Normally I have no problem coming up with original content, but I’m stealing this post idea from a fellow, more seasoned blogger – Orlando Soria of Hommemaker. He does some wonderful posting about home decor and design, as well as life as a gay man, and life in LA.
When I first heard of Instagram, it felt like the successor to Hipstamatic, which was much too Brooklyn for me. That is: kitschy, to a fault.
What I discovered was far more compelling. A simple, linear social app combining existing elements in a new way. Users snap pictures (already part of the iPhone hardware), apply simple contrasts and digital filters to them, and follow other users (Ã la Twitter), many of whom could be searched using existing Twitter, Facebook, or e-mail contacts.
Twitter-style hashtags (which oddly enough, seem to be disappearing from twitter) are also applied, so photos can be easily categorized and searched.
What you have in Instagram is a veritable portfolio of digital photographic artistry, with very little else as far as a profile page. Skill levels range among users, and some cheat to get higher follower numbers or more brilliant pictures, pulling in content and tools from other apps. But, Instagram lets us all be photoshop amateurs, making everyday, and every selfie, look romantic and surreal.
Naturally, narcissists love it.
This week was the first after my family received some sad news. I don’t care to elaborate, but I was in a daze for most of it. When I’m upset I seek out duvet covers and rest, but you can’t spend more than a day doing that. Life goes on, and so does social media.
I needed a release, and it came in the form of a great spin class, for charity. I was in a funk, but it helped lift my mood. Spin is one of the few exercises that allows you to get a little lost in the moment, without tripping or dropping a weight on your toe. A mix of songs – Nicky Romero & Avicii, Of Monsters and Men, and Cazwell, if you’re taking Brad’s class – keeps the brain engaged.
On Sunday, I joined some friends for a Thai lunch at the Buddhist temple in Palm River, which used to be a well-kept secret and is now, sadly, more common. Still good Pad Thai and Curry, albeit more Disney than food truck in its delivery. They sell cheap greenery and orchids too.
On Tuesday I snapped a shot of my favorite historic, retired fire station, on South Magnolia in Hyde Park. My dream would be to live in a fire house, with a station bay full of cars. This one has been a playboy’s man cave for the past few years – was for sale at one point for over a million bucks.
On Wednesday: Mimi looking far too comfortable stretched between my mom’s legs on top of the red alpaca.
Closer to work, on an errand at lunch: aren’t motorcycle cops a bit passÃ©? Not for the Hillsborough County Sheriff. That is a brand-new bike. Cop could lose a few, but he’s sorta cute with his boots and helmet.
I hopped down to Anna Maria Island on Saturday to see Catherine, visiting from DC. We laid out on Holmes Beach and dipped in the perfect 83 degree water. I told her that was why I still enjoyed living in Florida.
On the way home from Bradenton I stopped by my grandparents’ memorial, which has been undisturbed since 1999, when I was 12. Never really knew Pat, my grandmother. Feeling nostalgic this week, and a little sad.
Sunday brought a vegan brunch of epic Southern proportions: chick-un & waffles! Great event and people-watching as always, Cafe Hey! Held the last Sunday of every month at 11.
And finally: I thought my brother’s keys looked ripe for primetime. He made sure all his keys were a matching shade of gold, and bought a leather key ring from Makr with brass trim to accent.
I don’t always have so many posts to Instagram (still have a relatively low 430 photos after 18 months), but this was a particularly eventful, and emotional, week. I thought I would share.