Erin Shaw Street

Wants to be Startin Something

"You got to get it right/ while you've got the time." -- MJ, "Man In the Mirror"

It's Sunday night. Have been back in Birmingham for about 24 hours and still trying to process last week.

I spent a lot of time in Lubbock, Texas, quite accidentally getting to know more about Buddy Holly. On Friday night I spent time with several of his family members after seeing "The Buddy Holly Story" live (excellent by the way). It was incredible to get to chat with Buddy's nieces and nephews in his hometown. They were generous in sharing their stories of a fallen rock n roll legend, who seemed to be a truly good guy.

Although I grew up with Buddy Holly on the radio it was only during this trip that I realized his profound influence on music, from the Beatles to Elton John (and in my eyes to punk and ska and the pop of today). Needless to say, I am a convert to rockabilly thanks to this Texas son.

I visited the Buddy Holly Museum around lunch time Wednesday. I took pictures of Buddy Holly and Elvis, unknowing that 24 hours later we would lose our childhood idol.

When I was a very little girl -- eight I think -- my mom and dad took me to see him. Michael Jackson and his brothers on the Victory Tour. It was right after "Thriller's" release. I vividly remember walking through the parking lot to the auditorium, wishing that I had pierced ears like my cousins so I could wear a gloved earring.

I remember crying, reaching out for my superstar, the one I stared at all the time on the "Thriller" album cover. And when I went home I taught my brother all the moves of the gloved one. We watched "The Making of Thriller" time after time. And when we went to Disney we would watch MJ in "Captain EO" time after time. In 3-D. My brother and I were infused with a love of dance. It would change both of our lives, with he becoming a Broadway star and me, well, becoming me.

Of course I would outgrow Michael like most of us did. I became a punk rock girl with Doc Martens and black hair, then an indie girl with blonde hair, and then a mama. And I will be the first one to admit that I forgot about him -- that influence -- during the zany years.

But not now. 

I believe that we are all put here for a reason. Sometimes the very gifted are here for a short time. They are misunderstood, be it a geeky boy from Texas or a pop superstar with four brothers.

"Carry me/ like you were a brother" -- "Will You Be There," Michael Jackson.

I do not believe that this was *the* watershed moment for Generation X, like some are saying. That is a shallow speculation for a writer on deadline. So easy.

MJ means something different for each of us, just like the other of the fallen pop idols. Were there problems? Addictions? Um, probably? But this is just a mirror to the rest of us.

I don't know what MJ's passing means to everyone else -- wow, that would assume a whole lot. But I know what it means to me, to my childhood dreams of "making that change." Thankfully I grew up, hanging on to shreds of that message.

Some little girls (and boys) are still dancing.

Cowboys, Goodbyes

It's way past my usual bed time, but nothing is usual about this day. Or rather yesterday. I tucked my iPhone into my bag and instead if constant Tweeting stood in red mineral clay with a gentle giant named Trinity, horse extraordinaire and instant psychotherapist. Yep, learned a few things from this sweet guy. But that is another story for another day. Today I learned that a childhood icon died. Lord knows enough people are writing about that. Still, it is unbelievable. But why? Tonight I listened to a cowboy play his guitar, while horses grazed behind him. And talked with incredibly wise women who shared their stories of struggle, career, family, themselves. Tired, a little depleted, but glad to be here, feet in the red clay.

The Stars and Stripes, Are Big And Bright

I have spent time in Texas before, but it's always been quick trips - one day meetings and fast flights out. Before this week, the longest period of time I've spent here was driving cross country after college on my way to Phoenix. I remember it being unbearably hot, stopping at a wax museum, and for a photo op with a gigantic metal bull.

Well I've done two of the three this week as I'm spending most of it in Lubbock for work.

Parts of the trip are a little ... uncomfortable. Although I'm used to blastingly hot weather, the huge Texas sky seems to beam more heat, and the clay seems to capture the steam. The interstates twist in unending confusing loops, and the GPS is leading me to one ways and dead ends.

It took three flights to arrive in the tiny airport in the middle of nowhere. I have cacti pricklies stuck in my fingers (a new friend handed me one without realizing how many little stingy things - pardon the term - it had). No idea how to treat that.

That said, there are some unexpected delights:

The Buddy Holly Museum: OK, maybe not unexpected, but excellent. I loved walking through rooms of Buddy Holly artifacts, from his Cubs uniform to the guitar on which he recorded his last songs including "Peggy Sue."

Although I'd grown up with Buddy Holly around the house, the museum helped me  make the connection between Holly and his real influence on rock and roll to come, namely The Beatles, Stones, and even Elton John (who started wearing his colorful glasses in a homage to BH).

Wineries: Who knew that West Texas produces wine? Apparently they do, and some of it is quite good. I had the pleasure of visiting Llano Estacado Winery and Cap Rock Winery. What a refreshing break from the heat, and the loops, and the cacti.

Burruitos: OK, it's Texas, so no surprise that there is excellent Mexican food. But Mexican food that smiles at you?

I'm fairly sure it was cooked in lard, but it was good.

There are more highlights, and pictures to boot, but my uploader isn't cooperating and I'm up past my bed time.

Tomorrow begins another adventure underneath this endless sky.

The Family That Tweets Together ...

 

Postcards from Florida

Day three of Clearwater: sun, good food, friends, and lots of firsts for Nate.

Although I took him here when he was a baby, this is the first time he has actually been able to really get into it. Flew in with mom and dad Wednesday night, during which time he tried gum for the first time (couldn't quite get the hang of it) and yelled "We're going to CRASH!" at top of his lungs mid-air.

Other than that, it was a great flight, and he looked like a pro traveler wheeling his little Thomas the Train luggage through Tampa Airport.

Had an exceptionally good meal of huge bay scallops that night and drove across the bridge in a torrential downpour (hey Sunshine State). I should mention that they gave me a pseudo mini van at the rental car place. And no, mom, even this one's "sporty" style don't make me want to go to the dark side and drive one.

Kiddo was hilarious at the hotel -- "is this my bed? is this my TV?" and was most entertained by staying in a real live hotel. This enchantment, combined with luggage handling skills, leads me to believe he actually might be able to do my job. But that's another story entirely.

Started yesterday at Lenny's, which rightfully claims itself as"Clearwater's Best Breakfast." It completely is. They have an insane pancake selection, but I love their bagel and lox, and devoured it amidst decades of Clearwater and Phillies memorabilia. (The Phillies train here and it's their official restaurant.) Don't even get me started but Birmingham does not have enough good breakfast places like this, so I was all about having a third and fourth cup of coffee.

From there we visited with Nani. Nate was very sweet and sang "You Are My Sunshine" to her, which I got on video (love the new Flip) and will upload during a time in which he isn't napping as he is now. We listened to a banjo player who performs for the residents, and Nate was in his element singing and dancing. Four generations together is a rare thing for us, so we enjoyed the moments.

Then as Nate napped I drove over to the Poynter Institute. Poynter is a special place to me, because it's where my love of journalism really was solidified during two summers of high school writing camp. It was a little strange to go back 17 years later as a speaker, but I was honored that they asked.

Walking through the halls I felt as nervous as a 15 year old showing up for her first day of class, only now I was on the other side of the podium. It was exhilarating to stand in front of a room of 38 teenagers eager to talk about writing and how its changing.

What was most exciting was to hear their enthusiasm and passion for storytelling. It made me forget about the negativity that permeates our media culture, as newspapers close and publications struggle.

I hope that I gave them a fair and balanced account of what it's like to work in this industry, and encouragement to ride the crazy roller coaster of a writing life.  I certainly got a lot of energy from them, and most of all a boost that the next generation of journalists and communicators are incredibly sophisticated and intelligent.

This morning we took Nate to Clearwater Beach, which was another deja vu moment. I can't think of anything better than being with my little dude on the beach where I grew up. Even better, mom and dad were there to see his reaction of going in the Gulf for the first time (liked the waves, not so crazy about the salt water), feeding the seagulls, and playing in the sand.

We were joined by my childhood friend Julie and her two adorable kids. I will say that as much as I love Birmingham, I do miss things about the place where I spent the first 18 years of my life, including old friends and the beach. From there I went to lunch with my friend Courtney, and now back to the magical hotel.

So it's good to be home, where I am getting a little blonder but hopefully not sunburned. Good to eat New York breakfasts and Tampa Cubans, and show Nate this place that is etched into my identity. Helps remind me who I am too, with its pink flamingos and powdered sand. Tonight we're going to the Palm Pavilion to watch the sun set and eat grouper sandwiches. What else could a girl ask for?

 

 

I Dream of Weenie

Spotted at a hot dog stand in East Nashville called "I Dream of Weenie" this weekend. I was in the area for a photo shoot and finally got to try the legendary hot dogs here. And by here, I do mean a VW bus that sells Nashville's best dogs.

I had a turkey dog (you can get beef, turkey or tofu) called the "Rebel Yelp," which is covered with Chow Chow. Not the purebred Asian dog (sorry Buddha), but a spicy southern slaw. A Diet Coke offset the calories, naturally.

With a vinyl tablecloth spread out on the grass in front of the "full service weenery," it was just what I needed after a long week.

It was a working weekend, so I didn't have much time in one of my favorite cities. But I did explore more of East Nashville, including a stop at The Hip Zipper, a great vintage store where I scored a crazy print dress I estimate to be early 70s. Then to Trader Joes to stock up on all the stuff I can't get in Birmingham, like their pomegranate lemonade and Indian micromeals. Also got to visit David Kidd Booksellers, which I adore.

Found a fantastic book called "Smooth Operators,"  by Richard Jarman, a celebration of the worst of men's fashion from 70s and 80s ads, including nylon no-wrinkle leisure suits, (short) jogging shorts and man perms. This blog by Mark Simpson provides a funny snapshot or two. How I love advertising retrospectives.

All of this was in a matter of about five hours. Back home now, cramming in a week's worth of work in three days, putting together a talk, working on a volunteer project that's due Tuesday, and figuring out logistics of getting a toddler and self packed and on a plane in 72 hours. But then it's vacation. Ha.

Related Links:

In East Nashville, Hipsters and Families Create A Funky Vibe

The Erin Shaw Street Cool As A Cucumber Cocktail

One of the great things about working at the magazine is being surrounded by people who are experts in their fields. As we all know, I wouldn't know the first thing about gardening or cooking. Lucky for me I have colleagues who do, and who are generous in sharing their advice.

This is especially helpful as a foodie with absolutely no ability nor interest in cooking.

So a couple of weeks ago when I started raving about the cucumber cocktails I'd recently had at Little Savannah my co-worker Norman King, R.D. and chef extraordinaire, created this recipe for me.

"2 large cucumbers, cut into 1-inch pieces

2 tsp. sugar

Pinch salt

Process all ingredients together in a food processor or blender.  Strain through a fine wire mesh strainer.  Rinse out strainer and line with cheesecloth. Strain juice through cheesecloth and store in an airtight container for up to 3 days. Makes about 1 cup.

I stirred about 1/3 cup into a pitcher half filled with lemonade, a few of cups of seltzer, and loads of crushed ice for a truly refreshing drink; add some vodka and it's even better. This recipe is definately worth a try so pull out your bar kit and drizzle a couple of tablespoons of this elixir into your favorite fruit based cocktail for a refreshing taste of summer." 

Seriously, it is the best thing you will drink all summer.  But Norman really does the story justice. Click here to read about  "Shopping With Norman: Cucumber Cocktails."

If you try it, let me know what you think. And yes, that is the official name of the drink. Norman at least let me name it!

National Cancer Survivors Day

 Today is National Cancer Survivors Day.

And this is what it's all about. Who is a cancer survivor? The National Cancer Survivors Day Foundation defines a "survivor" as:

anyone living with a history of cancer – from the moment of diagnosis through the remainder of life. National Cancer Survivors Day affords your community an opportunity to demonstrate that it has an active, productive cancer survivor population.

That's a lot of people. Like my husband. I've written about his diagnosis and treatment and how it impacted our lives. But today isn't about that.

Today is about a regular Sunday -- watching Sesame Street with Nate, church, mowing the yard, getting ready for the week ahead.

Around the country, there are great events that celebrate the survivors all around us. There are picnics, walks, and vigils filled with men, women and kids who are all part of the club you never wanted to join.

But today our family is having our own celebration: coffee, naps, chasing after a toddler in the yard. We have to go look for a new car -- let's see if we can survive that.

Sending thanks for all the survivors in our lives, and prayers that all of our friends in active treatment find healing and strength.

It can be difficult to figure out what to say when a friend is diagnosed. My advice: just say something. Give them a call. Send them a card. Don't just say, "call me if you need anything," -- ask what you can do to help. Cancer isn't contagious, but it can be a lonely place.

Here are some more tips on how to help.

You are a survivor from the moment you are diagnosed - not a victim or a number. A survivor. For that we celebrate.

Related Links:

Everything Changes: Dealing With Cancer In Your 20s/30s

Breast Cancer Research Foundation of Alabama

LiveStrong: Peloton Project

Luck be a Liberace

72 hours in Vegas is like a week in an alternate reality, and I love it all. Well, maybe not the part where I lost my voice, but that will come later.

Thursday night -- Arrived after four flight. Although it was midnight back at home, and I'm usually asleep by, oh, 9:30, we decided to get a lay of the land. First stop was Caesar's, where we found Cleopatra's Barge, a cheesy floating boat with a live band an plenty of people watching. Then to Bill's Gamblin Saloon, where a cross section of humanity watched a Canadian cover band do hits ranging from Poison to Tom Petty. Also spotted: the world's most fantastic mullet, local scenesters drinking pitchers of $2 Dos Equis, and gamblers older than Methusala. Our kind of place.

Friday -- Quick breakfast at Paris, where we ate Le Bran Muffins and I drank Le Tea in an attempt to improve my Le Sore Throat. To clarify: I'd felt the creeping of a sinus infection coming on earlier int the week (a very non Vegas thing indeed), and by the time we arrived I felt (and sounded like) a 70 year old lounge singer. By Friday I'd lost my voice completely to the point that Stephanie was having to translate for me.

A cab driver diagnosed me with "Vegas Throat," The Urban Dictionary defines this as:

	a bad sore throat caused by the dry desert climate, and heavy air-conditioning and smoke in casinos and clubs. When I got back to LA, I had a bad case of the vegas throat.

(Note: in 2008, Cher had to cancel several appearances out there because of said Vegas Throat. Yet another thing we have in common.) Upon returning to Birmingham and visiting my doctor, he said that the cabbie had misdiagnosed me, and it was just another sinus thing, be it a bad one this time. Far less glamorous.

Of course I didn't let illness stop us. Dr. Cab Driver delivered us to the Neon Sign Museum, where I had wanted to visit for years. This non-profit is dedicated to collecting and preserving Vegas signs of yesteryear, and has more than 150 signs in its collection. Our tour guide Nancy was a former showgirl at the Stardust (how Vegas is that), and walked us through the desert "boneyard," filled with signs from casinos and wedding chapels.

From there we went to the outlets -- neon signs and sample sales -- could there be a better day?

We made a quick wardrobe change and went to dinner at Diego at the MGM, where we had the most amazing tortilla soup, empanadas, and guacamole made fresh at our table. I have to say, after visiting the MGM several times before I was really impressed that they had kicked things up a notch, with tons of great restaurants. 

We caught the monorail, which makes traveling on the Strip easier, to The Mirage for The Beatles "Love," which I had wanted to see from its opening. The show was incredible, especially to experience the remastered sound of some of their best songs.

From there we went to the Hard Rock, Planet Hollywood, and back to MGM. The sun might have been peeking out when we got back to the Westin.

 Saturday -- Thankfully the Westin had a spa. I steamed out my sins at the sauna Saturday morning. From there we went to the Liberace Museum. Is there anything more thrilling than to stand admist rhinestone covered Bentleys? The museum had expanded quite a bit since my Dad first took me there in 1993 per my request (what 17 year old girl begs her father to take her to the Liberace Museum?) They'd added another building, have live performances by local artists, and just generally do an amazing job at preserving Liberace's glittery legacy.

We had lunch at Serendipity 3, paid homage to Cher at the Caesar's gift shop, and went to dinner at Mario Batali's B&B Ristorante in the Venetian. It was some of the best Italian food I've ever had, with an incredible spaghetti with lobster. No Olive Garden but still.

Capped off our visit with a production of Jersey Boys thanks to Ryan's friend Charl, a talented performer in the show. Frankie Valli was a perfect send off to the weekend, and we flew back to the Atl as the sun came up again.

For more photos, check out the album "Vegas 2009" to the right...