Spend a night out with the family this Saturday night, May 28th, in Forsyth Park at Movie Night in Forsyth Park, sponsored by the Temple of Glory Community Church. Saturday’s movie will be a showing of the classic Karate Kid. If you have never seen the Karate Kid, it’s a movie about the troubles a boy faces in school and the Japanese teacher who teaches him not only how to defend himself but valuable life lessons along the way.

South’s own fashion editor and former Project Runway contestant, Mitchell Hall, presented this summer’s Hottest Styles during a fashion show courtesy of Fab’rik, Trunk 13 boutique and the Grand Bohemian Gallery.

Check out South’s coverage of Heisman trophy winners Tim Tebow and Herschel Walker’s exclusive workout at the D1 Training Center. The video features exclusive footage of the two staying in shape as well as why the two football legacies love the south and what they are doing to keep the south in shape.

Last week the annual event SCAD Style celebrated style and design by holding several lectures, films, panel discussion and workshops with some of the fashion industry’s finest. This year brought designer Derek Lam, blogger Scott Schuman (The Sartorialist), jewelry designer Waris Ahluwalia and Glenn Senk, director and chief executive officer of Urban Outfitters Inc.

Wednesday, April 27, was a day for socialization and relaxation. Martinis at the Mansion was held at 6 p.m. at Casimir’s Lounge at the Mansion on Forsyth Park. A raffle table was set up to benefit the Savannah Rape Crisis Center, and local psychic Jenny Wright offered readings. Guests were able to sample delicious treats from Gigi’s Cupcakes while listening to Greg Williams. The lemonade martini was the specialty of the evening, and house wines were only $5.

Yesterday saw a packed house for The Sartorialist Scott Schuman’s lecture. The infamous blogger talked about the evolution from his simple and normal upbringing in Indiana to one of the most renowned fashion bloggers in the world. Needless to say, every attendee was dressed to impress. In honor of The Sartorialist’s visit, we captured some of the looks that people wore in hopes of impressing the guest. In our opinion it worked!

Last March, Beth Scoggin was officially crowned the 2011 Miss Savannah Harley-Davidson. She went up against twenty-four other ladies in swimwear and “harley-wear” for a variety of prizes, including a spot in the Harley-Davidson St. Patty’s Day float. All proceeds from this event benefited the Muscular Dystrophy Association.

The word Sartorial by definition means “of or pertaining to clothing or style or manner of dress.” Scott Schuman, the photographer who has named himself the Sartorialist, took this idea and created what is now a world-renowned street style blog that is highly influential and has set the bar for fashion photography. South sat down with Scott Schuman and spoke about his inspirations, his appearance at the upcoming SCAD Style, and what ideas he wants to project to the upcoming fashion industry:

It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I didn’t really get the hang of this mother business until the day I gave birth to my fifth (yes, fifth) child.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, crammed in a dark place like a parcel I didn’t want but couldn’t get rid of, was the thought that something bigger and better was going to happen to me one day. I could not say this out loud even to myself because I knew a good mother would never, ever feel this sense of “The best is yet to come.” Good mothers count their blessings while they stir the macaroni and cheese. Good mothers say things like, “I looked into my infant’s eyes and just knew this is what I’d been born to do.”

My confession may surprise many people—even those closest to me—because I’ve always done a darn good job of feeding, clothing, and encouraging my kids. From the first positive pregnancy test, I have loved them desperately and sacrificed a lot for them. I just didn’t do all of that with ease or the confidence that motherhood was my calling. Deep down I thought I was biding time until my other, real-er calling came along.

Then January 20, 2005, happened to me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I thought as I awoke abruptly a little after 5 a.m. I knew immediately that labor had started but I was unwilling to accept it being six days early. “Maybe if I lie very still and go back to sleep it will stop,” I told myself. But I wasn’t very convincing. The big problem wasn’t having the baby early. The big problem was that my husband, an Army major, was still sitting in Iraq. His due date to return was in two days. Why couldn’t he be the one arriving early?!

Only he wasn’t and the contractions were not stopping. So I got out of bed in the January darkness and took a shower. “Might as well shave my legs,” I muttered. It wasn’t easy given my size and the recurring contractions, but at least I could have control over something. Nothing else was cooperating with my plan, that was for sure.

Thankfully my mom had arrived to help a few days before. The older children (none of whom, by the way, were born before the due date) were still sleeping when she came downstairs and found me sitting dressed at the table writing a list of phone numbers and instructions. I was so certain this baby would not arrive before his daddy’s homecoming that I had not bothered to prepare much at all. I tried to convince my mom that I could easily drive the 10 miles to the hospital and just have this baby while she stayed home and made breakfast for the big kids. She rolled her eyes and went to get dressed while I called a friend to come over and baby-sit.

I woke the oldest child, age 12, and told her I’d be busy all day at the hospital giving birth to her youngest brother. “I thought Daddy was coming home first,” she said while rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “I know, me too,” I said. “Just roll with it.”

After an unsuccessful attempt to get my mom to let me drive, we pulled out into the dark and stormy morning. As further proof of my yawning approach to preparing for this thing, we had not made a dry run to the unfamiliar hospital. At that hour all the streets looked the same. After a couple of wrong turns, and an increasingly frantic grandmother, we made it to the hospital.

In a freak of military nature, we were stationed in the same small Bavarian town where we’d lived 12 years before. Odder still was that my doctor happened to be the same one who delivered our first baby all those years ago. He was even more surprised to see me than I was to see him. But before I got to see him on that particular morning, I had to get past the German nurses. None of whom spoke great English. And my patchy German was limited more to “How much does this cost?” and “I’d like some more schnitzel, please,” rather than, “Could we talk about pain meds?”

Fortunately childbirth is an international language and the medical personnel soon had me hooked up to various machines and getting ready to head to the labor and delivery room. That’s about the time I looked at my mother and thought, for the second time that day, “You have got to be kidding.”

I adore my mom. We are so close that we talk almost daily and she is the first person I call for advice on pretty much everything. But I really, really did not want to give birth in front of her. (Frankly, I’d rather give birth with no one at all in the room except the father. But since he is a lawyer instead of an ob/gyn I had accepted the need for one doctor and perhaps a nurse to be present. But I still didn’t like it.) And now my mother—my mother!—was in the room. I reminded myself that many women I know seem to think the more people crowded into the delivery room, the more fun it is for everyone.

About this time the head nurse brought me a cordless phone. On the other end, far away in the desert, was an increasingly frantic daddy. There wasn’t much to say except, “Can you believe this? Me either!” Once he was reassured that I was okay, my husband’s primary concern was that we had yet to decide upon a name. “Okay,” I breathed through a contraction. “Let’s narrow it down to Benjamin or Samuel since we both like those names.” I may or may not have actually said, “You decide,” before we were disconnected. But by the time he got through again at the end of the day, the rest of us had determined the new kid was clearly a Samuel. I tried not to giggle when the first thing his father said was, “I’ve made up my mind…he should definitely be Benjamin.” I may or may not have actually said, “Had you been on the same continent, your vote would have counted.”

And then finally the day was over, the drama shared around the world, and it was just me and the new little one in a cozy hospital room. I don’t know why my epiphany occurred just at that moment. But as I stared at that sleeping baby bundled with fists to cheeks in his bassinet, I was somehow allowed the briefest moment to flip ahead in my personal story and get a look at what is to come. I saw clearly that there is a corner which I will turn after these stressful, busy days of motherhood to the small. There will come calmer days than those I have now as a Soldier’s wife. At some point I will have a regular bedtime and even a career to call my own. And these things will be wonderful. They will be very, very different from what I am doing now. But here is the revelation—in no way will they be bigger or better or real-er.

Biggest and best is the calling to create this family where laughter meets sadness head on. Where we feel the strength of our bond even if it is stretched across miles and oceans that separate us. Where these five little people will grow up realizing that they are enough. Enough for me to slip comfortably into this place where I still don’t like macaroni and cheese, yet I thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of counting my blessings. That’s what all of us good mothers do.

Last summer, Tybee Island, Oakland Island and Hunting Island transformed into South Africa for Kevin McCarey’s narrative short “Extinction.”