Swampy

In Christmas, FL, you'll find Swampy, billed as "world's largest gator". Of course, Swampy is a building, not a real alligator, and thus probably disqualified, but hey, who's counting? It holds the gift shop, ticket counter and offices of Jungle Adventures, a nature theme park.

Swampy isn't even really a building unto himself, technically: he's just the façade of a larger structure, as seen on Google Maps below. But we love him nonetheless, and hope the future holds better things for him than have befallen Annie the Dragon.

Drive-In Christian Church

There doesn't seem to be nearly as many churches here in Florida as there was back home in Kentucky (in my old stomping grounds of Richmond, it seemed every other building was either a church or a bar) but golly, the ones we do have are special.

Take, for instance, the Drive-In Christian Church in Daytona. Not "drive-thru" like a fast food place, which is how I first interpreted it, but drive-in like a drive-in theater. You park your car in a space among neatly ordered lots, just like at the movies, and tune your radio to 88.5 FM so you can listen to the sermon in the comfort of your own voiture. Plus, they serve free hot coffee and Krispy Kreme donuts. What are you waiting for?

Not everyone is familiar with their "Portate Cross" and so the church officials are often asked, "Um... why is the cross crooked on the building??" The answer is, the Portate Cross (or "Carried Cross") represents the cross that Jesus was forced to carry on his back to his own crucifixion (but someone named Simon helped.)

Tin City

And then there's Tin City, one of my favorite places in all of Naples. It's a dimly-lit decrepit old complex of buildings that look like they've been (barely) standing since the 19th century, and decorated in all manner of kitschy bric-a-brac. It's a maze of little shops and restaurants, each more delightful than the last, and though I'm not sure how they manage to stay in business, let us pray they continue to do so.

Telecrylic Manor

Having spent the last year and a half bopping from place to place, from beach cottage to hotel room to Airbnb hosting, it's nice to finally settle down a bit into a lovely house in Naples where I will put down a few roots for the foreseeable. On the other hand, this means I have to pay the utility bills myself and go out and find some damn furniture. (Good thing I don't really need much except for a place to lay my head and lay my computers, kinda like John Lennon's huge bedroom at the Dakota which contained nothing but a mattress, a pack of cigarettes, and a guitar.)

Elks Lodge Neon Sign

It's the Elks Lodge on 2675 66th St N, in that part of St. Petersburg that most people generally do not consider to be St. Pete; that vague sprawling space between Pasadena and Kenneth City.

The 1930s neon sign is glorious, but seems oddly mismatched to this post-Colonial style building.

Freedom Tower

With construction completed in 1925, the Freedom Tower was originally built as the headquarters for the Miami News newspaper. But in 1957, the paper relocated to a new facility the U.S. government decided to use the building to process refugees from Cuba fleeing the Castro regime. The government sold the building to private buyers in 1974, after the numbers of incoming refugees began to dwindle.

Now it's a multi-purpose museum, cultural center, educational center, and much more. The MDC Museum of Art + Design is on the second floor and is free and open to the public, and works by Dali, Goya and DaVinci have been displayed here in conjunction with Miami Dade College.

Oh yeah, and it's lit up really cool at night.

Skull Kingdom

One of Orlando's late great lamented vanished tourist attractions is Skull Kingdom, a castle fronted by an enormous skull on International Drive. It opened in 1993 and closed in 2007, and was your basic walk-through "spook house" where families strolled around in trepidation as strobe lights flashed and stuff exploded and people in costumes jumped out and went ooga-booga. Other entities have tried to pick up Skull Kingdom's fallen torch and carry on the tradition, like Terror In Orlando, 3D Funhouse and Mayhem Manor, but just as science has proven you cannot mold some other random bald guy into a replacement for Curly in the Three Stooges, you cannot recreate the low-budget glory and grandeur that was once Skull Kingdom.

But thanks to the magic of YouTube, 33 minutes of raw footage of Skull Kingdom in its heyday, filmed by a production crew for a TV commercial, can be viewed here.

Ray Charles Statue

It seems there's a rivalry going on between Greenville, FL and Albany, GA: they both lay claim to being the birthplace of music legend Ray Charles. Both have statues erected in his honor. Well, you know us here at Report From The Florida Zone, we're choosing Greenville. That's our story and we're stickin' to it.

You'll find the statue in the park on Broad Street in Greenville, by the lake. You can also find Ray's childhood home still preserved in Greenville, on 443 SW Ray Charles Avenue. (Wow, what a coincidence! What are the odds?)

The Dali Museum

I became obsessed with Salvador Dali at a very early age, and a lot of you out there are probably in the same boat as me. So if you ever have occasion to trek down to St. Peterburg where the largest and greatest repository of the man's work is perpetually on display, let me warn you, it will put the zap on your head.

To finally see all these paintings in person, after imprinting yourself for decades to think of them almost as free-floating memes the size of pages of coffee-table art books, well, it changes you. I damn near had a nervous breakdown the first time I went, and felt like collapsing with exhaustion at the end of the half-century journey to get from there to here.

Many of the paintings that you thought of as displaying astonishingly lifelike photorealism turn out to be surprisingly painterly, and part of the photorealistic effect comes from the distance at which we see them in books. (Did Andy Warhol say "all paintings look better in art books" or did I dream it? Oh well, he should have.) And many of the paintings that you thought were perhaps somewhat secondary or tertiary works actually end up being among the most amazing - because what the books didnt tell you (or maybe they did and we never bothered to think about the dimensions) is that they're postcard sized, and all those painstaking details you see in the books are so intricate they're difficult to see in person without a magnifying glass. S'truth.

The museum is home to 7 of the 18 masterwork paintings by Dalí (including The Hallucinogenic Toreador and The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus), the most of any museum in the world. To be considered a masterwork these paintings must be at least 5 feet in any direction and have been worked on for over a year. I'm told their building (which is basically a giant concrete block with some glass dome elements in the back) is one of the most hurricane-proof structures in the state. Let's pray they're right.

Alas, photography of any kind is verboten at the Dali, so I can't regale you with images of my trips there. A shame too, because during the "Warhol at the Dali" co-exhibition, they had the employees wearing Warhol wigs. Some carried it off more successfully than others.

St. Bernard de Clairvaux Monastery

Think fast - what's the oldest building in the Western Hemisphere? Hint: It's in Florida.

You're probably thinking about places in St. Augustine as you rack your brains, but don't sweat it, it's a trick question. The answer is the Monastery of St. Bernard de Clairvaux, located at 16711 West Dixie Highway, North Miami Beach.

How is that possible? Because the building, even though constructed in medieval Spain in the year 1133, was disassembled in the 1950s, shipped here, and put back up.

The One-Log Cabin

Next time you're in St. Augustine, even if you don't feel like shelling out the cash to take the extended tour at the Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum, they have this free attraction adjacent to it.

It'a log cabin home constructed entirely from one singular hollowed-out redwood log. Well, what do you want for free?

It is kind of interesting, actually - even though the log is cramped (or cozy, depending on your perspective) and dark and there really isn't anything to see or say other than "yep, that's a house inside a giant log, alright". It's all part of life's rich pageant.

(Life in a log isn't perfect, though - the roof evidently leaks, hence the giant blue tarp draped over the entire shebang.)

Pink House Appreciation Society

Back where I come from, you don't see too many pink houses. And when you do, everybody makes a big deal about it, such as with Louisville's "Pink Palace" on St. James Court. But here in the Flo-zone, sometimes it seems every other house in pink. (And the rest are turquoise and banana yellow.)

Of course, we have our own "Pink Palace" here - the splendiferous Don CeSar Resort in St. Pete's Beach, just seconds away from Pass-A-Grille.

Daytona Beach Bandshell

This rather Arc de Triomphe-lookin' structure along the Daytona Beach boardwalk is actually an enormous bandshell, built in 1937. It's sufficient to hold a small orchestra, a choral ensemble, or the cast of a theatre production.

The people who put on concerts here have a website which refers to it as "the world's most famous bandshell". I might be able to counter that claim if I thought about it hard enough, but not too many other bandshells come to mind right now.

Pensacola's Futuro House

The Futuro House was a short-lived fad during the late 1960s and early 1970s. Okay, maybe it wasn't even a fad, because they only ever built 96 of these things.

With 525 square feet of living space, the Futuro House could supposedly accommodate 8 people, its press releases said. Hmmmm... maybe, but only if you're cozy and unclaustrophobic. These things seem more like children's playhouses to me. While it lacks the size and majesty of Orlando's Spaceship Earth or Sarasota's multi-domed Bishop Nevins Academy, it still possesses a certain space-opera charm.

The official reason given for the failure of Futuro is that the rising price of plastic during the mid-1970s oil crisis made production of the domed domiciles too expensive. Personally, I think the real reason is simply that no one wanted to live in a tiny plastic space pod.

Of the 96 Futuro houses originally sold, Wikipedia estimates only 60% still exist. We're fortunate to have one of them still intact in Pensacola Beach. Of course, you'll notice they aren't using it as a house - they keep it on display on the roof of their house!

Aku Tiki / Traders

In a world where most of the glorious Tiki-themed businesses of yesteryear are gone, it's refreshing to see that the Aku Tiki Inn still survives in Daytona Beach. Somewhere along the way it was conglomerated by Best Western, but kudos to them for retaining much of the place's original character. A giant Moai with red glowing eyes greets you at the entrance, and it's a replica of the original which was destroyed by Hurricane Charley in 2004. Other Tiki decorations, many by the great Witco, still remain on the premises.

The hotel's restaurant, Traders, doesn't quite recreate the splendor of old. There are no waitresses in coconut bras and grass skirts bringing you wooden platters of Ono and Dr. Sam Tee cocktails.

More photos of Aku Tiki here.

Master Bait & Tackle

Curiously, their website's FAQ doesn't touch upon what I would think would be some of the most-asked questions...

Land O' Scissorhands

Tim Burton's Edward Scissorhands was filmed on location in Land O' Lakes, Lutz, and Lakeland, Florida, and though most of the settings were artifically altered on a grand Hollywood-style scale (homes in the Carpenter's Run neighborhood were repainted and fitted with false facades to get the look Burton wanted) there's one location he didn't have to change a bit.

The Southgate Shopping Center had the perfect crazy off-kilter retro look Burton adores, and I was surprised to learn it really exists, and wasn't just something his team temporarily constructed for the film. It still stands today, if you want to go have your picture taken where Johnny Depp stood.

The giant gothic mansion where Edward lived, however, doesn't really exist and was assembled for shooting and then taken down. Which is a pity - if they'd left it standing, imagine the tourist attraction that could have been subsequently made of it.

Burton, who had never shot a movie in Florida before, got more than he bargained for. Sometimes the clouds of insects in the air made the film appear grainy and spoiled much footage that had to be reshot. And though the beautiful surreal sky of Florida was part of what made him choose it as a location, he hadn't reckoned with just how quickly Florida skies change. The sky can look completely different here at any given moment than it did just half an hour ago, and it made it difficult to preserve a sense of continuity in scenes. (Not that continuity and cohesiveness have ever been Burton's strong suit.)

The Daily Scoop

Even though the peninsula that contains Clearwater and St. Petersburg is laid out like a grid, I still get lost on it. A lot. Something about all that blurry Pinellas Park-Largo-Lealman area in the middle disorients me. The other day I was on a run to one of my new favorite tobacconists, St. Pete Cigar, took a wrong turn somewhere and wound up in Kenneth City.

I spied a closed-down ice cream shack called The Daily Scoop, and pulled over to inspect its carcass. I was particularly intrigued by the fact that it had an enormous replica of the top of an ice cream cone sticking out from its roof. It looked familiar, I thought to myself.

Could it be?

It was. I peered in through the windows and saw that some clever human took a pre-existing Twistee Treat cone-shaped stand and built a restaurant around it while leaving the cone-building completely intact inside. If you look close (it was hard to take pics through the glass because of the sun's glare and reflection) you can see they even left the words "Twistee Treat" on the interior cone's facade.

My first thought was elation at the idea that I could lease this place and actually run my very own Twistee Treat stand. However, Kenneth City is not exactly on my top 10 list of places to open a business. (Honestly, it isn't even in the top 100) and my entrepreneurial dance card is pretty well full these days anyway. But the cone is there, silently waiting. Will it be you who resurrects it?