Tag: Guide

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Living Spaces Real Estate

In Focus

FDR said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” I suspect he never had to remove a stripped bibb seat.

When my wife and I bought our house, we inherited a leaky shower faucet. Moreover, this wasn’t the steady drips of a faucet fudging on the details. This was the insistent flow of an army on the march accompanied by the high-pitch hellhound whine of a valve not tightly stanched somewhere behind the bathroom tile.

After putting it off for four months, I got right on the task of fixing the problem. At all costs, I wanted to avoid paying a plumber to do the fix. So I brushed up on shower-faucet lingo online and ran to my local hardware store to buy a new stem set.

After much experimentation, false starts, and trips back to the hardware store to buy socket wrenches or O-rings, I decided to replace everything, all the way to the bibb seat at the back of the faucet contraption. Of course, for that I needed a bibb-seat tool. Tapering or non-tapering? I made an uneducated guess.

The cold-water-side bibb seat came out like it was greased with honey, but it came out. The hot-water seat, however, felt like it was greased with the Ural Mountains. It was going nowhere, and worse, I was starting to strip the seat’s brass grip with the steel of the seat tool. Things were getting desperate. Every time I tried, I stripped the bibb seat more. I was starting to get the Fear, and it was looking like I needed professional help — at least a plumber for the short-term.

I tried one last time: I hammered the bibb-seat tool in, pushed with all my might, and turned. And the bibb seat came loose.

Twenty minutes later, everything was reassembled and the water turned back on, and the leak could be counted in the past. A week later, a sink faucet began dripping.

To spiders, being abducted by aliens, and the little girl from The Ring: Please add the newest entry on my list of fears — a leaky faucet.

greg@memphisflyer.com

Categories
News

Near Miss

CREDIT: Courtesy of Sandestin Golf and Beach Resort

The thing about golf is, you never really know how you’re going to play until you go out there and play. So it came as quite a letdown when my first shot at Sandestin’s Baytowne Golf Club went straight down the middle of the fairway. “Great,” I thought. “Watch me shoot a great score, and then I’ll have to come back.”

Not just come back to golf, you understand — on that I am hopelessly hooked, pun intended — but come back to the resort life. Maybe it’s aging, or maybe my demagogic travel mind is finally opening up a little, but a guy could get addicted to renting a house between the bay and the beach, playing some golf in the morning, and choosing between a few nice restaurants for dinner.

Consider: I woke up that morning in a room with a view of Choctawatchee Bay, walked over for a big breakfast in Baytowne Village, then called for a free shuttle to the course, where I was set up with a cart, clubs, and a four-color guide to the course. Even the course designer knew how to get a duffer like me. I scanned the scorecard and saw that the first hole was a straight-ahead par 4 with no water, 381 yards from the gold tees … but only 281 from the white! My companions — two salesmen from Birmingham and a local — and I looked at each other, shrugged, and said, “Let’s play the whites!” A golf course is no place for pride.

The other thing about golf is, it suffers from a double-barreled bad reputation: one, that it’s a refuge for guys who want to get away from women, and two, that it’s a refuge for rich, white assholes. (Certainly, the latter would have been my view, had I been visiting Florida in my usual Greyhound/campground mode.)

As for the first, well sure, sometimes the guys want to be with the guys. And sometimes the ladies want to be with the ladies. And sometimes everybody wants the kids to be with the kids. So let’s just put gender aside and say you’re a golfer, traveling with other golfers. And let’s say you’ve decided to stay at Sandestin. And let’s say you want to get in 18 holes while the rest of the crew does something else.

Just as a quick sampler, here are some options, golf first: On the 2,400-acre Sandestin property, you’ve got four courses to choose from: Raven, designed by Robert Trent Jones Jr., has mango-scented towels and people who clean your clubs for you; his brother Rees Jones’ Burnt Pine rolls along the coastline for 7,000 yards; Baytowne, which winds through the resort and features kids’ tees; and The Links, which has views of the bay and marina.

So my Guy Mind was whirling on that first fairway. But what if I were married and had kids? What to do with the non-golfers? Obviously, there’s the beach, but there’s also more shops than flagsticks around (including the world’s largest factory outlet mall) and the inevitable salon/spa in the resort. The wife can send the kids out for a sailing lesson, tennis camp, or a ride on a pirate ship, or she could just drop them off in the KidZone to do games, arts, and crafts.

And then there’s the money. They’ve got “stay and play” packages that include lodging, greens fees, cart, and practice balls. Prices vary by season. Four people can spend two nights in a house and play two rounds at Baytowne for $230 in winter up to $356 in summer. Two people can share a hotel room and play The Links twice for the same amount of money. You can spend more than that, but getting together a few friends for a couple nights and a couple rounds and spending a few hundred bucks each is downright reasonable, even to a guy who used to have as his life motto: “Don’t pay rent — pay bus fare!”

That’s why I was in so much trouble on the first hole at Baytowne. I mean, there’s the comfort. And the convenience. And the variety. But now this: a reachable par 4? It got worse when I hit my approach onto the green. Walking up there for my 10-foot birdie putt, I had visions of grandeur: the rental house on a lake, walking to the beach in the mornings, a different course every day, the fishing, the sun, the surf …

It’s a good thing I missed that putt.

portlandpaul@mac.com

Categories
News

South Walton vs. The Machine

Everywhere one goes in the Beaches of South Walton, people say “10 years ago … “: This was a lonesome beach 10 years ago. None of these strip malls were here 10 years ago. Heck, 10 years ago, this was a two-lane road through a forest. You could get a house around here for nothing 10 years ago.

Traveling east on US 98, my host and I headed for Scenic Highway 30A, a 20-mile strip along the Gulf Coast that is the heart of the place I’d been brought in to see.

“Up until about 10 years ago,” my host says, “hardly anybody knew this road was here.”

No more. By the end of my tour, when I had seen all 13 “eclectic beach communities” collectively known as the Beaches of South Walton, it was astoundingly clear what happened here about 10 years ago: The Machine found the place.

You know the Machine. It finds places and fills them up. It develops sleepy little nooks into communities of resorts, condos, fancy restaurants, and golf courses. It forms marketing plans to fill $200 hotel rooms and sell $35 steaks. It raises property values and brings in hordes of service-industry employees who live on the fringes and work three jobs driving shuttles and making lattes and folding sheets. It serves cocktails on the beach. It surrounds fishing towns with skyscrapers.

The Machine has come for South Walton, and it can’t be stopped. But the folks who live here have a plan. It’s apparent that they looked around at their neighbors and said, “Not here — not all of it, anyway.” They set aside forested strips of land as state parks, even reserving some beaches for walk-in-only access. All the other beaches are entirely accessible to the public, and boardwalks connect 30A to the white sands at numerous places. They limited buildings to four floors. They make serious, successful efforts to keep the beaches clean. Even the name, “Beaches of South Walton” (which, of course, is less than 10 years old), reflects a collective search for an identity — and/or a slick marketing campaign. Even as construction explodes in every direction, the PR materials constantly refer to “the pure and simple Beaches of South Walton.”

Such is the pitch: great beaches and every luxury you could want but not completely over the top. We still have some real nature! And we barely got touched by the hurricanes!

And yet the Machine churns. As America gets older and the rich get richer, the Machine gets hungrier. And it doesn’t build for the working class. Scenic Highway 30A is now the scene of such things as Blue Mountain Beach, which “offers spectacular views of the coastline, making it a hot spot for lavish homes and condominiums.” Offerings include Redfish Village, the Village of Blue Mountain Beach, and the Retreat.

WaterColor and WaterSound Beach, owned by a logging company, are both “Southern [themed] coastal resorts.” Seaside is “designing buildings to fill empty parcels” while planning a “splendid plaza” and a tower “in the center of town.” Alys Beach bills itself as “a traditional neighborhood development” with “environmentally friendly courtyard homes with whitewashed masonry and rooftop terraces.” Seacrest Beach touts “marshlands perfect for wading birds” and extensive plantings of live oaks — on a golf course. Rosemary Beach, all of 11 years old, went for the Dutch/West Indies theme: “Bermuda shutters, wide second-floor porches, and arched garage doors.”

It’s a heaping helping of Vegas in the Florida Panhandle, with “beach solitude” replacing “win big” as the central pitch. In both places, the Machine churns out high-end shopping and dining, seven-figure homes and condos, designer golf courses, and brand-new “towns” filled with the food and music of other places.

Consider: A couple years ago, Sandestin, the biggest and oldest resort around, built its own “village” of shops that includes an Acme Oyster House straight from New Orleans and an artificial pond with an “Italian” gondolier. Through this village, every year, winds a golf-cart Mardi Gras parade.

Or this: Seaside proudly proclaims that it was the main location for The Truman Show — a movie about a man who unknowingly lived in a false world.

There’s more of this coming: a big, new airport — the Machine demands multiple nonstops daily — and developments popping up everywhere you look.

The question remains: Can you market a place to death? In South Walton, the counted-on answer is to make peace with the Machine and try to limit it: in other words, be a shopping/dining/beach/condo/gallery/golf destination that manages to retain more than its share of quiet, natural moments.

If, on the other hand, you’re looking for that quiet little fishing village with the mom-and-pop restaurant out on the dock, it’s too late for South Walton. The Machine already got it.

Categories
Cover Feature News

The Flyer’s Fall Fashion Spectacular

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

Justin Fox Burks

Bailey 44 two-tone dress, $250, with Betsy Johnson coat, $665, both from Muse

Justin Fox Burks

Left: T-bags dress, $196, from Indigo. Shoes, model’s own

Justin Fox Burks

Lip Service camo cami, $32, with Lip Service Skinny camo jeans, $60, both from Tear It Up.

Justin Fox Burks

On her: Mon Petit Oiseau chiffon dress, $190, from Shoppe. On him: Black Rivet chocolate blazer, $95, Tailorbyrd striped shirt, $98, and 7 for All Mankind bottcut jeans, $145, all from Lansky 126. Shoes, model’s own.

Justin Fox Burks

Red Button plaid vest, $95, Lamb T-shirt, $65, and Stitchs skinny jean, $265, all from James Davis.

Justin Fox Burks

On her: Junkfood Blondie tank, $28, Juicy Couture crop hoodie, $118, and True Religion Billy Bootcut jeans, $172, all from Lansky 126. Sunglasses, models own. On him: Hugo Boss white floral shirt, $175, with Stitchs Dakota jean, $280, and Hugo Boss brown velvet jacket, $495, all from James Davis.

Justin Fox Burks

On him: Ed Hardy T-shirt, $85, and Bugatchi velvet jacket, $250, both from Muse.

Justin Fox Burks

Left: Kay Celine black bustier, $98, with Antik Denim jeans, $185, and Vintage belt, $135, all from James Davis. Right: Betsey Johnson coat, $665, from Muse.

Justin Fox Burks

and True Religion Joey Flare jeans, $172, all from Lansky 126.

Justin Fox Burks

Citizens of Humanity Valencia lace grey jean, $168, and Leather Island Zebra belt, $98, all from Lansky 126.

Justin Fox Burks

Rachel Pally keyhole turtleneck tunic, $158, from Isabella, with Rock and Republic jeans, $215, from James Davis.

Justin Fox Burks

On her: Cupio crisp white button-down, $88, and Chinese Laundry wide belt, $45, both from Lansky 126.

Justin Fox Burks

Rebecca Taylor lace cami, $180, and beaded crystal necklace with quartz drops, $120, both from Shoppe. Bracelet, $12.50, from Indigo.

Justin Fox Burks

gold-leaf earrings, $42.50.

Justin Fox Burks

both from James Davis.

Justin Fox Burks

Glam dress, $89.50, from Indigo.

Justin Fox Burks

Left: Free People black velvet dress, $105. Right: Rebecca Taylor red velvet mini, $185, with Cris light-brown cashmere V-neck sweater, $200. All from Shoppe.

Justin Fox Burks

Right: English Laundry peaceful shirt, $85, from Muse.

Justin Fox Burks

Right: Haupt tone-on-tone button-down, $115, from James Davis.

Justin Fox Burks

On him: Diesel Rock to the Top T-shirt, $44, with Diesel flat-front pants, $121, both from Lux.

Free Sol will be
playing October 20th at Newby’s.
Valerie June plays Fridays at Java Cabana and Sundays at Fresh Slices.
For upcoming concert dates for Lord T and Eliose, go to myspace.com/lordtandeloise.

Special Thanks to: Kris Kourdouvelis for allowing us to use his amazing warehouse; our rock-and-roll hair and beauty team from Gould’s:
Steve Napier, Natalie Morefield, and Kristi Land; our models: Tracy Barnhill, Ashley Bienvenu, Mary Burns, Alice Buzdugan, Free Sol,
Valerie June, members of Lord T and Eloise, Camille Varner; Bach’s for the yummy wraps and sandwiches;
Robbie French for making sure we didn’t die of thirst; and Christina Leatherman for her invaluable help and advice.