It's funny.. as much as I used to get annoyed by people who want to take up my time just chatting when I'm busy, I've found that some of my best story ideas have arisen this way.
My first story idea for Glossy (which led to a regular contributing gig with the Statesman) came about because of something a sales associate mentioned while I was at a local boutique researching wedding gowns for Tribeza. I'd probably be a lot poorer if she hadn't given me that idea.
A recent chat with a woman who does PR for MommyMixer (which I'm writing about in an upcoming Statesman feature) led a monthly feature idea for Glossy, which my editor loved. (It will start in October)
During an extended visit with two local moms who were handing off something to be photographed for my recent baby gear story, one of them gave me a great idea for the "Coffee With..." piece that comes out Thursday in the Statesman.
An unwanted tour of a store where I had only intended to rush in and pick up something for a photo shoot led to multiple upcoming story ideas.
I guess the lesson here is not to view time spent just visiting with professional contacts as wasted time - you never know where it might lead.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
mired in munchkin land
Somehow I've wound up on the baby beat down at the Statesman. It's my own doing, really. I pitched one baby story to my editor (an easy sell since she has a one-year-old at home) and another spun off from that.
The first piece ran Thursday and involved an interactive online feature teeming with locally made baby gear.
(Read it here, and be sure to separately click on the interactive portion: http://www.statesman.com/life/content/life/stories/style/07/19/0719baby.html)
This story had me skulking the baby boutiques all week for appropriate items. A few local "mompreneurs" mailed their stuff instead, and when I asked about the best way to return it them, they told me just to keep it.
So now the 400-square-foot studio of this twentysomething-about-town contains not only an impressive shoe collection, a closetful of minidresses and a coffee table collapsing beneath too many fashion magazines, but also a) one Baby O On the Go nursing ring and scarf and b) two packages of Diaper Baggies, cute plastic bags designed to eliminate messy diaper disposal. Naturally I have nowhere to put any of this, so it's sitting on my couch.
If my dwelling were spontaneously buried in rubble and unearthed hundreds of years later, I wonder what future archaeologists would conclude.
The first piece ran Thursday and involved an interactive online feature teeming with locally made baby gear.
(Read it here, and be sure to separately click on the interactive portion: http://www.statesman.com/life/content/life/stories/style/07/19/0719baby.html)
This story had me skulking the baby boutiques all week for appropriate items. A few local "mompreneurs" mailed their stuff instead, and when I asked about the best way to return it them, they told me just to keep it.
So now the 400-square-foot studio of this twentysomething-about-town contains not only an impressive shoe collection, a closetful of minidresses and a coffee table collapsing beneath too many fashion magazines, but also a) one Baby O On the Go nursing ring and scarf and b) two packages of Diaper Baggies, cute plastic bags designed to eliminate messy diaper disposal. Naturally I have nowhere to put any of this, so it's sitting on my couch.
If my dwelling were spontaneously buried in rubble and unearthed hundreds of years later, I wonder what future archaeologists would conclude.
Mom-sight
Just talked to Mom on the phone. Since she left a quotation in a previous comment, I'll share one she related today. Some background: Mom and my Aunt Lynda are both 60ish and single. Neither wants a relationship much, just lots of money. Here's Mom's take on things (borrowed from Sophie Tucker): From birth to age 18, a girl needs good parents, from 18 to 35 she needs good looks, from 35 to 55 she needs a good personality, and from 55 on she needs cash.
Naturally, I'd like to have all of the above all the time.
Naturally, I'd like to have all of the above all the time.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
How to live to be 80
1. Make vibrantly-hued silk pajamas your party attire.
2. Eschew wine and beer and go straight for the bourbon and coke.
3. Smoke cigarettes incessantly from an elegant gold holder.
That's what I learned anyway, from Betty, whose 80th birthday party I attended in San Antonio this weekend with my dad. I'd never met the birthday girl before, and though she was prune-wrinkly, she had a cute gray bob and carried herself like she was still young and beautiful. When I arrived she was wearing pink silk pajamas with an orange over-wrap (also silk). Her voice was low and husky, and she didn't seem to mind that she was the oldest person at the party.
For an 80th birthday party, it was actually a lot of fun. The youngest guest was 21, then there was me, and a bunch of people in their 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s.
I hope I look that good and have that much spunk when I'm 80. I'll have to start on that bourbon and cigarettes regimen tomorrow.
2. Eschew wine and beer and go straight for the bourbon and coke.
3. Smoke cigarettes incessantly from an elegant gold holder.
That's what I learned anyway, from Betty, whose 80th birthday party I attended in San Antonio this weekend with my dad. I'd never met the birthday girl before, and though she was prune-wrinkly, she had a cute gray bob and carried herself like she was still young and beautiful. When I arrived she was wearing pink silk pajamas with an orange over-wrap (also silk). Her voice was low and husky, and she didn't seem to mind that she was the oldest person at the party.
For an 80th birthday party, it was actually a lot of fun. The youngest guest was 21, then there was me, and a bunch of people in their 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s.
I hope I look that good and have that much spunk when I'm 80. I'll have to start on that bourbon and cigarettes regimen tomorrow.
These boots are made for...anything fabulous
It's unusual to be peer-pressured by a parent into extravagant fashion expenditures, but my dad kind of talked me into buying this pair of $200 vintage white cowboy boots with gold eagles on them. As he said, sometimes it's worth spending a little money to get something special. They are truly awesome - my eagle eye spotted them on a high shelf after I'd tried on and rejected five pairs and was on my way our the door.
These fit perfectly and I couldn't bear to walk out of there without them, so I ponied up.
This was at The Wild West Shop in Wimberly, Texas, which is in the Hill Country between Austin and San Antonio. It's run by a German lady with butt-length blond hair who can eye your feet and pull down boots that will fit you. Check them out www.koolboots.com
These fit perfectly and I couldn't bear to walk out of there without them, so I ponied up.
This was at The Wild West Shop in Wimberly, Texas, which is in the Hill Country between Austin and San Antonio. It's run by a German lady with butt-length blond hair who can eye your feet and pull down boots that will fit you. Check them out www.koolboots.com
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Julia Roberts in the Garden
Sometimes I love being a journalist. Okay, make that most of the time. The pay may be lousy (at this point anyway), but the job is an entree to...well, basically anyplace that a person could want to go.
This job is just cool. For instance, you can call up people like Project Runway's Season 2 winner Chloe Dao and they'll actually call you back - that happened this week.
Anyway, while I'm in the business of name-dropping, I have to relay this anecdote:
For an upcoming Statesman story I visited several homes recently that have appeared in movies. The first was a big blue Travis Heights house that was featured in the kids' movie "How to Eat Fried Worms." Just Monday I went out to Pflugerville (about 30 minutes north of Austin) to visit the home that was Dolly Parton's brothel in "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." Pflugerville used to be a tight-knit German community, and it was funny to hear the 74-year-old owner of the house talk about first getting the call back in the early '80s from the film's location scout.
"At first we were a little uncertain about doing it, because of the name - Whorehouse," she said. "But then we realized if they didn't make it here they'd make it somewhere else, so we wouldn't be stoppping it anyway."
I thought I was finished with the research for the story (and that I'd had a pretty good run of it already), but then my editor asked me to visit one more house to round things out. My contact at the Texas Film Commission told me about a movie being filmed right now in Bastrop (30 minutes south of Austin), and I managed to get permission from the production manager to visit the set.
The morning of (i.e. yesterday morning), I figured I better Google this film, "Fireflies in the Garden," so I would have some idea of what kind of questions to ask. I clicked on the IMDb link and up popped an all-star cast: Julia Roberts, William Dafoe, Emily Watson, Hayden Panettiere (one of the teen stars of "Heroes"), Shannon Lucio and a couple of other names I recognized.
I didn't figure I'd see any of these people, though, since the production manager had told me to come at noon - during lunch.
When I got there, though, there had been a schedule change and they actually were filming. As somebody gave me a tour of the house, we passed right by a pregnant Julia Roberts, who was sitting on a couch waiting for the next take. I didn't even look at her the first time, not wanting to be the dorky girl who stares at the celebs, but I did catch some good glimpses later. In fact, she walked by a few feet away from me as I was standing outside the house and she was going in. I saw her hold out her hand and say,"Oh, it's raining," in a surprised voice.
Later, as the location manager was finally able to take me upstairs, we walked in front of Julia as she sat on a bench facing the stairs. She definitely looked at me, probably thinking "Who the fuck is this girl who keeps taking surreptitious sidelong glances at me?" Or maybe she was just thinking, "I'm pregnant - where that's jar of pickles?" We'll never know.
This job is just cool. For instance, you can call up people like Project Runway's Season 2 winner Chloe Dao and they'll actually call you back - that happened this week.
Anyway, while I'm in the business of name-dropping, I have to relay this anecdote:
For an upcoming Statesman story I visited several homes recently that have appeared in movies. The first was a big blue Travis Heights house that was featured in the kids' movie "How to Eat Fried Worms." Just Monday I went out to Pflugerville (about 30 minutes north of Austin) to visit the home that was Dolly Parton's brothel in "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." Pflugerville used to be a tight-knit German community, and it was funny to hear the 74-year-old owner of the house talk about first getting the call back in the early '80s from the film's location scout.
"At first we were a little uncertain about doing it, because of the name - Whorehouse," she said. "But then we realized if they didn't make it here they'd make it somewhere else, so we wouldn't be stoppping it anyway."
I thought I was finished with the research for the story (and that I'd had a pretty good run of it already), but then my editor asked me to visit one more house to round things out. My contact at the Texas Film Commission told me about a movie being filmed right now in Bastrop (30 minutes south of Austin), and I managed to get permission from the production manager to visit the set.
The morning of (i.e. yesterday morning), I figured I better Google this film, "Fireflies in the Garden," so I would have some idea of what kind of questions to ask. I clicked on the IMDb link and up popped an all-star cast: Julia Roberts, William Dafoe, Emily Watson, Hayden Panettiere (one of the teen stars of "Heroes"), Shannon Lucio and a couple of other names I recognized.
I didn't figure I'd see any of these people, though, since the production manager had told me to come at noon - during lunch.
When I got there, though, there had been a schedule change and they actually were filming. As somebody gave me a tour of the house, we passed right by a pregnant Julia Roberts, who was sitting on a couch waiting for the next take. I didn't even look at her the first time, not wanting to be the dorky girl who stares at the celebs, but I did catch some good glimpses later. In fact, she walked by a few feet away from me as I was standing outside the house and she was going in. I saw her hold out her hand and say,"Oh, it's raining," in a surprised voice.
Later, as the location manager was finally able to take me upstairs, we walked in front of Julia as she sat on a bench facing the stairs. She definitely looked at me, probably thinking "Who the fuck is this girl who keeps taking surreptitious sidelong glances at me?" Or maybe she was just thinking, "I'm pregnant - where that's jar of pickles?" We'll never know.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Cocktails at Tiffany's
Since breakfast tends to occur a tad on the early side for mingling (see earlier Macy's breakfast post), the folks at Austin's new Tiffany & Co. hosted a cocktail reception last night to celebrate one month of business. It was about my seventh trip to the Domain, a funny thing since I've never been one to frequent luxury shopping centers - as the following anecdote illustrates.
Always on the lookout for my next Street Cam, I stopped a pretty woman in a green dress (Zac Posen, as it turned out), who was one of a handful in the room actually trying on the jewelry. She was already wearing all Tiffany for the occasion, I learned, from earrings to necklace to ring to brooch, and just looked smashing despite being a mother of two young kids.
As we talked about her favorite places to shop (Neiman's - collectors' section) and her favorite designer (Missoni), she complimented my dress and asked where it was from. For a second I was set to drop the name of some chic boutique, but I always lie terribly so I told her the truth - Forever 21. (I didn't tell her it cost $24). "What's that?" she asked, to my amusement. I told her it was kind of like an H&M, and she looked surprised."In Austin?" A few minutes later, as we were wrapping up, she complimented by necklace, which had a black braided cord and an oversize gold heart pennant. "Forever 21 again," I said, sotto voce. "You have to check it out."
Always on the lookout for my next Street Cam, I stopped a pretty woman in a green dress (Zac Posen, as it turned out), who was one of a handful in the room actually trying on the jewelry. She was already wearing all Tiffany for the occasion, I learned, from earrings to necklace to ring to brooch, and just looked smashing despite being a mother of two young kids.
As we talked about her favorite places to shop (Neiman's - collectors' section) and her favorite designer (Missoni), she complimented my dress and asked where it was from. For a second I was set to drop the name of some chic boutique, but I always lie terribly so I told her the truth - Forever 21. (I didn't tell her it cost $24). "What's that?" she asked, to my amusement. I told her it was kind of like an H&M, and she looked surprised."In Austin?" A few minutes later, as we were wrapping up, she complimented by necklace, which had a black braided cord and an oversize gold heart pennant. "Forever 21 again," I said, sotto voce. "You have to check it out."
Friday, March 23, 2007
The woman with the feather in her hair
If you ever go to a department store breakfast reception, eat first. Do it or you'll spend the morning balancing cups and saucers and lukewarm mini-quiches (that you don't really want anyway) and attempting to gracefully ingest cantaloupe while you mingle amid the mid-priced handbags. You'll inevitably end up not eating what's on your plate and will eventually find yourself glancing furtively around to see if any of the minglers have noticed that you just left a plate of half-crumbled danishes next to the Liz Claiborne tote bags display.
If you ever do attend such a gathering, arrive late to avoid all of the above and feign a need for the restroom in order to wander the store's empty aisles. There you might have the luck to encounter someone such as Miss Jane Sibley, whom you'll recognize by the feather in her hair.
Miss Jane's feather is fitting, since she herself is tiny and birdlike. She's one of the breed of Texas women that captures the imagination - strong, feminine creatures who demur to the males around them but wield far-reaching and subtle power behind their honeyed manners. There's a spark of feistiness to these women that draws me to them.
On this morning, Miss Jane was polite as ever, just as she had been the other time I met her - at a party where we discussed books about Texas. She remembered me, or said she did, and introduced me to a young Latino man who was kind of her assistant. After a few minutes of conversation she excused herself. "We're going to a preview of the Long Center," she explained, and then we talked briefly about how 2008 (when it would open) was not so far away. Then she was gone, leaving me standing in the juniors dresses aisle, wondering what it was I admired about her so.
Some Texan women deserve their own version of the French phrase "Je ne sais (pas) quoi." From now on, when I meet somebody like this, I'll just describe her by saying, she's got that certain, je ne sais pas, y'all.
If you ever do attend such a gathering, arrive late to avoid all of the above and feign a need for the restroom in order to wander the store's empty aisles. There you might have the luck to encounter someone such as Miss Jane Sibley, whom you'll recognize by the feather in her hair.
Miss Jane's feather is fitting, since she herself is tiny and birdlike. She's one of the breed of Texas women that captures the imagination - strong, feminine creatures who demur to the males around them but wield far-reaching and subtle power behind their honeyed manners. There's a spark of feistiness to these women that draws me to them.
On this morning, Miss Jane was polite as ever, just as she had been the other time I met her - at a party where we discussed books about Texas. She remembered me, or said she did, and introduced me to a young Latino man who was kind of her assistant. After a few minutes of conversation she excused herself. "We're going to a preview of the Long Center," she explained, and then we talked briefly about how 2008 (when it would open) was not so far away. Then she was gone, leaving me standing in the juniors dresses aisle, wondering what it was I admired about her so.
Some Texan women deserve their own version of the French phrase "Je ne sais (pas) quoi." From now on, when I meet somebody like this, I'll just describe her by saying, she's got that certain, je ne sais pas, y'all.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Mastering the Domain I
I practically lived at The Domain (Austin's new luxury shopping development, for the uninitiated among you) last weekend. Between interviewing Michael Knight of "Project Runway" fame, talking to fashion designer Sunny Leigh, watching fashion shows, lunching with models (Yes, they eat! Well, some of them do, anyway...) and taking advantage of the discounts from my newly opened Macy's card, I barely ate, slept or visited my apartment.
Posts to come on all of these occurrences, plus on my week of SXSW madness - I've got stories! Stay tuned.
Posts to come on all of these occurrences, plus on my week of SXSW madness - I've got stories! Stay tuned.
Don't let it be forgot
This blog is named for a lyric from the 1960 musical "Camelot" that resonates with me and with a lot of people.
The line goes like this: "Don't let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot."
It's said that John F. Kennedy liked the song and would play it over and over in the early days of his presidency. However true that is, the song is the reason the Kennedy era - a time that celebrated youth, style and idealism - is known as Camelot.
It's a phrase that knocks around in my mind both because I've studied history and, like so many others, have fallen under that Kennedy-era spell (and the Jackie Kennedy style spell), and also because, as much as I gad about swilling cocktails, suntanning, and generally taking my youth for granted, I know it won't last forever. Botox and lipo and yoga aside, my youth and anybody else's - and life, for that matter - is one brief shining moment.
Lastly, I've been privileged over the last few years to run across many great people in Austin whose creativity, energy and inventiveness make this city what it is. These people throw unforgettable parties, of course, and I've had the chance (especially lately) to attend a few of their fabulous fetes and other celebrations. The occasions are brief and shining and usually lose their glitter in the morning, but though my dress may be rumpled, my head may ache and my eyes may be rimmed with leftover mascara, I'm always glad I went to the fair.
So I've started this blog to chronicle the fun I've been privileged to be a part of lately. The stories I have now are good. I hope they'll soon be far too good to ever consider keeping to myself.
The line goes like this: "Don't let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot."
It's said that John F. Kennedy liked the song and would play it over and over in the early days of his presidency. However true that is, the song is the reason the Kennedy era - a time that celebrated youth, style and idealism - is known as Camelot.
It's a phrase that knocks around in my mind both because I've studied history and, like so many others, have fallen under that Kennedy-era spell (and the Jackie Kennedy style spell), and also because, as much as I gad about swilling cocktails, suntanning, and generally taking my youth for granted, I know it won't last forever. Botox and lipo and yoga aside, my youth and anybody else's - and life, for that matter - is one brief shining moment.
Lastly, I've been privileged over the last few years to run across many great people in Austin whose creativity, energy and inventiveness make this city what it is. These people throw unforgettable parties, of course, and I've had the chance (especially lately) to attend a few of their fabulous fetes and other celebrations. The occasions are brief and shining and usually lose their glitter in the morning, but though my dress may be rumpled, my head may ache and my eyes may be rimmed with leftover mascara, I'm always glad I went to the fair.
So I've started this blog to chronicle the fun I've been privileged to be a part of lately. The stories I have now are good. I hope they'll soon be far too good to ever consider keeping to myself.
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