That's me crying at my own birthday party. This was the standard scene at my first 5 birthdays or so. Why? Because I hated when people sang "Happy Birthday to You." I didn't know where to look, what sort of expression to make, whether to sing along too. I couldn't take the pressure of being the center of attention, so I coped by hiding my face entirely... sometimes resorting to a more drastic under-the-table strategy.
Sheri told me the oysters were big and abundant in New Orleans. In fact, she had been telling me for nearly a year at our monthly "martini and oyster" dinners in Boston. I believed her, of course, but something about the wild, dreamy look in her eye when she reminisced about her visit to the Acme Oyster House convinced me that I had to experience this spectacle for myself.
I love SXSW. Love the people, love Austin, love the molé sauce and margaritas and queso. Love-love-love-love-love!
Here are a few photos I snapped with my "retro" camera that takes pictures on a canister of film. You can still find places that will turn the film into printed pictures. I felt bad for disappointing all those people who kept running behind my camera to see their photos right after they were taken. (It's interesting how quickly new technologies breed new behaviors.)
My friend, Meg, pointed me toward this online collection of postcards of motels in the 50s and 60s. It's positively brilliant! Not only are the cards amazing, but James Lilek's commentary is wry and right on.
A word of warning... this site will suck you in. If you're like me, you'll inadvertently "just-one-more" yourself through an hour or more.