Tucumcari

Both of our flight times changed on our return flights from Albuquerque, which resulted in me dropping JMP off at the airport at around noon. I didn't have to be back to the airport for my flight until 11:30 pm, and I had the rental car until then, so I headed east along Route 66 to Tucumcari, New Mexico. 

Tucumcari was founded in 1901 as a construction camp for the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad. The camp was called Ragtown and then Six Shooter Siding before being formerly renamed Tucumcari, after a nearby mountain, in 1908. It's the largest city on Route 66 between Amarillo, Texas and Albuquerque, with a population of less than 5,000 as of 2016. 

In its heyday, the town attracted Route 66 travelers to one of its 2000 motel rooms with billboards for miles in each direction proclaiming "Tucumcari Tonite!" They later adopted the tagline "Gateway to the West," but voted to return to their previous slogan in 2008 (a scene including one of the billboards is painted on the side of the Blue Swallow Motel).  

I didn't have time to spare, but I easily could have spent days exploring the abundance of abandoned businesses and neon signs that line both sides of the road. I raced from sign to sign—getting in and out of my blissfully air conditioned car—and I eventually became so overwhelmed (and overheated) that I stopped for lunch at Del's, in business since 1956. The only other place I went inside of was Tepee Curios, a former Gulf gas station, where I bought a tepee pin and squished a souvenir penny. 

While most of the motels and restaurants appear to be abandoned, and the status of some businesses wasn't immediately clear, Tucumcari—somewhat improbably—lives on. Although I didn't have time to visit any of them, Tucumcari has four museums: Mesalands Dinosaur Museum, Route 66 Museum, Tucumcari Historical Museum and the Railroad Museum, and several historic motels are still welcoming road-weary travelers to spend the night.

I only spent a few hours driving the 2.5 mile stretch through town, but Tucumcari was by far my favorite stop along Route 66. If I had an extra night, I would have loved to have spent it in the 100% refrigerated air of the Blue Swallow Motel, serving travelers along the Mother Road since 1939. The neon signs are beautiful in the daytime, but I won't feel complete until I also see them lit up at night.

Route 66: Gallup to Grants

I have had a lifelong dream of packing up everything I own (well, more like everything I need) and traveling along Route 66 from one end to the other. But I also like having a paycheck and health insurance, so until I can somehow find out how to survive without those, I'll have to settle for seeing Route 66 piece by piece. On our recent trip out west we traveled a good chunk of the Mother Road, from Flagstaff, Arizona to Tucumcari, New Mexico. 

President Eisenhower's Federal Interstate Act of 1956 called for the creation of four-lane highways across the country and by the late '60s most of Route 66 was replaced, chopped up or bypassed completely by I-40 in Arizona and New Mexico. Route 66 was officially decommissioned in June of 1985 (just two months before I was born!), although about 85 percent of the original road still exists. 

Gallup, New Mexico is the largest city located between Flagstaff and Albuquerque. A large portion of the population is Native American, from the Navajo, Hopi and Zuni tribes. We stayed overnight at the El Ranchero (worthy of its own post) and headed east the next morning. JMP got in the driver's seat and when I offered to drive she replied, "so you can stop every five feet and take photos?" She knows me very well, of course, because that's exactly what I proceeded to do, and I didn't stop until a few days later when I boarded a plane back to New York. 

For anyone who knows me it might be surprising to hear that I didn't have much on our itinerary for some of the days. This flexibility allowed us to discover places like the abandoned diner or add extra stops when it looked like we'd have time, like the Rehoboth Mission Cemetery. The best thing about traveling on Route 66 is that you don't need to have an itinerary or to blindly follow your GPS from stop to stop. You're guided by the road, not the destination and we'd pull off whenever we saw something that caught our interest—like the Continental Divide, which we both learned is the point where all water to the west flows to the Pacific Ocean and water to the east flows to the Atlantic.

When I noticed that our drive from Gallup to Albuquerque was looking a bit sparse, I consulted my friend Tag who grew up in New Mexico. He confirmed that there wasn't much to see between the two cities, but mentioned that we should try to pass through the Route 66 town of Grants. 

We drove on I-40 when we had to, but tried to follow the Historic Route 66 signs as much as we could. Grants is a small town (population less than 10,000) about halfway between Gallup and Albuquerque. Founded as a railroad camp in the 1880s, residents found success with logging, Route 66 tourism, uranium ore mining and agriculture—at one time Grants was even known as the carrot capitol of the US.

Today, like most of the Route 66 towns we drove through, Grants feels like a ghost town, full of abandoned homes and businesses. The Hollywood Diner was a favorite of mine, and it looks like it has had several lives—we found evidence that it has housed not only a diner but a tattoo shop and pet grooming business (hopefully not at the same time?). Some of the buildings have been left to crumble but others have been demolished entirely—nothing left but their ambitious neon signs standing guard, no longer beckoning travelers at night, but cracking and fading in the desert sun. 

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A lot of these photos are available as prints over in my Society 6 shop, and I will be adding more as I sort through the overwhelming amount of photos I took on this trip.

Beale Street

My dad and I couldn't visit Memphis without checking out Beale Street. Most cities have streets or districts that everyone has heard of—Bourbon Street, Times Square, Hollywood Blvd—and they're often crowded and touristy precisely because they're so well known. Beale Street is no exception, and it reminded me of a smaller (and slightly less stinky) Bourbon Street with tons of neon signs, bars and live music.

Beale Street was established in 1841 (originally called Beale Avenue) and it runs 1.8 miles from the Mississippi River to East Street in downtown Memphis, Tennessee. In the late 1800s many black traveling musicians flocked to Beale Street and in 1890 the Great Opera House was built (now known as the Orpheum). The street was filled with black-owned businesses, and it was home to the anti-segregationist paper Free Speech, co-owned and edited by NAACP co-founder Ida B. Wells.

Beale Street simultaneously claims to be the "Official Home of the Blues," "America’s Most Iconic Street" and "Tennessee’s Top Tourism Attraction" (Graceland might try to argue that last one). The 1916 song "Beale Street Blues" precipitated the name change from avenue to Beale Street—but it was Marc Cohn's 1990 song "Walking in Memphis" that kept running through my head for our entire trip (When I was walking in Memphis / I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale). Louis Armstrong, Muddy Waters, Albert King, Memphis Minnie and B. B. King all played on Beale Street, developing a style eventually known as Memphis Blues.

By the 1960s—especially after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. at the nearby Lorraine Motel—Memphis was a ghost town and many of the businesses on Beale had closed. This decline is more obvious in some parts of town than others—Beale Street was lively while we were there, but it's still a long way from what I imagine it looked like in its heyday.

2nd Avenue: 92nd-34th Streets

One of my doctors' offices is located on First Avenue at 37th Street. I had an after-work appointment recently and it was a beautiful night so I decided to walk from 92Y at Lexington Avenue and 92nd Street. I've done this before and walked down First Avenue, so this time I chose to walk down Second Avenue (Third, you're next!).

I had about an hour, which wasn't really enough time and by the end of it I was nearly jogging to make it to my appointment on time. I walk fairly quickly, I think, but I'm constantly stopping to take photos and criss-crossing the avenue whenever I see something that catches my eye. I'm never really looking for anything super specific on these city walks, but there are things that I will always love: novelty neon, hand-painted signage and anything that looks like old New York to me or makes me laugh.

I would eventually love to take walks like this around the entire city (although maybe just Manhattan is more realistic). Taking this enormous city in tiny slices like this is so much fun to me—the city can be so overwhelming that giving myself constraints (however arbitrary) always helps me focus. I notice things I would probably miss otherwise—like a table for two set precariously over a sidewalk hatch or a fake greenery backdrop only somewhat succeeding at obscuring a construction fence. 

Recently we were having dinner at P.J. Clarke's, a restaurant that has been in business since 1884, and I mentioned that in New York it seems as if businesses are either a hundred years old or brand new—there's not much middle ground. I've already been here long enough to see longtime businesses close (and in some cases be demolished completely) and I'm getting more used to change—but that doesn't make it any easier to know that relics like the hand-painted teal and gold Louis Mattia lighting store sign will inevitably be replaced soon by something far less special.

Avenue U

I can't remember when or where I first saw a photo of this donut shop on Avenue U, but I knew that I needed to see the storefront for myself, and take my own photo before it was too late. It was the perfect spark for a sunny Sunday adventure, one that took me into a few different streets and neighborhoods in South Brooklyn.

Avenue U is a main thoroughfare in Brooklyn, stretching west to east from Gravesend to Bergen Beach, through Sheepshead Bay, Marine Park and Mill Basin. In addition to the Donut Shoppe, which more than lived up to my expectations, the street is populated with hundreds of shops and restaurants with interesting storefronts and wonderful signage. 

Neighborhoods that seem untouched by time are getting harder and harder to find in New York, but I try to get excited about what's left instead of dwelling on what is already gone. G & S Pork Store has a nearly-perfect sign with beautiful hand-painted lettering and pigs holding a length of sausage links, which is just the right amount of whimsical and macabre if you think about it too deeply.   

These type of neighborhood walks are my favorite way to really experience New York, without any real itinerary, agenda or destination. I walked until I was tired and a little sunburnt, fortified by a 90-cent donut and a renewed love of this city and its infinite delights.

Charleston: Signage

I noticed as I was going through my photos from our recent trip to Charleston that I had so many photos of beautiful signage. I'm a graphic designer by day, so I'm programmed to notice nice lettering, and no matter where I go you can bet on me being drawn to good signage. Charleston was full of wonderful hand-painted signs, beautiful scripts and even a few neon goodies.

On our mini-road trip, we passed a roadside shop, which we stopped at following our exploration of the Old Sheldon Church ruins. Although we were lured in by the promise of pie, they didn't have many—but they did have a wide variety of ciders and other tasty treats. We sampled everything we could, and I left with an armload of souvenirs (which I mostly ended up eating myself).

Many stores (especially on King Street) had beautiful, tiled entryways spelling out the name of the store. Most of the time the names no longer matched the store occupying the space, but it's such a wonderful touch—and show of faith in a retailer's longevity—that's really missing from modern-day storefronts.

Of course I took special note of the funeral homes, of which we saw several. The wording "home for funerals" is phrasing I don't ever remember seeing before Charleston (maybe it's a Southern thing?). Don't iron curlicues instantly make a sign look important and a bit old-timey?

We didn't see as much neon in Charleston as you see in New York or other cities, but that script on the American theater marquee is just about as perfect as you can get. I know we're not supposed to judge books by their covers, but I'm not embarrassed to admit that a lot of my decisions in life are based on how something looks—I'll frequently purchase something based on superior packaging (all of other things equal) and I've eaten at countless diners based solely on signage. This isn't a foolproof method, of course, but I figure there are worse ways to go through life than being guided by beautiful design.

Lower Manhattan

A few weekends ago, after diner breakfast at the Landmark Coffee Shop in Chinatown, I set off wandering. I had no destination and no plans, which is always how some of my favorite adventures come to be. I don't consider myself a "photographer" by any means, but I do love having the time and space to take photos without agenda. Photographing storefronts, signage and city life that catches my eye as I wander aimlessly is one of my most treasured activities.

In addition to exploring Chinatown, I wandered the streets of Soho, TriBeCa and the Lower East Side. Our diner was right across from a hotel proclaiming that it was in "SoLita" which we laughed about—although a lot of neighborhood names begin as ridiculous branding experiments by real estate agents, that one seemed particularly forced.

At one point I stumbled upon Staple Street, an approximately 476-foot-long mini street north of the World Trade Center. I'd been there once before looking for a Banksy piece, but I was still in awe of how much I could instantly love a single street. With no room for street parking and an intriguing skybridge, I immediately said outloud (to no one, because New York is making me crazy) "This is officially my favorite street in New York." If I hadn't been there myself, I would swear that Staple Street was on a Hollywood backlot—it's almost too cute.

I passed so many lovely new-to-me storefronts with beautiful signs, awnings and neon. The Chambers St. Smoke Shop sign stopped me dead in my tracks—it looks as if it had been covered for years and just recently got revealed when the occupant left. The store is now vacant and for rent, and I can only hope that the new tenants don't destroy such a beautiful old sign.

I made friends with a window cat, stared up at the skyline like a tourist and found a funeral home with the most wonderful stained glass windows. I've been thinking a lot lately about what makes me happiest, and trying to do more of those things—city walks like this are high on that list.

Philly: Reading Terminal Market

On my first visit to Philly, we briefly stopped in Reading Terminal Market to buy a pie (which turned out to be one of the best pies I've ever eaten). We didn't have much time to spend browsing and it was very crowded, but I'd seen enough to know that I should make an effort to come back the next time I was in town.

We managed to squeeze in a visit on our recent trip before we had to catch our train, and this time it was not crowded at all because it was a Sunday. I didn't realize that a lot of the vendors are Amish, and therefore closed on Sundays. This means I didn't get to buy another life-changing pie, but I was just as enamored by the neon signage and various offerings as I was on my first visit.

We weren't hungry at the time, which was a shame because the market is filled with so many delicious-looking (and smelling) things including cheesesteaks, ice cream, donuts, Chinese food, pretzels and a really cute diner counter. Almost every single booth has a neon sign better than the last, with swishing lobster tails, beautiful scripts and illustrations of various foods. I'm a huge fan of judging a book by its cover—or a store or restaurant by its signage—and Reading Terminal Market passes this test with flying (neon) colors.

5th Avenue: 24th Street - Park Place

It's been a while since I've just wandered around taking photos and my storefront addiction was in need of a fix. After satisfying my always-present need for cemetery exploration by walking through Green-Wood Cemetery, I decided to walk the rest of the way home (2 miles exactly) down 5th Avenue through Park Slope. I live right on the border of Park Slope and Prospect Heights, and what I always find fascinating about New York is how distinctive neighborhoods can be from one another.

Park Slope is the epitome of Brownstone Brooklyn, and 5th Avenue is one of the main retail streets through the neighborhood. Brooklyn's 5th Ave is slightly more mom-and-pop than the more famous 5th Avenue in Manhattan—but like all of New York, things change quickly. There's a Barnes and Noble and a handful of big name banks and chain stores, but there's still some really wonderful, old signage, diners and small businesses to be discovered.

As usual, I was drawn to anything neon, strange, handpainted, vintage-looking or with a clever-sounding name. These types of walks—where I'm hyper-focused on storefronts and signage—are always uplifting to my New York-loving soul. It's tempting to get depressed with every demolition or the closing of a beloved business, but just knowing that there are still authentic, interesting places sandwiched in between every Chase bank and Dunkin' Donuts is comforting.

"Amazing Variety Store" wins points in the generic hyperbole department, Brooklyn Superhero Company (yes, this is a real store) wins for best closed sign (NOPE.), the laundromat and "TV Repairs" tie for best handpainted signage and Garry Jewelers wins for best signage overall—but it's the "I Want a Breast Pump" storefront that will continue to haunt and confuse me for a very long time.

More city walks: First Avenue: 1st - 34th Streets | First Avenue: 92nd - 34th Streets

First Avenue: 92nd - 34th Streets

I didn't intend to only focus on First Avenue for my mini adventures / neighborhood walks, but I had a doctor's appointment recently that took me south down First from 92nd to 34th Street. I had walked north on First between 1st and 34th only a few weeks before, so it appealed to my organized nature to check out another large portion of the avenue.

Even though I work on the Upper East Side, a lot of the east side still feels largely unexplored to me. Every time I spend any time on York, First, Second and Third Avenues, I make a note to myself to get over there more often. Maybe it's partly due to the lack of subway lines (c'mon Second Avenue Subway!), but the east side feels more preserved and a little more old New York than the west side (at least UES vs UWS).

I am always drawn to neon—novelty shapes and scripts make me swoon—and anything handpainted, and luckily I saw a lot of both on my walk. My heart skipped a beat when I came across a standalone news stand that looked so authentically New York  and wonderfully generic that it felt like it was made for a movie set. I made note of a few diners to revisit (the Star Diner is never close!) and mourned the relocation of Gracie's Corner Diner to Second Ave—a move that unfortunately forced them to abandon their First Ave location and its perfect neon sign.

New Orleans: Neon

The first thing I noticed while walking down Bourbon Street for the first time (on our way to the perfect Clover Grill) was the plethora of wonderful neon signs. I didn't know much about New Orleans before we went, but of course I'd heard of Bourbon Street and its 24/7 party vibe. That translates into a lot of neon—old and new, on and around Bourbon—and I loved it all.

Bourbon Street is basically the Times Square of New Orleans, but I have zero problem being unabashedly touristy when it's my first time visiting a city. Our hotel was located in the Central Business District, so to get anywhere in the French Quarter it was easiest to take a stroll down Bourbon. The street was so named to honor France's ruling family at the time, The House of Bourbon, and not because of the large concentration of bars that reside there—in fact Bourbon Street was a prime residential location prior to 1900.

After taking a storefront tour recently—where it was explained that maintaining neon signs is a very labor intensive and expensive process—I have a renewed appreciation for their beauty. From strip clubs, bars and daiquiri windows, to restaurants, pharmacies and gift shops, neon is somehow always the right choice.

Queens Walk

About a month ago, my friends and I took a long, rambling walk through Queens to eventually eat lunch at the Goodfellas Diner. We stumbled upon a delightfully vintage Carvel ice cream shop and so many wonderful storefronts, signage and neighborhoods that we would have never known about had we taken the bus or train.

We made a slight detour to stop at Rudy's Pastry shop, a German-American bakery which has been in Ridgewood since 1934. It had been on my radar for a while, but it was a great place to stop halfway along our journey. We got some treats and admired their wooden display cases, beautiful handpainted signage and large spools of baker's twine hanging from the ceiling.

Ridgewood has been hailed as an "affordable alternative" to more trendy places like Williamsburg and Greenpoint, and I can definitely see why. We walked past some wonderful shops, cute single-family houses and a lot of Polish, German and other eastern-European restaurants. I love finding places in New York that really feel authentic, in a way that can only be created over time and with the right mix of people and ethnicities.

The Goodfellas Diner is located in Maspeth, which is more industrial than Ridgewood, and after lunch we continued north into Woodside where we eventually caught a train. Queens is home to so many excellent cemeteries (and World's Fair history!) that I was already destined to spend a great deal of time there, but this walk only strengthened my love for New York's largest—but often-underrated— borough.

First Avenue: 1st - 34th Streets

I've always been obsessed with storefronts, and living in New York has only amplified my love of a great neon sign, classic typography and anything that looks remotely old. I've recently been trying to be conscious of capturing some of the wonderful signs and storefronts that I see, before they're gone forever.

I recently had a wandering Sunday that I was content to spend taking photos, so I decided to narrow my focus to First Avenue. I started my walk at the southern beginning of First (at Houston) and walked north until 34th Street. It wasn't a huge walk by my standards, but I have a tendency to overdo things, so taking it slow and exploring a small slice of Manhattan was a nice change.

I know I'm always moaning about the changing city, about diners being demolishedand soulless luxury condos rising in their place, but there is still a surprising number of wonderful, authentic and old businesses in the city. Of course these too seem to be disappearing at an alarming rate, but there are still charming things to find if you look hard enough, even in the most desirable parts of Manhattan.

I would love to keep taking these mini-adventures—no matter how long I live here I think I'll still keep finding new-to-me places that instantly transport me to the "old New York." Of course what I think of as the "old New York" probably never really existed in the way that I'm imagining, but these places also remind me that "new New York" is still pretty extraordinary.

Wiltshire Motel

When Jim and I left for our destination-wedding roadtrip (if you can call Massillon, Ohio a destination) we planned to drive as far as we could after work and find a hotel along the way. We got tired around Breezewood, PA, which I recognized from my childhood family roadtrips as a popular stopping spot. We inquired at a few chain motels but were discouraged with the prices, so we consulted Google, which led us to the Wiltshire Motel. It had good reviews and the price was right so we drove to it not knowing what we would find.

We were both immediately delighted when we pulled up and noticed the classic neon letter signage. The neon was, unfortunately not on, but there was enough ambient light to know that we were at the right place. In the morning, we realized that the place was basically lousy with wonderful signage, with a two-sided "Motel Entrance" arrow at one entrance and another classic sign (with arrow) at the other.

The delights continued when we were handed a classic motel keytag to our room, which looked as if it hadn't changed since the 1950s. The room was classic roadside motel through and through—everything looked like it was authentically vintage, but was also in inexplicably good condition. The pink and teal color scheme of the bathroom is perfect, and the wall art above our beds was something I would have definitely grabbed at an estate sale to sell on Blue Carrot.

Bonus Motel: In the morning we also realized that we were across the street from a totally wonderful abandoned motel with the most perfect "MOTEL" sign out front. At first glance, Breezewood appears to be all chain hotels and gas stations, but I love that there are still signs of the old roadside life if you look hard enough.

Upstate NY Diners

I mentioned that we passed three diners just off of the Taconic Parkway, on our way to Lake George—we ate at the West Taghkanic Diner but we just stopped to creep on the Chief Martindale Diner and O's Eatery. I'm sure the Taconic used to be lousy with roadside diners in the 60s, but diners are dying at an alarming rate. They seem to be less threatened upstate than they are in the city, but faster interstates and more direct routes have left scenic roadways like the Taconic feeling forgotten.

All three of these diners are very close to each other—it took about 8 minutes to drive from one to the other. I almost fainted with excitement when we arrived at the Chief Martindale Diner. They have not one, but two amazing signs, and it's impossible to pick which one I like more. The neon DINER letters are HUGE (presumably to function as a billboard to passing motorists) and just perfect in every way. The Chief Martindale sign is a total classic as well, although I guess I could say that it's lacking in colorful neon like the West Taghkanic sign, but it's just so great with its arrow and script that I can't fault it for much.

O's Eatery was slightly underwhelming, but only because the two before it were so very excellent. Taken alone, its double-sided diner sign is pretty perfect, but it's also not a classic rail car style like the other two. I can't speak to the interiors of either place, although I did look up the Chief Martindale and from what I saw, I think it might be even better inside than the West Taghkanic if that's possible (next time!).

Bonus diner!

On our first morning in Lake George, we ate at the Prospect Mountain Diner, and we liked it so much that we came back the next two days for breakfast. It's a classic rail car style, and although they have outdoor seating, we sat inside for ambiance-sake. The vinyl-glitter booths, black-and-white-checked floor and boomerang countertops were all so wonderful, but it was the tabletop jukeboxes that really set the scene (your song selection played throughout the whole diner). At one point during our first breakfast—with a delicious waffle in front of me and a whole day at the Magic Forest ahead of us—I looked up and said "I don't think I could be happier than I am now," and I definitely meant it.

West Taghkanic Diner

When I planned our epic Labor Day weekend roadtrip to Lake George, I knew that I wanted to take the scenic route on the way there. I've been wanting to explore a bit of the Taconic Parkway, the longest parkway in New York state and the second-longest contiguous road to be listed on the National Register of Historic Places. There were three diners in particular that I wanted to see, but I knew that I wanted to stop and eat at the West Taghkanic Diner, located just off the Taconic on NY-82 in Ancram, NY. I discovered it a year ago when I was planning for a different road trip, and it had been on my mind ever since.

Like most diners I love, the West Taghkanic has an epically amazing sign, although I was slightly disappointed to see a bit of what looked like scaffolding obscuring parts of it. I also realized that I would have preferred to see the neon lit up in all of its multi-colored glory, but now I'll just have to plan a return visit when it's dark outside.

The inside felt mostly original—to my delight—with wonderful counter stools, boomerang-print countertops, loads of aluminum and stainless and the best light-up signs for the fountain, restrooms and telephone. They even had branded cups, which I can't remember ever seeing at a diner—I always appreciate adherence to a brand, especially when it's based on a sign as good as the West Taghkanic's.

Florence: Signage

Even after having more than a year to reflect on my Italy trip, it's impossible to pick a favorite of the five cities my uncle took me to. However after five days in Rome, I do remember thinking upon arriving in Florence that I was going to like it even more than I did Rome. I was right, although it's unfair to compare two (or five) very different cities. Florence is smaller and felt intimate and carefully curated, which was a nice tonic to the overwhelming amount of very important things to see in Rome.

Florence probably had the best signage of the five, a category that saw a lot of robust competition during the course of our trip. Every hotel, gelateria, restaurant and store had a lovely sign, most of which comprised individual letters, stacked vertically and suspended perpendicular to the building.

No matter what they said—I could figure out most, but I don't speak Italian—or which way you saw them from, they were all wonderful. There were illuminated letters, neon scripts and such a lovely variety of colors, arrangements and typefaces that I was constantly stopping to photograph run-of-the-mill shop signs like the big, embarrassing tourist I was/am. I know everything sounds exotic and better in a language that's not your own, but it's very hard not to prefer "Coiffeurs Pour Dames" over Best Cuts.

Nashville: Signage

My favorite part of any city is usually the signage, and Nashville was no exception. My dad and I met in Nashville for a Memorial Day/dad's birthday father-daughter weekend trip, and we had a great time. The first store we went in was the Ernest Tubb Record Shop, which had an incredible sign that not only rotated, but included neon and a replaceable-letter marquee.

It was impossible not to be enamored with all of the neon signs downtown—cowboy boots, cowgirls, guitars, flying pigs. It's really hard to pick a favorite, but the flying pigs and the Hats/Boots cowboy were ones that had me majorly swooning. As with any proper sign, they looked great in the daytime as well as when they were lit up at night—the pigs even flashed in sequence to make it look as if they were really flying.

The signs aren't exclusively limited to downtown, of course, and there were great ones wherever we went in the city. Printer's Alley had a few really wonderful ones—neon and hand-painted. I'm not sure how many of the signs are original/vintage and how many are new, but even the ones that I suspect are new were still really beautiful.

I loved all of the western-style typography, but my very favorite sign was the one for the Dejà Vu Showgirls Gentleman's club. We drove by it a few times and when we finally walked by it I was so happy that I was able to get a picture of it in all of its neon-pink, fishnet-ed, classic-script glory.