The World According to EDW

I haven't run away, I swear. I'm home! But, incidentally, how long do you think I can get away with this? Do you think if I just pretend to be away one of my fabulous guest bloggers will keep writing for me? Because that would be really, really cool.

I have loved reading what each of my friends wrote on this blog, and I've been catching up with all of your blogs.

But it's the eve of my least favorite social holiday, and with it the eve of the deadline for the Spring Mix-a-thon! So I guess that means I have to come out of deep hiding and face the music.

(Pause for groan.)

It's okay if you're not finished with your mix. Really. This deadlines is for kicks, not guilt. You know what to do. Send me your address. Send me your mix, well, 7 copies of it, if you're exchanging with everyone. Here's the list of participants:

Amy
Courtney
PW
Patrick
Nicole
Dawn
Brooke
Tabatha, but only under duress.
Ryan, Courtney's non-blogging friend

Did I miss anyone? I think the only people who aren't multi-mixing are Tab and Ryan. Corrections? Questions?

A big thank you to my guest bloggers - you guys are the best. It's nice to be home.

Yes, it's coming in the mail, but, for those of you who may be impatient, or need something to listen to at work, here's the preview. These are all songs that either remind me of spring, or that I've discovered this spring, and that I'm listening to obsessively.

Click the link, and you can play them right from the screen. They will all play in order too; you only have to click the first song.

Have fun!

Love, Courtney

Feast 185

Jami here for EDW. I'm lacking on my creative ideas, it's past midnight and so I decided to do the Friday Feast, on behalf of EDW, with what I imagine her answers might be. I don't really know her that well, history and memory and all, but you never know. I might be psychic. Or not.

Appetizer
What does the color dark green make you think of?
Leprechauns frolicking in the woods, eating spinach.

Soup
How many cousins do you have?
1,148.4

Salad
On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being highest, how honest are you?
7.65 No, that's a lie. It's more like 7.7, but since I lied about that, now it's about a 7.59. This is hard. No, that's a lie, too.

Main Course
Name something that is truly free.
Guest bloggers. You get what you pay for.

Dessert
Using the letters in the word SPRING, write a sentence.
Somebody please remove inchworms now, gracias.

I'm not sure when EDW is scheduled to return, I know it's a Tuesday, or possibly a Thursday. So if you're back and planning to post today, my apologies. But I saw a lack of post and I'm in the mood to write instead of clean the bathroom so here goes.

Warning - do not read this post any further if you are offended by foul language. This post is about swearing. If you don't like swearing, you won't like the post, so feel free to click on over to the Daily Puppy.

I have a bit of a foul mouth. Okay, I cuss like a drunken sailor arguing with a trucker, but really, only when the situation calls for it. Not like, in church or at weddings, of course, but sometimes you just need a good swear. Here's my reflection on a few of them:

S*** . I don't really like this one and I don't use it much. To me, it's more unpleasant sounding, harsh and uneducated if you will. There are occasions which it is appropriate, especially if you are putting "Bull" in front of it, although some prefer "horse". I don't know why. I do have one friend who says it with such grace and refined elocution that it sounds almost classy, but I just can't mimic her closely enough to acheive the same effect.

Damn. It's more common, more acceptable, almost a swear-lite these days. Not that I say it to children or the elderly, but I've even heard my dear old grand-ma-ma say this one and while it caused some shock waves in the family, it didn't give anyone heart failure. It's nice for mild disappointments and for adding emphasis to a word or phrase, like "he'd damn well better .. " or "that's pretty damn inconsiderate, doncha think?"

Ass. One of my personal favorites, I have to admit. I didn't ** it because it's also a totally acceptable word, even in Christmas carols. Calling someone the word without any additives conveys a sort of silly-stupidness, you know as in "making an ass of himself". He's not doing anything horrid, just being a major fool. Adding to it, however, allows you to clarify the level of jerkiness. An A--hole is someone who is deliberating being mean or rude. A jackass is just beyond stupid, and refusing to stop being stupid. My personal favorite A--hat, is someone who is stupid and rude at the same time in a way that is humiliating to them. (My friend Tim insists that this is not a proper swear, but in my opinion, that makes him an asshat.) I've also heard the expression a--hammer, and frankly, I just don't know what to make of that. There's also "half-assed" which may some day lead to a post on if one is supposed to be whole-assed or non-assed, instead of just the half.

And of course...

The F Word. Yes, I do use this word. There is something about saying it when you're really mad that is just soothing. The louder you can say it, or the more creatively, the better you feel. You can use it in so very, very many ways, see here but only if you have a VERY high tolerance for the word, and you can insert it into words, add all sorts of things to it, (the previously mentioned Tim uses the word F---tard so as not to use the offense "retard". See how much nicer?) and even add sort of nonsense syllables to it to amuse yourself further, such as "f--- a doodle doo" and "f---ity f---"

Sometimes a swear is just funnier than a clean word. Would Jay and Silent Bob Strikes Back still be funny if they took out all the cussing? Probably, but not nearly as much.

Is it wrong to be such a potty mouth? This is an endless debate. My personal feeling is, the Bible very clearly tells me not to use the Lord's name in vain (number three on the Big Ten, if you're protestant) but never, in all the verses in all the chapters of all the books, does it say "Don't say ass or s---". So there ya go. Have a nice day.

So here's the thing.

My husband not only is obsessed with Bruce Springsteen and making me wake up at 5am Thursday morning to drive seven hours down to Portland to see him...and then see him again in Seattle...and then again see him again in Vancouver on Monday...my husband is also declaring lately that he is only 2% Canadian.

What is the other 98% of him you ask? American.

He has declared himself American minus 2%...I am unsure which part his body America won't take that equals that 2% but I guess them parts of him are BADDD!

Bruce Springsteen is the quintessential American icon so I guess I should have seen this coming - what with Rob having a bootleg concert taping from every tour the man has done since 1975.

He is sick to death of Canada. I think that Canada is a great country. We have health care, natural resources, socialist ideals, pot is legal, the drinking age is 19, our beer is strong, we say ridiculous things like 'eh'....I love Canada. I can't vouch for our exports though...things like Nickelback, Pam Anderson, Tom Green....but Mike Myers and the zipper are pretty cool! Yes we invented the zipper!

Anyway, he is hell bent on moving to America - he wants to live in Brooklyn or Queens...or really anywhere that is close to our friends Nick and Liz and far away from people that say 'eh.' I am actually on board with his wish to move - I will support him in his lunacy - but I am sick to death of hearing about how a country that I love is THE WORST place in the entire world to live. I am hearing it all day, and every day, it is getting out of control.

Americans have a saying thanks to South Park - 'Blame Canada.'

My saying is blame Bruce Springsteen.

I wrote this post about a week ago and blogger ate it. I recreated it best I could here. I didn't intend for it to have cussing, but it did, so I apologize to anyone offended by that.

You know what I think of when I think about you? Most often I think about the time the summer before my senior year, when we were on the football field for pictures. We were talking about how odd it is when you want to spend as much time as you can with your friends, but you also want to start to pull away, because in a handful of months, we'd say goodbye to most of these people, for the last time at least until the reunion, and probably forever. And you said that you knew that most of them you'd never see again, but you knew that we'd always be close. We'd been through some (high school level) tough times together, and we'd weathered all the storms. I believed you, and maybe you did, too.

At first it seemed like you were right. I called you when I had my first college heartbreak. We wrote letters, since email was still a couple years away. We got together every break and holiday. You were a friend I could count on.

When your life fell apart, I did all I could for you, even though by then we'd started to drift apart a little. I still counted you among my nearest and dearest, though we both had different circles and plans. I supported you unconditionally, listened to you, cried with you, prayed for you and never, ever said "I told you so." I didn't even let myself think it.

It took me too long to realize that when you didn't return my calls, it wasn't because you were so busy. That when we made plans you'd call when you didn't expect me to be home and cancel on my machine. That when you said "we'll get together soon" you didn't mean it.

And I remember the last call I made to you, because I had decided that this was it. I got your machine, of course. I always did. I said "Hey, it's me. Guess I missed you again. I'll be home all day. Give me a call when you get a chance." Guess you never got a chance. My phone number hasn't changed, not in more than 12 years.

A mutual friend suggested that once you started to heal from all the crap that hit you at once, you couldn't stand to be around those of us who'd been around during it. That we were a constant reminder of all that had happened. She's either more compassionate or more foolish than me. Because you know what I think? That you were just a shitty friend. You took and you took and you took and then you took off.

I looked back on our friendship a few years after that, through the filter of time and maturity, and I wonder if you really cared about me. The bumpy times we had were all you. You feeling bad about you. You having family problems. You betraying me. And me always being there, encouraging you, forgiving you. And what did you do for me? I'm going to be honest and say, made me feel important, because I thought you needed me. Made me feel clever because I could always make you laugh. But I loved you, and you lied to me. You didn't give a damn what hurt me or why.

Some of that crap that fell on you and wrecked big parts of your life - maybe that was karma.

So every now and then, I wonder where you are. I wonder who your friends are now and if you've learned a new way to be friends. Have you matured, like I have and would we like each other now?

Oh, and your sister, the one we sort of mocked and giggled about because he didn't "get it", she wasn't like us. . . . she's the one I still talk to. The one I something in common with. I knock on her door if I'm passing by and see she's home. I guess maybe now I don't "get it". I don't ask her about you. I'm not mad. I just don't give a damn.

Do you know what it's like to be with your family non-stop without internet access? And no book to read? And no contact with a sane person? I do.

Really, it's been a nice visit, but maybe too close of a visit. I would trade my laptop for a good book and an hour alone...no, I lie. But I would have sold something valuable for wireless, as they have dial-up here and my Mac laughs its ass off at dial-up. Thankfully, I found someone's carelessly open network, God Bless their little hearts.

I'm loving these guest posts! I hope you're all enjoying them, too. And so you can laugh your asses off, check out these pictures. We went to a dinner show and I got picked to perform in it. I had a line, and I killed it. (I couldn't possibly do that, that would be so embearisng!) For real. So please put down the soda, as I officially humiliate myself for your amusement. Miss you!





It's the Go Go's. Not that other, cheesy song.

We were sitting in a diner in New York City, close to the NYU campus. There was a grilled cheese sandwich and fries in front of me, which I hadn't touched. "Courtney, you have to eat something. You can't go in there with an empty stomach."
"I'm too nervous, Rob. I can't eat it. I'll be sick."
"You're going to regret that later." He sighed, and went back to eating his food. I went back to twisting my hair nervously and staring out the window.

Rob had picked me up at Penn Station that morning. My first college interview was that afternoon, at NYU, a school I was desperate to get into at the time. He had come with my mother and I for the initial tour a few weekends past. Now, I had applied, and needed to interview with a member of the film school faculty as part of the application process. I was TERRIFIED. What if I sounded stupid? What if I couldn't answer his questions? What if I looked too suburban, too Massachusetts, not "film-school" enough? Whatever that meant. Every crazy, self-defeating thought was running through my head, and nothing Rob was saying could get me off this track. I was close to tears by the time lunch was over.

We walked through the streets to the brownstone where this professor's office was located. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard and made a move toward the door. "I'll meet you at Tower Records when you're done. You remember how to get back there?" I nodded, my throat was too dry to speak. Just before I turned away, Rob stopped me. He turned me to face him, took my face in his hand, and kissed me, softly, right on the lips. We held the kiss for a few seconds, and he broke away to say, "You'll be fine. Now, go." He smiled at me, and lightly pushed me toward the stairs.

I wasn't nervous anymore.

I hate you, Blue.

Maybe hate is too strong a word. I said something about not hating...hmmm. Okay, I dislike you immensely, Blue. For those of you who are unaware of whom I speak, we need to go back to the 70s, to a peaceful time, but also, a time of war.

(Were there enough commas in that last sentence? Here's a couple more just in case , , , )

Anyway, I grew up pretty poor. But every once in awhile, Mom would get me a pack of plain M&Ms. Oh, I love me some M&Ms now. But unlike the Fatty McFatty I am now, I ate these candies in a slow, meticulous way. I would empty the bag on the table and form up all the colors into 'armies'. These armies would meet in the middle to battle...with the loser skipping Valhalla and proceeding directly to my mouth.

There would be all the armies: brown, yellow, orange, green and tan. Tan? What? What? Yes, tan. Tan M&Ms were the Navy SEALs of the brown army. They destroyed anyone that got in their way and for some reason, they always seem to be the winners at the end of the war. Of course, they met the same fate as their opponents, just not as soon.

Anyway, life was great. Until 1995. For some reason, Mars decided to let Americans decide whether to keep tan or introduce some other color. Americans? Really? The same people who let Small Wonder stay on the air for four years. Of course, America dropped the ball and blue won. Goodbye, tan.

I hate you, Blue.

This post brought to you by Patrick.

So there. Paperback Writer here.

And while my brain is mushy, EDW is off having a good time. Plus, she's in Florida while I'm here in Pittsburgh where the first day of spring brought cold weather. Oh, sure it was sunny, but really, what good is sunny weather if you can't enjoy it properly without your coat?

Yes, I know I'll long for cooler temperatures once the heat really settles in. I'll long for the cool breezes that ruffle my hair. But I'm tired of dressing in layers. Of driving with my windows up. Of everyone constantly complaining of how cold they are.

*sigh*

That's all.

Paperback Writer here. It's Tuesday and do you know where your EDW is? Probably frantically getting her last minute stuff together before they head down to visit her parents. ;)

Anyway, I wish I was going on vacation. And I mean really going somewhere. Because even though Loki may think going down to see my parents is a vacation, I don't necessarily. I start acting like a teenager all over again. And believe me, I've tried to bury that a long time ago.

No, I would like to go on another cruise. Perhaps explore Northern Europe (particularly Finland and Sweden). Or Asia and try some cuisine that I would never have the chance to eat here. Or go drive through the back roads of the US or Canada. I'd like to dip my toes once again in the Pacific Ocean. Or walk around Uluru and make up stories. I'd like to hike around New Zealand or feel the wind rip through my newly shortened hair in Hawaii.

Something.

Just not here, in Pittsburgh (though I do love it so), right now. Spring in Pittsburgh means rain. And though the temperatures may be warmer, I'd love to see the sun again. You remember the sun, right? That great big gaseous ball in the sky that warms us? Yeah, that one. I miss the sun.

*sigh*

I know I haven't been here much. I've been sick and tired from being sick. I had work to deliver to my client by Monday. And, in all honestly, I've had spring fever. I'm like a high school senior who's already picturing the long summer days ahead, like a departing coworker who can only think about their new job. I'm checked out.

On Tuesday, we head out to visit my parents for a week, and in my head, I'm already there. My bags have been packed since last Wednesday. I wish I was kidding.

I will be checking my email sporadically, and this here blog. The truth is, I loved having guest bloggers, and I've rounded up a few gems for your reading pleasure. You will have the pleasure of reading PW, Jami, Courtney, Richelle, and Patrick. I'm so excited to see what they write. So please check in and show them love.

Oh, if you haven't, please let me know if you want to multi-mix exchange for the Spring Mix-a-thon 2008. I will return all emails and organize efficiently when I am back home! Enjoy my friends and their posts, and I'll send you a postcard!

When I was 20, I went to London as part of a study-abroad program. The first few weeks I loved it. Then the homesickness hit me. I was miserable, desperately missing my friends and even my boyfriend, whom I had a scattered relationship with. I had no choice, however. I was there for six months, and I had to learn to live there.

To make matters more intense, I wasn't in student housing, but in a flat, in a normal building, on an upscale residential street. I lived in two different flats in my six months, with a total of seven roommates, as they completed programs on different schedules than me. There were four of us in the first flat, and five in the second. I was the only one, in a program of 70 American students all over the city, that attended the university I was at. I did not come there with American friends, like so many others.

Over my spring break, I traveled for two weeks essentially on my own, meeting and meeting up with a few others for a day or two. We would have dinner and stay in the same hostel, and then we were off on our own again. There was no sense of "these are my people and I belong here", a sense I had lived with previously, in my close-knit friends at college and especially at home. To but it bluntly, I was surrounded by people, but on my own.

It was six of the best months of my life.

I learned to manage on my own. I flew there on my own, I traveled in Europe on my own, I went to school alone. I learned a city, a subway system, a culture on my own. And I made friends on my own.

One of the Americans was named Robert, a junior from MIT. He dragged me along to one weird little gathering, and there I made friends. Robert and I became great friends, and he's still in my life. He's a person I adore for who he was and who he's become, and in case you are wondering there's no romantic past there. He's the proverbial gay best friend that out-shops me.

I also bonded with two amazing women from my home college, two women I barely knew before the trip. When we see each other now, we fall over ourselves catching up, and we always say the same thing: you are in my heart, no matter how long the time and distance are. And we know we both mean it.

But I digress.

That gathering Robert dragged me to was the start of a whole new life for me. It was there I found my people. It was how I fell in love with London, how I got into publishing, why I do what I do now for money. It was the place where things turned slightly enough not to notice, the first brick in a life lived in the 13 years since. I owe a lot to that first night.

Soon, I was the only American in the pub with my British (and one Irish) friends. I was going to the country to see those beautiful gardens, to watch cricket, to have picnics. I went all over the city. I saw how real students lived, and it was not in the flats I had been fortunate enough to be placed in.

I went to films, I went to art museums, I went to the London Fleadh. I saw the Queen and Diana and Al Gore celebrating VE Day. It was awesome. I stopped being homesick. In fact, I never wanted to leave.

Soon it was June, and my time was up. There were schemes afloat, to keep me in the country for the summer. Then I would go back, finish my senior year, and return. To live forever. But my mom burst this bubble, when she explained that my friends from home where waiting for me, that they had planned a welcome home party. She said, "You have to get on that plane." So I did.

But before I left, in the bathroom at Heathrow, my American girlfriend and I sang this song to my British friend on the phone. A goodbye song, to say that I was sorry I had to go, that I was still silly and still "so American" and had no issue making a fool of myself in public, just to make my stiff-upper-lip Brit friend laugh. We sang the whole song, another traveler joining in, and then I said, simply, "Goodbye." And that was it.

Here's our updated list of who's in for the Spring 2008 Mix-a-thon:

Amy (who I forgot to mention previously! Sorry, Amy!)
Courtney
PW
Patrick
Nicole
Dawn
Brooke
Tabatha, but only under duress.
Ryan, Courtney's non-blogging friend

Did I miss anyone???

Okay, this is how it works.

You shoot me an email with your name, blog address if I don't have it, postal address, and whether you want to exchange mixes with other bloggers besides me.

If you don't want to burn more than one copy of your CD, you just send me yours and I'll send you mine.

If you want mine and other people's then you will have to make and send me more than one copy of your mix. I will send your mix onto the various multi-mix participants.

I think we should all multi-mix it! Why not? Think of all the new music you'll get! Please include a songlist, and your blog address so the listener can find you on the web, to thank you for your wonderful taste in music. Oh, the deadline to send me your mix is April 1st. But if life happens, I'll understand.

Questions? Brilliant ideas? Helpful suggestions?

It's been two years, gang. Two years of blogging.

I sometimes consider stopping, because I don't have the blogging world's biggest readership. Oooo, I ashamed to admit that, because the readership I do have is so friggin' nice to me that it 99% of the time it sort of negates that fact that no one really reads me. There is a side of me that would like to make some money on this, because I like money. Money pays my bills and my creditors seem to appreciate that.

However, I've come to the conclusion that I would have to either radically transform this blog or start over and really work it, and I don't want to really work it. I want to stay here in my little world.

The internet has been very good to me, tossing some really cool people my way. Of course, some drama has been mixed in, but that's been mostly my fault. Once a high school girl, always a high school girl? God, I hope not. I like to think I know better now.

But I digress.

Today is two years since I wrote my first blog post, and let Monica's readers know about it. A few days later I sent an email out to my friends, the ones I thought wouldn't mock me, and eventually everyone had the address. And then, other people started to read me and that was really cool.

I made a cake last year for this day, and you guys left some great comments for me. You bucked me up during my Very Dark Days of early 2007. You threw your good thoughts and prayers behind my mom this fall. You have supported me from your little corners of the world, and that has meant the world to me.

I am very grateful for my life today, and my friends both near and far. Yourself included, of course. Happy Birthday, The World According to EDW. Thanks for everything.

Spring 2008 Mix-a-thon! Who's in?

So far I have Courtney, PW, Patrick, and Nicole...how about you, Dawn? Richelle? CousinLisa? Jami? I have Tabatha, but only under duress. Oh, and let's not forget Courtney's friend who is joining in, too.

Don't make me name you! Just play my reindeer games!

All you need to do is shoot me an email. I'll send you a mix, you send me one. Easy! Let's say, mixes in the mail by April 1st. Sound good?

In other news, Nick has left for his annual basketball trip. Which leaves me alone for the weekend with the kiddo. I'm living vicariously through you this weekend. What do you have cooking?

We haven't hacked the radio yet, adding in our non-existent Mac Mini or whatever my husband and his friend Jon have decided is the ideal configuration. It cracks me up when my husband pitches ideas by telling me what his friends think, because that's exactly what I do. Like that's going to carry more weight or something. In fact, it only makes the other party more suspicious of your scheme. But we don't do it for back-up. We do it because we relate conversations that way, so you feel like you were there in real time, which annoys both of us when we are listeners. But yet, we both do it. Maybe there's something to this marriage thing, huh?

In classic Liz and Nick fashion, we spent Sunday in some sort of imitation of my parents from 1979-1988, tooling around NJ on a car trip for something specific, useful, but not crucial. We ate lunch at a diner, and I wonder what you out there without diners do. How do you survive? Where do you eat when you don't know the area and are slightly adverse to chains, both for their quality of food and their prices for said food, not to mention their crippling of the small business owner? We surmised that our friends in the Great North must frequent cafes, and we know my cousin has access to "family tables", which are diners by another name. But, really, what's you go-to place when diners are lacking?

One of the things I love about diners is that they are both predictable and new. Every diner is the same, yet everyone is different. I have never once had anything but a good meal at a diner; service is generally friendly and swift. It's a bonus if they call you "hon", even if they are approximately your age. Ah, the diner.

But I digress. The point of this post was going to be, it's a beautiful spring day. Don't tell me when spring starts, I know it's not yet, officially. But here in my world, it's spring. The sunroof was open today and the music was blaring. By the way, do you know anyone who listened to the Violent Femmes during their toddlerhood, and, if so, how did they turn out? I wonder.

Since it's spring here, I'm making a mix. But more than that, I want your spring mix. I'll make one, you make one, and we'll send it to each other. Deal? If you want to cross mixes, like you want Courtney's and you'll send her one (hey, like how I signed you up for that, Courtney?) then say that, too. Email me at liz walter at yahoo dot com and start mixing. Seriously, like 95% of you are really into music. Throw a bunch of shit you like on a CD and I'll listen to it. And please play even if you don't have a blog - must I call you out by name? - or if you let yours languish. Not spring where you live? No matter, use your imagination. Go get a nice whiff of fresh air and let it inspire you!