East Orange Shooting Sports

Posted on by Thor

Katie Windish’s friend Arden Monroe suggested I come out to a shooting range to sketch. It was a crisp clear fall morning. I arrived at the East Orange Shooting Sports (7210 Gardner Street, Winter Park) perhaps fifteen minutes early since there was no traffic on the East West Expressway. Entering the parking lot my heart started pounding. I have never touched a gun in my life. The parking lot was almost full with perhaps twenty vehicles. When I killed the engine I suddenly heard the distant popping of the guns being fired. There was a bench next to the entrance and I sat next to a man wearing a Magic jersey. His exposed deltoid, biceps and triceps had a New Zealand style sharp spiraling tattoo that snaked down his arm. The American flag waved in the cool breeze beside me.

Toby Monroe walked up with a rifle case and several other smaller cases with hand guns. All the windows were barred. Hand guns and rifles decorated the walls behind the register.We all had to fill out release forms. Questions such as, “Have you ever been arrested? and, Are you an American Citizen?”, I quickly checked “No.” One question read, “Have you ever been depressed?” caused me to pause. Who hasn’t been depressed at some point? I decided to lie and checked “No.” We were given a quick five minute lesson on how to handle the guns on the range. The most important point being to keep the barrel of the gun always facing into the range. Katie and I got ear phones and protective goggles. When we entered the range the noise was deafening and constant. Katie was the first to fire and Toby showed her how to hold the handgun. I quickly blocked in the sketch. Her first shot was so loud that other shooters looked around with gun envy. The Luger spit out the empty bullet shell which ricocheted off the side barricade and flew back hitting me in the shoulder. I jumped and the line I was drawing swerved.

When it was my turn, Toby explained how to use the safety and how to hold the gun. Toby works for Kel-Tech designing and testing rifles and handguns. Many of the weapons we were shooting were new designs. I fired the Luger and was blinded and surprised by the muzzle flash and kickback. Araden let me shoot her grandfathers Sears revolver. I emptied the spent shells and reloaded. This gun had less of a kick and I felt a bit more confident with my aim. When we pulled back the target, clothes line style, I could see how I did. Arden said I had a good grouping most of my shots were in the area of the right lung. She said having a tight grouping is more important than hitting the bulls eye. I took comfort in that. I was glad I had even hit the target. I returned to the sketch adding color washes.

Toby pulled out the rifle which unfolded neatly. I had to take off the headphones and goggles to use this weapon in order to press my cheek up against the stock looking through the cross hairs. I emptied the entire clip into the target with spent shells arching to the floor all around me. Over lunch after, Toby said that countries that require all citizens to own a gun had less crime than any other country. Apparently there is a town in Texas that also insists that everyone must own a gun. For me, shooting guns at a range is a bit more exciting than bowling. Since I never bowl, I will probably never shoot.

Bullets cannot be recalled. They cannot be uninvented. But they can be taken out of the gun.
– Martin Amis

Rocky Horror Rehearsal

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Jeremy Seghers who plays Riff Raff invited me to a dress rehearsal for “The Rocky Horror Show at Theater Downtown (2113 North Orange Avenue). The show runs till November 13th. Steve MacKinnon, the director, introduced himself and he offered suggestions on the best vantage point to sketch from. The show opens with the cast sitting in front of a movie screen with the lips projected. I started blocking in the sketch and tried to resist putting in the red curtains since I knew they would be coming down. I couldn’t resist drawing the lips and dripping lettering. In the first act Jeremy sang “Over at the Frankenstein Place.”. He looked like Frankenstein with his high platform shoes dressed in formal black. All of the singing leads were given headset mics and the sound levels were crisp and clear. More important was the fact that the songs were belted out with sincerity and bravado. This is a talented cast that really throws their hearts into every song.

The set was pretty minimal with golden columns and picture frames hung at odd angles. This cast shines brighter than gold. Atmospheric fog added to some really nice lighting effects. The whole show was sensuous and fun. Culminating in an orgy group dance number that makes the movie seem tame. The Time Warp dance is so energetic that I can not imagine an audience that wouldn’t want to join in. Jeremy confided that he split his pants the first time he did the dance at a dress rehearsal. The final song sung by Adam McCabe as Frank-n-Furter, “Don’t dream it, Be it” is uplifting and inspiring. This show is campy, and over the top fun. It is time well spent to ring in the Halloween season!

Song Circle

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Dandelion Communitea Cafe (618 North Thornton Avenue) hosts a monthly song circle where an informal group of musicians and song writers gather to jam for several hours. This was one of Orlando’s first cool evenings, so everyone sat outside under a canopy. The first performers consisted of Jerry Mincey on guitar and vocals, Joe Canitia on the mandolin and Tony Macalusa on bass. They played several warm folksy tunes before passing the baton to the next performer. As far as I know, every song performed was original. One song writer and guitarist apologized, saying the song was still in development. This is what was so nice about this gathering. New ideas, lyrics and music could be tested and shared with musicians who would gladly offer supportive advice. The night was cool the stars were bright and the music was red hot. I didn’t stay for the full duration of the song circle since I planned to jump over to Redlight Redlight to hear another group perform.

Lakeridge Winery

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Terry and I drove up to the Lakeridge Winery (19239 U.S. 27 North, Clermont), for a 50’s 60’s themed car show and music festival called Vintage Venture. There was a $2 donation to get into the event but the wine tasting was free. There was a constant flow of people into the winery. Some people walked past me with cases of wine piled into old fashioned red flier wagons. People also returned empty bottles in the same wagons. The woman at the entrance would read her book, then ask, “Free wine tasting?” whenever someone stopped. Her table displayed all the wines made at the winery. Since I was holding a pad and taking notes, people must have assumed I was a manager since I kept fielding questions about the tasting and the festival.

When I finished this sketch, I texted Terry and we both went in for the wine tasting. There were nine different wines to be sampled. My favorite was a Blanc du Bois 2009 which was a semi-dry white wine with a rich fruity flavor. Quite honestly I was surprised at how good all the wines were. I never thought of Central Florida as a place where grapes could be grown. Terry tried growing tomatoes in the backyard once and they literally exploded on the vine from excessive heat and then too much rain. I was amazed that grapes could be spared such a fate.

There were perhaps 20 or so vintage cars. I considered drawing them but I couldn’t find a shady spot with a good view. While I was sketching the winery, Elvis performed on the main stage while 2 old women danced in poodle skirts.

Winter Park Farmers Market

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I ran across the Winter Park Farmers Market as I was looking for a writing and yoga workshop. I never found the workshop so I returned to sketch the market. It seemed like every other person in the market had a dog. There were pugs, poodles, greyhounds and this furry beast who lunged forward whenever he saw another dog. The owner pulled back hard on the leash. An older man walking by said, “That is no way to treat a dog.” The yuppie just went on shopping.

Across from me there was bamboo for sale along with garden plants. The proprietor fingered his iPhone. There was local honey in the booth behind me. A little girl walked up to me and asked what I was drawing. I had met this child just a week before at a political forum. Small world.

When I finished the sketch, I began my search for some lunch. I found a small booth that served omelets. When I got t he omelet, I settled on a park bench to eat. The Winter Park historical society was on my right. A woman sat across from me and she must have noticed that I was studying the architecture. She said, “I can’t believe the building isn’t open when the market is open. They are missing a chance to get some foot traffic.” She then started to tell me all about the history of peacocks in Winter Park. The Tiffany’s had a large property where they let peacocks roam. Peacocks are in Winter Park to this day.

Oktoberfest

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The German American Society of Central Florida (381 Orange Lane, Casselberry) holds an annual Oktoberfest. This fall I have attended a plethora of “fests” but this is the real deal not some homogenized commercial knock off. We knew we were getting close when we saw cars parked on lawns and every business parking lot was full. A tiny Smart car managed to find a parking spot by driving on the grass around some SUV’s his tight turning radius was enviable. Women and men walked the sidewalks in authentic Tyrolean outfits. The German Society building resembled an authentic Alpine lodge. I could hear the German music out back and the place looked packed. We had to buy five dollar tickets to get inside. We both realized at the same time that we had no cash. I pulled the change out of my pocket and started counting pennies. We had to leave and find a cash machine. We found an ATM at a 7-11 and went back. This time we got in and I started sketching the musicians immediately.

Germans are strict disciplinarians. Children were crowded on the dance floor running, screaming and dancing. The German singer kept shouting, “All children off the dance floor! We will stop playing if the children do not get off the dance floor.” In time, order was restored. Terry was nice enough to bring me a cup of beer which I sipped while I worked. Lesley Silvia had suggested that I had to get some potato pancakes. With my sketch finished, I got some food tickets and sought out my pancakes.

We stood in line to get potato pancakes for one and a half hours. In the line in front of us a tattoo artist was trying to talk a chipper blond out of getting a tattoo on the inside of her index finger that looked like a mustache. She wanted to be able to raise her finger to her face at parties as a joke. He told her he would never do such a tattoo and that it would make her look trashy. By the time we got to the front of the line, Terry was getting annoyed. My plate had been served yet she still had to wait. I gave her a taste of my pancakes and she calmed down. I tasted several beers but many people were staggering drunk. I was told that this was the largest crowd they ever had for Oktoberfest.

Gay Pride Day

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Sunday October 10th was Gay Pride Day in Orlando. I went down to Lake Eola about two hours before t he parade was to begin. As I walked towards the park, I saw a man struggling to get a horse carriage out of an 18 wheeler. Around the lake tents were set up and vendors were quickly arranging their wares. I walked past all the tents with a personal mission in mind. I wanted to sketch the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. I had sketched several sisters putting on make-up months ago yet never had the chance to sketch them when they were fully made up. I never found them. I finally found a shady tree with a view of the tents set against the skyscrapers in the distance. Activity around the beer tent was constant.

Terry texted me several times to try and find me. I texted back, “I am behind the rainbow.” She responded, “Which rainbow? There are so many. ” Several more texts were needed. When I finished this sketch there was just 5 minutes till the parade began. I thought I might just relax and watch the parade, but the urge to sketch kicked in. As I blocked in the second sketch, a police motorcycle pulled up in front of me. I suddenly had a center of interest, something stable in the changing sea of humanity. Terry pushed her way to the front of the crowd and fought hard for the necklaces, trinkets and candy that was being thrown from the floats. A box of candy landed next to where I was seated. They were called “Nerds” and they were tasty. Scantily clad men and women danced on the floats. Through it all the police officer stood stoically , never changing his steely gaze.

When the parade was over Terry wanted to look at all the tents around the lake. The narrow walkway was jam packed now and I had already seen the tents earlier. I convinced her to leave the crush of humanity and sit on a grassy hill while I ate a slice of pizza. A woman walked by with a sign that read, “I may be straight, but I am not narrow.” That pretty much sums up why I like to come out on Gay Pride Day and document this fun event with my sketches.

Harbor House Breakfast Fundraiser

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Harbor House held a fund-raising breakfast at the First Baptist Church (3000 South John Young Parkway). I was invited by the second Vice President of the Harbor House Board of Directors to attend and sketch. When everyone filed into the room and sat down at the circular dining tables, the first order of business was the screening of a news story about domestic violence. The facts presented were staggering. Between 2009 and 2010 there was a 20% increase in domestic violence cases in Central Florida. As the economy gets worse, the violence in Central Florida is on the rise. Twenty six people died in the last 12 months due to domestic violence. 759 women and children were sheltered from the brink of deadly violence at Harbor House. There is a pandemic of violence by men against women and children in our state.

Carol Wick, the CEO of Harbor House said, “The city beautiful may be considered the happiest place on earth…until you go inside Central Florida homes.” She told the story of an event that happened in a quiet neighborhood apartment complex. Neighbors began to hear the screams of a woman calling for help inside an apartment. There were the brutal sounds of her body hitting the walls. Everyone knew what was happening, yet no one called 911. The next morning an elderly woman went to the manager and said, “You better check in that apartment because I think a woman was murdered.” The woman had indeed been murdered. This story makes me angry and outraged. Outrage is nothing without action. Some people simply say, “Well why didn’t she just leave?” In many cases women were trying to leave an abusive partner when they were killed. Had anyone in that apartment complex called the police, that woman would be alive today.

Carol talked about a new program called Project Courage which engages every member of the community to help stop the violence. This program creates support for survivors of abuse, holds abusers accountable for their actions and teaches all members of a community to recognize abuse, respond to it effectively and refer people to assistance. The glimmer of hope I clung to when confronted with the staggering facts about domestic violence was the idea that none of us is alone, as a community we can help stop the violence. By recognizing how we can help others, we become part of something much larger than ourselves.

Sultana Ali got up and said, “Batterers are the stealers of dreams. Not on our watch will this be allowed to happen anymore.” Everyone was asked to vizualize a world in which children do not have to fear going home, a world in which every member of the community actively helps stop the violence. Gifts donated at this fundraiser saved lives.

“So I fight with one hand and love with the other. In my dreams, I love with both hands and the fighting is over.” – A Survivor

Britt Daley

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I had just finished up a Doctor Sketchy’s drawing session at Tatame Sake Lounge (223 West Fairbanks Avenue, Winter Park.) As I packed up my supplies, a woman walked in carrying various band equipment. After she leaned the equipment against the wall, she stood in the doorway. I recognized her, but I couldn’t place her in a recognizable context. I must have been staring because she finally pointed to me and said, “We met at Evan and Christy Miga’s house. The light bulb flickered on. Her name is Britt Daley and she helped Evan out by singing backup vocals for the hilarious, Dog Powered Robot.

She and her drummer Scott Christy began setting up on the small Tatame stage. I threw my backpack over my shoulder and started for the door. I planned to sketch at Tanqueray’s where Kaleigh Baker was performing. Britt caught me and said, “Your not leaving are you? You haven’t seen me perform.” I told he I had been sketching when she was interviewed on Orange TV. Then I agreed to stay and watch one set. Britt has been writing songs for years. Many deal with heart ache and not being able to let go. Her voice is silky smooth and the songs left me quietly sad. She shouted out, “I am dedicating this song to Christina, it is called ‘It’s Too Late’.” This song about a couple at a crossroads left me truly sad, there was only a faint quiver of hope that could only be found in the harmony itself. I was caught off guard. I didn’t expect to find original music with this much emotional depth to be sung in a small sake bar. I was struck to the core.

Between sets, James, the guitar player and drummer, sat next to me. He checked out the sketch and I explained that I didn’t have the time to get him in the sketch yet. He assured me that they would perform again. As “Sunlight in Her Hair” performed, I took the time to add color washes in the background. When Britt Daley took to the stage again, she noticed me sketching. She asked, “Are you sketching us?” When I nodded my head, she turned to the audience and said with childish delight, “Thor is sketching us!” Then she turned to me and said, “I want to see that when I get off stage.” The second set was just as good as the first. I felt emotionally drained when the sketch was complete. I did show her the sketch before I left, and she seemed pleased. I asked her for her cards, so I could learn more about her music. Listen to her songs online, you will be glad you did.

Zombie March

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At the last minute I was told by Paula Large that there was going to be a zombie march in broad daylight on International Drive. The starting spot was at Uno’s pizza right across from Ripley’s Believe it or Not. Driving down International Drive the sudden appearance of hundreds of zombies wandering around the Uno’s parking lot was unsettling. I drove around the block making my way back to the mayhem. My pulse quickened. I parked at the Indian restaurant next to Uno’s.

As soon as I walked into the crowd, I was surrounded by pale, lifeless, brain eating zombies. A stage was set up at one end of the parking lot for a band that I assumed would be playing later. I was immediately drawn to this Hurst parked in the corner of the lot nearest the street. I stood on a small island covered with dried out dead vegetation. Little Red Riding Hood seemed out of place until I saw that she had slit her wrists. A young woman in a tight black leather dress had a cross tattooed between her shoulder blades she walked with a limp. With her nose ring and studs, I suspect she wasn’t really in costume. She must live Goth.

Loud music blasted from the two speakers strapped to the roof of the Hearst. A guy in a black leather vest got on the roof of the Hearst and shouted into the megaphone, “Do you want to see some blood?!” He fired up a chainsaw and the crowd of zombies went wild. one zombie never broke character, he just swayed side to side with his eyes rolled back in his head. A foam manikin was thrown on the roof of the Hearst and he started cutting off limbs to the roar from the crowd. When he thrust the chainsaw blade into her chest blood began to fly and spill everywhere. A pizza was delivered from the restaurant . He began attacking the pizza with the chainsaw with shards of crust and tomato sauce raining down on all the zombies. He threw large chunks of pizza into the crowd where I assume they were devoured.

0n the sidelines citizens with signs protested the march, demanding that the undead return to the graves they came from. When the march began I stayed behind frantically throwing blood red washes onto my drawing. The Goth girls limp must have been real since she remained behind as well, seated in one of the two wooden chairs near the Hearst. A female zombie asked to see my sketch. Her eyes had a strange metallic blue shine. She complimented me and thanked me for sharing with a sweet voice that seemed very out of place since her skin had decomposed rather horrifically. I am sure the party would continue late into the night, but I had to get to class back in the world of reality.