The Big Yellow Dumpster is a place for images that don’t belong anywhere else, not because of their random nature, but because they simply aren’t very good.  Perhaps the subject is banal or the composition or clarity is poor.  Maybe there are issues with redundancy (how many pictures of tree fungus do you really want to see?) or problems with fitting into  a narrative.  Or it could be that I’ve overused that fun little “vivid” setting that comes in handy when you’ve got too much sunlight bleaching out your image but not when nature’s colors are already so saturated that to attempt to improve upon them is a textbook example of human creative hubris.

Big Yellow Dumpster is also a handy fallback when you have nothing else to post.  As a reader of this blog, you’re probably aware that I spend a good deal of time exploring and photographing Florida.  To do this requires time and effort, both of which I didn’t have this weekend.

Mr. B. had a nasty bout of anaphylaxis on Friday night, which led to him spending several hours in the ER being pumped full of steroids and diphenhydramine.  The poor man was covered in bright red welts and had acute this and acute that; there was nothing for it but to bring him to my home and make him chicken soup. The attack was sudden and severe. No one knows what caused it.  We laid low all weekend, which led me to cancel my birthday party and to spend the day itself in the most low-key fashion possible.  I even went to bed at 11.

Sometimes the stars line up and sometimes they don’t, and when they don’t you get the Big Yellow Dumpster.  I can’t think of a cheerier place for these pictures!

Dumpstered because sometimes you have too many pictures for one post, and also because you suspect your boyfriend might say, Hey! Why didn’t you post the picture of you in front of the outhouse? Why is it always me?

Hokey-fenokee!  This gem from the Okefenokee Swamp Park was too lame even for a blog that dines out on lameness.  Okay, the truth is, it’s a crappy picture and I didn’t want to admit I was the photographer.

I have some serious questions about this display. While I love Grandpa’s inbred bone structure, who went in the opposite direction with Grandma?  Whom did their children take after?  I understand that Grandpa’s ruddiness comes from tilling the fields, but did Grandma really never leave the one-room cabin, and if not, then where did she come by that lipstick? 

This isn’t really a dumpstered photo.  The rest of the photos in its set were.  They were taken at the Mall at Millenia in Orlando and all but this were terrible.  Of note:  The developers couldn’t spell and no one fixed the error.

Misspelled name or not, the mall is gorgeous.  The highpoint is the flooring of the central area, seen above. I thought this photo of the dog was clever, but Mr. B. pointed out that many people wouldn’t realize that the German “hund” meant “dog,” thereby diminishing the impact of the image.

People think of the cleverest things to write in fresh cement, don’t they?
Taken at the La Chua Trail.

This is pretty, and you can even sort of make out Venus to the right of the moon, but admit it, you’ve seen so much better.

My camera works nicely in macro and not so well with zoom.  Taken at Orange Lake.

Orange Lake again.  A flagrant abuse of the vivid setting.

Here’s that fungus again!

Bolen’s Bluff.  I didn’t quite hit this one right, but I liked the spooky effect of the dark background even if the merit is debatable.  This picture belongs to a short set of photos from a hike on Payne’s Prairie where I retreated because of heat and then walked half an hour back to my car alone on an unfamiliar trail.  Halfway back to the car, I had that vibe.  What if a weirdo was also on the trail?  Overlooking my usual fear of snakes, I zipped back to my car and got in, only to have a guy bike into the parking lot and spend the next forty minutes staring me down as I waited for Mr. B. to return from the observation deck.

Market Street at Heath Brook, a glorified strip mall in Ocala.  This was a weather photo that didn’t contain excitement and danger.

Old post office in Eviston.  Dumpstered for bad exposure.

This could have fit into my Random Roadside Friday posts, but the exposure is dreadful.  I blame it on the severe thunderstorm rolling overhead.   Hot damn!  I missed a huge opportunity here.  Poor Penny Carson is a roadside institution, a ventroloquist who preaches via a dummy!  How did I miss someone who thinks Ronald Reagan is the original beast 666?

Also on Youtube:

Pretty, pretty! Pretty weird!  Lookie at what the light did to the sky in the background!