Establishing Shots

I’m working on a The Set entry for the Yolo Bypass Wildlife Area, one of my favorite places for self-portraits. I have five different spots within the area that I frequent. I call this one “the runway” due to the short strip of pavement, thoughtfully placed for my posing pleasure. This is the only concrete surface in the entire area. Everything else is dirt or gravel.


Vest, AC-3998 (cut from a thrifted jacket). Top, The Limited. Pants, Polo Ralph Lauren. Shoes, J Crew. Sunglasses, Coco Sunglasses. Earrings, Ali’s Boutique. Bag, Aldo.


I’ve been taking “scenic” shots of my photo spots. I thought it might be fun to also get a picture of me taking my picture. (This is the camera height I use for shoe pics.)

Capital Capitol

It doesn’t get much grander than Toastmasters in the capitol building!


Jacket, Xhilaration (thrifted). Shirt, Old Navy. Skirt, Outlander (thrifted and gifted). Boots, Lauren Ralph Lauren. Sunglasses, Charming Charlie. Earrings, Ali’s Boutique. Necklace, Zad. Purse, Clark’s.


I felt so special to get to go in THERE for some “offical business:”


You may be disappointed that I didn’t take my outfit photos on the steps of the Capitol. It does appear to be allowed (I saw a woman posing among the columns for a pro photog on my way in), but I don’t have the balls to set up my tripod in front of all the tourists, whip out the remote, and snap my self-portraits. I did make Beefy promise to return with me to see the museum in the basement and get my Capitol portrait.

Occupied

On Tuesday evening, I checked into the Marriott and entered room 711, to find it was already occupied! I opened the door, saw someone else’s bag parked at the end of the bed, and beat a hasty retreat to the front desk. After an apology, I was upgraded to a balcony room. Of course, I was thrilled, because balconies are great for outfit photos!

My Wednesday pics were taken at noon (during our lunch break) on my private patio, overlooking the pool. Thursday morning, I was looking forward to a repeat photo session, but the balcony next to mine was occupied and I was too shy to brazenly pose six feet from my rumpled, coffee-sipping, cigarette-smoking, male neighbor.


Sweater, thrifted. Dress, Parker (consignment). Tights, gift. Boots, Sofft (consignment). Earrings, Cuffs. Scarf, Canvas Boutique. Bag, Mondani.


After a long day of meetings and waiting for an 8:50 pm flight home, I had an entirely different level of “give a fuck” going on:

Big Game Hunter

When I was twelve, my aunt and uncle came to visit from Alaska and take us on a road trip from Washington to California. I’m not sure what possessed them to take their newborn baby and four nieces prone to motion sickness down the coast highway, but we made them pay. Our cousin never stopped screaming and we never stopped barfing. It must have been miserable for them to hear the sounds from the back seats.

Our destination was our uncle’s stepfather’s house somewhere on the northern California coast. I think we went there for the two to reconcile, but all I remember was the taxidermy. The man was quite wealthy and spent his riches on safaris. Not photo safaris. Not pet-the-giraffe safaris. Kill all things safaris. The upper floor of his house was one large room devoted to displaying his trophies. There was an entire stuffed bear, posed on its hind legs, its arms outstretched, and its jaws agape. An African lion stalked the room. Elephant tusks were displayed on walls, while the feet served as the base for glass-topped tables. Overlapping zebra hides covered the floor. I was quite impressed by the glamour of the dead animals.

I spent the night on a sofa in the den, watched over by a stuffed bobcat. I was forbidden from touching the slightly decaying feline, but I never took my eyes of its own shining (glass) orbs. Like the room upstairs, I was at once repulsed and attracted.

I’ve come to despise the big game hunter and his legacy of death, but there is some allure to the safari look. As long as it’s a safari that takes no more than photos and leaves no more than cash in the local economy.


Dress, Equipment. Shoes, Gianni Bini. Sunglasses, Toms. Earrings, Ali’s Boutique. Necklaces, thrifted and consignment. Bracelets, Claire’s, thrifted, vintage, and Garden of the Gods gift shop. Bag, vintage.

And here I am carrying an alligator bag. At least I didn’t shoot the alligator. (And, hopefully, he was enjoyed by a few people before the bag came into my possession.)


My own little hunter chases squirrels, but contents himself with the big blue ball (which I must toss endlessly into the doggy pool for him to retrieve).

Washed Suede Skirt

I took your advice and washed this suede skirt in my machine, on gentle, with cold water and Woolite. I hung it to dry. (Drying took three days!) It’s a little stiffer than it used to be, but otherwise unharmed. And the food stains are gone. Success!


Sweater, thrifted. Shirt, Christopher & Banks (thrifted). Skirt, Ann Taylor (thrifted). Tights, gift. Boots, Sofft (consignment). Sunglasses, Girlprops. Earrings, street fair. Bag, Nicole Lee.


And, a backlog of 365 photos:


Doggies’ first bark box. Jackson looking all grown up. Modeling for our Wella Intermix. How to Meditate With Your Dog.