The World According to EDW

Some random thoughts about television, my life, and Billy Joel.

Sometimes I'll be up past my bedtime, and "Sex and the City" will come on, and I'll remember why I love that show so much. They get so many things right, even as their lives seem somewhat exaggerated or unrelatable. The older I get, the more I realize how smart those writers were. Watching it is almost like flipping through a picture album with old friends.

Jon and Kate are making me very sad. I really feel for them and their kids. Jami summed it up best. I'm not sure if I'll keep watching or not. It's almost not enough of a train wreck; it's just too real for me to witness.

On the other hand, I adore the Duggars. They seem like such a nice family. A family who believes practically the opposite of my beliefs, but lovely nonetheless. I love how the parents interact with their kids, and I love that despite their 18 kids, they always, always spend time together while doing family things. Every episode, you see Jim Bob and Michelle together, enjoying being together just like married couples should. Say what you want about them, they have their marriage as a number one priority. I think Kate and Jon should go hang out with them for a day or two.

I am the kind of person who scolds her girlfriends for not taking good care of their skin. But I have a secret. Sometimes I am too lazy to wash my face, and I just use one of those Dove or Ponds face wipes. Sure, they say they remove makeup and dirt, but we all know they should only be used when one is on a plane or drunk. But I used one tonight and I am neither!

The longer I know my friend Jodi, the better her advice to me gets. I'm not sure if this is a product of our years of friendship, or something that changed or grew in her or me or both. But it's true. Lately she hits everything right on target with me.

Does anyone else find it weird that Micheal Cavanaugh has a career out of singing Billy Joel songs?

The last two days have been rain-free. Today we are scheduled to get our new windows in, and they are predicting thunderstorms. Just my luck. We got canceled last week for the same reason. I really, really want those windows in.

Emily is all registered for summer camps. Next week she goes to Fun in the Sun, which is at our town pool club, and is a few hours, every day, in the afternoon. That lasts until August. She's also going to do one week of theater camp - if you know her, you know this is a perfect fit. That's one hour per day for one week, and cheap as air, through the park system. Then after our vacation, she will do six weeks of ballet classes. We got her uniform today. It's beyond adorable. Pink leotard, pink socks and ballet shoes, and a dotted swiss skirt. And new shoes. This studio has no recitals, just teaches the art of dance. They seem very low pressure, very nurturing, and they follow the more traditional, professional schools (like the kind attached to companies) in their uniforms and teaching styles. I'm glad we found them.

I'm working on some changes for my blog, so if you come here and find it down, don't panic. I hope to have it pretty and new by the end of the summer, so it may go offline now and again. But in the meantime, I'll be sure to delight you with all my randomness. Countdown to the shower on Saturday!

So it's Father's Day here. I'm celebrating today with my dad, Nick, and Nick's dad. We're going to a baseball game; how American of us! While I am thankful for the fathers in my life, and looking forward to family togetherness, I'm feeling a bit jaded, as I was on Mother's Day.

Does anyone else feel like we could get rid of Father's Day and Mother's Day? Seriously, who needs a tie? Can't we just be mindful and celebrate the people in our life daily, or when the mood strikes us, instead of this mass produced holiday?

I'm not anti holiday. I'd like to hang onto the ones from my faith and Thanksgiving. And you keep the ones you like, too. But as a nation, I'd lose Mother's Day and Father's Day. There's got to be a better way to celebrate parenting. Have one day, Parenting Day. Give us all off, encourage community service, feature stories of parents who raise kids in difficult circumstances, etc, etc.

Thoughts? Do guys feel about Father's Day the way women feel about Mother's Day? Do you feel like getting a tie and barbecuing is a celebration of everything you do, or would you rather skip the whole thing? Is it enough that "Dada" is the first word kids say, that they are always, always happier to see you than the woman you married? (And well they should be, in my case. at least.)

I think we should raise our children to be thankful for and celebrate the people in our lives, but I'm not convinced we need an official holiday to tell us to do that. Especially since it was always married to commerce: the men's wear retailers were early supporters.

But it's not my day. What do you think, moms and dads and daughters and sons? And happy Father's Day to all the dads reading - I think all of you do a great job of loving your kids.

If you're having a baby, I'm planning your shower.

I'm not insisting on it, mind you, it's just how it works out. I'm a professional bridesmaid, so whenever those bridesmaidly duties pop up, here I come. Retirement dinner for your husband? I got it. Sherpa for your wedding day? Covered. Handler at dance-off? I come with a curling iron.

I've been involved with more baby showers than outright planned them myself. The first one ever was Jackie's first baby, and we were 19, so I think I pretty much did whatever our parents told me to do. Ditto on her wedding shower, which was two months later, at my mom's house. My mom totally did that one, I just wrote down the presents.

So then we come to Jackie's second baby shower - again, the moms prevailed, hers and his. So let's give me one full credit for all three of those parties, since I apprenticed at the hands of the masters, or mothers. Molly's baby shower was also a half pointer. I think you only get full points in this game if you are the point person for the shower, the manager, the head bridesmaid, a la maid of honor.

Jackie's two showers were co-ed. The first one didn't have alcohol, the second did. I'm not sure games were played at either. Molly's was traditional and lovely, at a restaurant. Stephanie's, my first co-chair experience, was at her home, women only, and had booze. She really loved this one shower she went to, and her friend and I tried to recreate that, Stephanie-ified. It was cozy and NYC-y and altogether right for her.

Then I got top girl billing with Eileen's shower. (These are not in order, per se.) I got to plan that one, and it was fun. Co-ed, alcohol, food, an adult party that happened to have a baby in utero. No games, presents opened but without baby bingo. I made a baby songs mix, and even wrote about it here. It was a good party.

And then we come to Jodi and Greg's. The thing is, Jodi has a bit of reputation as hating showers. She's the one you find on a Friday in June, bemoaning the next day. She tells you for a full week before the shower that she's going to miss beach time, not be able to garden, not get any sun, etc etc etc. Oh, and the lack of alcohol is also pretty hard on her, so we, her friends, encourage her to bring the cellphone flask I gave her one Christmas for just these occasions. And she has, with full knowledge of the mother-to-be, who generally thinks it's funny. She also loathes the hours of present opening, the games she never wins despite her competitive nature, and her defacto job of keeping the conversation going around her otherwise silent table.

So this baby shower has no games, no present opening, and no sit-down luncheon. It's not inside and dry, it's outside and the booze is flowing. It's not twenty women, it's those women and their husbands and kids. Here's what we've got:

Beer. We made beer for this shower; New Addition Ale, to be precise. There's a five gallon keg just waiting for next Saturday.

Unwrapped gifts. We asked everyone to skip the wrapping, save the environment and some money, and write their name on a card we supplied and attach it to their gift. They'll come in, greet Jodi or Greg, get thanked for their gift, and then the bridesmaid (me) and whisk it off to a display table.

Food. A nice man is going to come with hamburgers, hotdogs, chicken, and a grill, and cook for three hours. He's also bringing sausage and peppers, all the fixings, plus macaroni salad, potato salad, coleslaw, corn on the cob, baked beans, and watermelon.

Cake. Two of them. Ice cream and regular. We don't mess around with cake.

Drinks. If you don't like beer, and really, why don't you? we'll have wine, soda, water, and juice boxes.

Kids. You supply the kids, we'll supply the bubbles, lawn games, outdoor toys, and a bouncy castle.

Decorations. Jodi's sister-in-law works for Party City. God Bless her. I'm going with festive, pink, and fun. More is more.

Did I mention that the invitation had babies and beer on it? Here it is. Don't you just love it?

Well, it's been fun but I have to get back to my duties now. Liquor must be bought, chips must be acquired!

Currently listening to songs Will Smith sampled, as part of the all-Will Smith motivational week. Kidding. I'm actually listening to "Livin' Thing" by Electric Light Orchestra. because it reminds me of my cousin.


Today is one of my favorite days. Now, the actual today of today is somewhat sunny here, but it's nowhere near June weather. I'm about to drive 45 minutes to run errands, in my dad's big truck, which I hate driving and which makes my hands and wrists hurt. It looks like it's going to rain again. But still. It's June 19th, and that is one of my favorite days of the year.

Today is my cousin Lisa's birthday. She's 38, which is totally unthinkable to me; I think she's 27. She's got three kids and thirteen years of marriage behind her; still, in my mind, she's old enough not to be immature but young enough to be fun and happening. My older cousin, whom I look up to.

I wrote about her here, last year, and it's much more complete. Yet I can't help but mention her birthday this year, because it really does give me a spring in my step, rain and truck and errand be damned. It makes me happy to know she's celebrating today, makes me happy to know that she is my cousin and that we are lucky enough to be related.

Love you, Lisa. Happy Birthday!!!

So, I haven't actually started running again. Yet. I'm prepping for it, though. I totally watched Jada Pinkett Smith on The Today Show and Will was there! Never underestimate mental preparation.

As for the rest of my television viewing, I just finished watching De-Lovely, which is a movie I adore. I love, love, love Cole Porter's songs. I like the perky happy ones like "Anything Goes" and "Let's Misbehave" but I really dig the sad ones, like "Everytime We Say Goodbye". It's such a simple song, but the lyric "There's no love song finer/than the change from major to minor/everytime we say goodbye" just floors me on every listen.

I spend the last two days being a productive member of society. I wore big girl clothes and makeup and appeared in public and WORKED and went to the grocery store, which might be a bigger deal than even the working. In fact, I called not only Jodi, but also Kim and my mom to announce that I went and bought vegetables and fruit, just like a normal person. I can go weeks without the grocery store, such is my supply of food stuff in my freezer and cabinets and my choice of very very long lived green things in my fridge. It's slightly pathetic and not super awesome gourmet nutrition, but it's livable.

In addition to working, for MONEY (it's been a long winter for the freelancer) and feeding my family, I've entered the countdown to Jodi and Greg's baby shower. (Nope, not a surprise.) My bridesmaid duties, as I like to call them, currently consist of keeping RSVP's, acquiring alcohol and chips, calling the caterer, and rounding up the tables and chairs. Tomorrow Jodi and I are going to drive all over the county and load up my dad's behemoth of a truck with 7 ft tables and folding chairs. I think we might have to play "Ramblin' Man" and some Eddie Money to get properly in the mood.

So, yay me. I'm not the terrifying fireball of organization, energy, and efficiency that can shoot forth in a fiery blast, but I am making my way to some sort of happy medium. A grey area, if you will. I'm learning a bit about the greys. Always hated them, but as long as my wardrobe is bright, I can live with my choices less all or nothing.

It's the summer time, and I have gotten fat. And lazy. The fridge, if it made sounds other than the very disturbing ice-cube shooting it does, would oink at me. There was a time when I went to the gym five days a week and tracked every morsel of my food. Now, not so much. I watch it from my hand to my mouth, but that's about all. And I haven't been to the gym yet this month. I did go in May, though.

It's been, um, nice, I guess, not to track my food. It's certainly been fun to drink. I'm a pro at drinking, if doing something a lot makes you good at it. (Although I am sure we can all point to examples where this isn't so; perhaps teenagers and sex?) But alas, I am afraid this line of being all has to come to an end. I am afraid, my friends, that I have no other solution than to run.

I sit here and type this and I know it's me typing the words, but still I can't believe it. Not the food loving part, but the part where I said I needed to start running again. The thing is, it works. Damn it all to hell, exercise, and specifically my pathetic attempts at running, really do work. Have you ever noticed how in every movie Will Smith is in, he's always a recreational runner? It's true! And we all know Will Smith is hot. Thus, running works.

Running is the only thing I've truly found that will allow you to drink on Saturday and still fit into your jeans on Monday. (Because of course Sunday is not a jeans day.) I keep saying I want to start again, but then morning comes and I really like my bed. No, I love my bed. My bed is magic! So I have to bite the bullet and sign up for a race. I'm going for a real race this time. None of these breast cancer la-la-la love all women things. Something with real runners and moms who manage to run 10 miles a day with a jogging stroller and a dog. You know, the crazies. Because have you ever met a woman who used her jogging stroller for something other than the boardwalk? Nope, me neither. But I hear tell of it.

Embarrassment will motivate me like none other. I'm going to be dead last, and the strollers will run past me, but there won't be the warm fuzzy pink and perky little cheerleaders and all that over stuff you get when you do a breast cancer event. It will be real. It will be rude or nice or fun or awful, but it will be running.

Wish me luck.

Out of all the blogs on my feed reader, the ones I love the most are nothing more than the everyday stories of women. (And some men. But mostly women.) I love them because they are real, and relateable, and not too cleaned up. It's that stuff I really dig.

Sometimes I just want to talk, and I need someone to listen. Other times, and this is probably far more often, I want to listen first. I often start conversations with "What's going on with you?" or "No, really, tell me how you are". Of course, there is only so much time allotted, and sometimes we never get to the flip side. Which is okay by me. Not because I don't want to talk, but because I like to listen.

When you are where I am, it's pretty hard for people to relate. And it does, for worse not better, put you in a separate category. As I wail and gnash to my therapist, I don't want to be different. But you are, she insists, gently, and I know I am. This is why I want those conversations with certain people who have walked in my shoes.

Yet, no one on this earth wants to feel like they are the Only One. So it's sweet relief when a friend pours out her heart. Do I want you to be hurting or sad or bothered a bit? No. But when you share it with me, it gives me something to do with my empathy or sympathy or knowledge hard won.

When I'm floating on a cloud of contentment, you might rain on my parade. But now? Who cares about the rain! And yes, sometimes, I admit, the very trivial made large might drive me to scream. But I bet that you won't. Those friends who do are so safely tucked away not even a child looking for Christmas presents could find them near me now.

So, trouble me. You're not going to ruin my day. You're just going to even out the balance, because God knows I've spread my stuff around enough. Oh, that made my words sound like manure. Well, it is kind of shitty.

When I show up to your town for my talking tour, be ready. Otherwise, I'll just keep calling Jodi every day and making her repeat the really dumb, upsetting things people say to her about her baby girl. And you don't want to do that to Jodi, do you?

I've written at least five blog posts today, in my head and on this laptop. Scrapped them all, because none of them were exactly what I wanted to say.

What I want to do is call two of my cousins, my sister-in-law, and one estranged friend, and ask them lots of questions about how they dealt with certain things in their life. I'd like to take my friend Robert's goodbye tour idea, and go on a little tour of my own, but more of a let's talk tour. I want to hear. I want to listen. And yes, I want to talk. Who wants a visit?

Tonight, I am envious of everyone who writes in non-vague, specific ways. I'm totally impressed with Jami's post today. It's honest and I think that's brave. I'm not that brave, but I'm getting there. I think that maybe this year, this sucky, sucky year, is a little about doing all that bothersome growing up stuff you hear about. Maturing and all that.

Please don't mistake me, I'm not okay. I'm a mess and I'm likely to cry if you speak to me, and I end up every night exhausted by the work I'm doing to get to okay and in some serious need of fun. I will get there, and this too shall pass. But meanwhile, I'm not the triumphant song of remembrance. I'm the one no one writes, the one in the middle of all of it.

Maybe the next post will be about a band, or a friend, or my daughter. Those are much easier to write. But this one is a little brave, and a lot honest. And that's me.

Sometimes I feel like it might cheapen the day, weekend, memory to write about it, mostly because at my very best, my language is still laughably limited. I'd appreciate a download of another's phrases and vocabulary and word structures, if only to keep my own stories fresh.

This week I reconnected with an old friend, went on a job interview, helped a friend fight for her rights, visited the NICU, and talked about what's going on in my life, unabashedly. This week, maybe more than ever, I had some of those conversations my girlfriends are always asking for: what's really going on? How are you?

I'm pretty proud of myself for this. All of it.

This week was not easy. I found myself sobbing in a tapas restaurant in NYC. I had some conversations I'd really rather never have. Thinking on it, I might have had one of those awful conversations every day. Brutal. But by Friday, it was the weekend. And while all was not well or peaceful or settled or "fixed", it was time for people and not issues.

Weekends still seem magical to me, the possibilities open. I guess you could say I worked on the emotional stuff this week, the truly hard stuff about living, and this weekend I took two days off. I know tomorrow I will wake up and have to face everything that I didn't work on this weekend, and it's striking how similar that is to going to a job.

On Wednesday night I met up with Robert, a dear friend I haven't seen in four years. We met for dinner and in one night, we had plans for the weekend, and a possible road trip. In one night, we caught up, I confessed some fears, and he gave me a solution and a promise. In one night, I had my friend back in my life.

Robert and I met when we were 20, as study abroad students in London. And from then on, he was pretty much a regular fixture in my life. He'd hang out at my parents' house, we'd visit each other at college, and later, meet for dinner in the city when I was working and he was in med school. He was at my wedding, and the backyard parties Nick and I had as a newly married couple.

But of course life happens, and people drift apart. Interestingly, I kept up with Robert's ex, Brad, who became a very good friend of mine, long after he and Robert broke up. I'd safely say that I let both of those friendships fade when my daughter was born. I missed them both, but I had a small child to occupy my time, and new friends to integrate into my life.

I can honestly say that I regret few things in life, but I do regret not seeing him the last four years. I regret the time not spent together, sharing the good and the bad over bottles of wine and good food. I'm sad he missed Emily as a toddler, and that I missed his rise from intern to fellow. My daughter loved him, of course, but he really should have been a fixture in her life sooner. The irony is, I'd always imagined him in my life; my adult fantasies of marriage and a home always included Robert among my family and friends at Christmas Eve dinner. (What? You don't fantasize about holidays and food and parties?)

But here we are. Robert leaves for LA in two weeks, to do clinical research on pediatric brain tumors for a year. On his goodbye-for-now tour of the Northeast, he managed to not only stay with us but also spend a night with my parents. And he got my mom to agree to seek second opinions and more treatment options for her cancer, so when I say I owe him more than I can say, I know you, dear reader, understand me. That offer of a phone call to colleagues at Yale? Priceless.

I fervently he comes back to the right coast, where he belongs. But even if he doesn't, for which I may never forgive him, he'll still be in my life. Just like I always imagined.


A shout out to Jill, who wrote about her gay ex-boyfriend with incredible timing for me. And, I will confess the Tony awards inspired my lyric choice. Jerry Herman is amazing, and totally deserved that award.

The weekend fun didn't end on Friday night, or should I say Saturday morning at 6am, when we finally dragged our tired selves to bed. Oh, no.

Now, admittedly, we slept most of Saturday, drifting in and out of consciousness and occasionally checking in on each other. "You're still alive? Okay, good, me, too." Eventually, we decided to actually shower and go out in public, because we had a date at Lewis' with Brownie, the world's greatest bartender.

You might think that going to a bar after a night like ours wasn't the best idea ever. You might be right. But there we were. Things were fine, ginger ale was ingested. Water was drunk, banter ensued. And then I made a horrible mistake and ate the speciality, which is a burger with egg salad on it.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. It seemed like a good idea at the time. About an hour later, though, it was the worst idea I'd ever had. Although it took me at least three hours and one car ride to figure that out. Now, here let me interject and say that I get car sick on my good days. So why did I agree to sit in the back of a car when the egg salad was trying to kill me? I have no idea.

So here we are. Courtney, her friend Brian, and sick to her stomach Liz. We went to Alston, MA, which is like Brooklyn but more collegey than hipster. We ate at this really fab place, which I think I would have adored if I had been able to eat more than onion soup and a small salad. Now you know me, or you at least know of me. Imagine this poor guy who has no idea who I am witnessing this very very bad Liz moment. I made him and Courtney eat the cheese off my soup, for Pete's sake.

For the record, Courtney swears that I was perky before the infamous egg salad on top of a burger meal/catastrophe. But buck up I must because we are not in Alston to eat. No, we are in Alston to see Tragedy.

Tragedy is, in their words, the number one Bee Gees all metal tribute band in the Northeast Corridor. They were beyond bizarre, and beyond hilarious. They were nearly indescribable. When Courtney told me about wanting to go see them, I thought she was insane. Really, I had no idea why I would go to such a show, or why she would think this was a good idea, since I'm not particularly into metal or the Bee Gees, and when I say particularly, I mean not at all. But they were freaking amazing.

Bear in mind that we were stone cold sober, and that I started the evening wishing for Court's couch to lay on while we watched movies; hell, I'd even have watched that Wilco DVD. But by the end of the night, I was thinking that I needed to find a way to bring everyone I'd ever met to see Tragedy. They were beyond fun. They were totally over the top. They were possibly the very weirdest thing I've ever paid to see, and that includes this very bizarre play I took Nick to years ago where a guy got naked on stage for no apparent reason.

So, if they come to your town, bring your girlfriends and a designated driver, and maybe some metal head with a sense of humor. And be assured, the video does not do them justice.

Have you ever walked into a night knowing practically no one? That was my Friday night. Now, to be fair, I'd met Courtney's mom and one of her sisters, each for short periods of time, so I wasn't sight unseen. I was totally shiny and new to her friends, though of course I came with a description.

My friend Stephanie once described me as "foul mouthed yet religious". Courtney, I think, told her friends I like to drink a lot. Now, these things are true, but they're not the descriptors I'd pick for myself. I did get back at Stephanie by telling people she liked to macrame. She doesn't, but it seemed hilarious to me at the time. I have not decided how I'm going to describe Court going forward. However, I am sure I can be more creative than "macrame". Bwahahaha.

So why I found myself in Norwood, MA, on a Friday night is another story in itself. Courtney was asked to dance in a charity competition, Dancing With the Stars of Norwood. The tickets and subsequent votes you could buy all went to a local charity called Circle of Hope. I'm pretty impressed with this charity after Friday night, but that's not why I was there. I was there as Courtney's handler.



I think I'd compare it best to being a bridesmaid. I did her hair, I matched and bought her lipstick, I ran an errand, I made sure she ate, I advised on makeup, and I buckled her shoes. Because those shoes were hard to put on! If she had a train, I would have bustled it. I also kept her company until she had to walk down the aisle, I mean, come out onto the dance floor. And tried to keep her from freaking out.



And of course I snarked with her friends. Not on her, but on the hilarious townie jokes, the totally dirty old man comments she got after she danced, and the way she got robbed - robbed! - by having to be the second dancer. It was fun. And her dance was so much fun and totally awesome! She did the swing to Brian Setzer's version of "Crazy Little Thing Called Love". You can see some video here:



Her partner - so hot and so sweet and so gay. Sigh.


But don't worry, the DVD is coming out and I am so going to buy it and make her watch it over and over again and show it to all my NJ friends. Because, OMG, how fun is that?

I would really love to tell you that we went home after the competition, but we didn't. Well, we did eventually. But first we went out for drinks, and then we went home and with a friend, ended up listening to music and dancing and drinking until the sun came up.

Good times, indeed. Here's the set.

It's a big day in NJ. It's the day tickets went on sale for Bruce's last three shows at Giants Stadium. This is, all joking aside about my state, the hottest ticket in town. Three nights; Wed, Friday, and Saturday. Then Giants Stadium is no more, and Bruce goes back to Rumson to roll around in his piles of money, shill for the local food bank, and write bad songs about supermarket check-out girls.

Two weeks ago, Nick had his 8th grade reunion. Now, if you didn't go to Catholic school this might be puzzling to you. See, in Catholic school you go to the same place for 8 years with these people, and then you never see them again. Seriously. He went to high school with one classmate from grade school - one. There are many public schools they went onto, and at least three private schools. So most of them had the same experience, 8 years of knowing each other and only a handful of people you ever saw again.

Which is why they were all so into the reunion, at a local bar, 21 years later. They bonded, caught up, reminisced and at some point, decided they were all going to buy Bruce tickets together. This is Jersey. Bruce love transcends all the lines between former popular girls and former geek boys. The weekend was a flurry of messages, via Facebook, and exchanges of IM handles.

The tickets are hard to get, because everyone is trying to get them. Nick and I decided we'd only do GA, which is general admission, ie, standing. This is because Giants Stadium is huge, and I only really want to see a concert there if I have a chance of getting into the pit.

Many tried. Many failed.

We got them.

So it's a happy day, here in the swamps of Jersey. I might even make peace with "Rosalita" before this is all over.

And we will get to tailgate with the 8th grade gang!







(It's a lyric. I don't live in a swamp.)