherit the space where my crotch is.
Have you ever seen the girl train? Similar to the I think I can fit but more alluring. This phenomenon is alive and well at every music event from Hansen to Rammstein. A gaggle (hmm, yes gaggle) of girls hook hand-in-hand, grease themselves down and slither their way from the entrance doors all the way to the front of the stage where, if God has a sense of humor, they will end up smack dab in front of the I think I can fits. This is all accomplished through the girl trains' counting on their feminine prowess to gain access through the crowd. I really don't fall for that shit so the charm of it is lost on me.
Flashing your tits. I really don't go to the type of show where this is common practice, sorry. But I would say unless it is acceptable for guys to start rocking their business freely too, I don't want any part of it. I'm an equal opportunity voyeur.
Knowing your limits. Until last night, I thought the Guns n' Roses crowd had all but vanished from the scene. You know the type, the best part about the evening to them is not caring who they were coming to see but how fucking much they can drink before the show. Thanks to a group just like this, I spent the entire NIN set last night smelling recycled Moe's. Nice! Honey, you are so attractive with that little bit of burrito stuck to your fishnets.
My last and final rule of conduct involves one of the biggest concert obstacles, smoking. I really don't want to write too much on this topic as I already have another Skinny Tie post about this formulating as we speak, but I will say this: I don't care if you paid as much as I did to get into the show and I don't care if it is a "free world" or not. I cannot escape your floating cancer cloud. Even if it makes you look cooler (which it does not), even if you can only enjoy a musical venue by pretending you are SnoopfuckingDogg and even if you are so insanely helpless and sad and addicted to cigarettes that you have no self control can you please at least go for two damn hours without lighting up? I feel I must speak for those who prefer not to damage their bodies by substances they have no control over like cigarettes, pollution, Anthrax and umm, White Snake cover bands.
And so, there you have a small sampling of what I like to call the Art of Rock. It is this author's humble opinion that it's possible to enjoy a great concert and not have to drive screws through your eyes from seeing the freakshow going on around you, if only others would practice the Art of Rock. Of course in retrospect, it always makes you feel superior when you can laugh at the tween couple next to you playing air guitar and feeling all edgy in their best Hot Topic tees. It's sad when going to see a great band is more of a social statement than it is about the music. Ah, misguided youth.
For every Napoleon Dynamite or Ashlee Simpson-as-Daisy Duke parading around this Halloween, take a moment to look back at the decade that made it all possible. In the Eighties, the pop culture bubble carbon copied itself and exploded! No sooner had T.J. Hooker hit the airwaves, kids everywhere were donning William Shatner and Heather Locklear masks on their mission to fill their pillowcases with candy. Forget the cliche ballerina and ghost costume, if you dressed up in the Eighties, you were either a rock star with magenta colored hair or if you did opt for a ghost, you would either be going as Blinky, Pinky or Clyde.
The best part about Halloween costumes in the Eighties were how damn BAD they were! There was something about the cheapness of them that (in hindsight I suppose) made them so endearing. I remember going as Peter Criss from KISS one year and by the end of the night, my plastic jumpsuit had ripped at the crotch, most of the glued-on hair on my mask had frayed, and I had all but cut my lips on the small plastic opening where I was able to breathe. I fondly remember the new plastic smell of these Halloween costumes and trying to straighten out the creases in them each year. There was nothing worse than trying to look cool in your costume with plus signs going up and down the front of your pants.
Go as David Hasselhoff! Excuse me, but anyone who watched this show would much rather go as Kitt. I was surprised to find a Boss Hogg costume. Unless you really had an ego problem, I am not sure I'd like to meet the kid who chose to be a fat southern bureaucrat versus one of the hot Duke cousins.
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Blondes have more fun! Who would you be for Halloween? Plain old Jerrica Benton or her vamped out alter ego Jem?! I can't even believe there was a choice. I also wonder how many boys bought this costume...and where are they now?
Shopping for a Halloween costume was almost as much fun and as big of an event as shopping for school supplies. Gosh, I would love rushing to Wal-Mart each year as soon as word got out that they were putting up the costume aisle and hope that they would have something cool left in my size. I loved the fact that you could count on that costume aisle every year like clockwork. Right there at the front of the store and to the left. I remember the way it smelled and how the costumes were hung like clothes in a closet; their hollow eyes and vacant smiles subconsciously whispering "pick me!" It was probably the only time of the year that I would bypass my visit to the toy section first.
I loved my Boba Fett costume! The silver on the mask was so thin that you could see right through it. It also had this awesome cape which made me of course feel cool; I would then catch a glimpse of those stupid silver plastic pants and feel like the 10 year old geek I was. The Chachi costume is understandable. Oddly I could not find any record of a Joani costume...hmmmm.
Rude Dog rocks! Where's Spuds MacKenzie or the Panama Jack guy?!
My vote for two of the best costumes...ever!
One of the best things about the Eighties is the variety of these generic costumes, ANYTHING could be popular enough to marketed. Why would anyone design an Asteroids costume first of all. Second of all, why does the asteroid resemble brains?
Halloween is still a great holiday for everyone from small children to the directionless Hot Topic goth kids; but for me, it had its zenith back in the Eighties. Grabbing a few things at Target last night I gandered at the Halloween section to see what costumes I might see this year and low and behold I saw a familiar sight! Daisy Duke, Bo and Luke Duke, Crockett from Miami Vice! Everything old is new again. Gone are the cheesy plastic suits and thin expressionless masks. Instead, real fabric and accessories are used. I think they are great but they lack the graphic design of the original. If you do it right though, I bet you could still rip the crotch out of your Crockett costume!
