What Is Everybody Looking at?

July 09, 2008

I began scrubbing this site back in January, and have now begun to see some of the changes. My favorite part? Is that this time I broke the ARCHIVE pages and not the MAIN page. Darling, as long as the front page looks good I can just about convince myself that I'm a goddess.

Although....I miss that picture of Charles DeGaulle airport - it was so beautiful, and I remember the moment I took it, leaving Paris and my heart just aching.

But alas alack life goes on, or so the Beatles sang. And this is soothing, and I finally made some rounded corners. So? What do you think?

In other news...I am so overwhelmed by my to-do list right now. Between the freelance gigs, the house, the budget & bills, and leaving for Boston in less than a month for our annual visit... What needs to happen is that all these details should be prioritized and organized. The problem is, every time I sidle up to my list to really tack a whack at it? It growls and tries to bite me.

Just saying.

I've had 8 hours of sleep since Monday. In case anyone is wondering if I'm high. The answer is: "Oh, there's an easier way to get this lightheaded?"

New Rant over at the Chicago Moms Blog

May 01, 2008

I am bitching and moaning in a new post over at the Chicago Mom's Blog.

I think I missed that. WHO won the Pennsylvania primary, again?

April 24, 2008

I am underslept and undercoffee'd, so maybe this is juts me.

But, really.

If I hear ONE MORE WORD about the 'meaning' of the Pennsylvania primary, I'm gonna go all Broadcast News.

Just saying.

I Love You, Woman

July 28, 2007

1) I just changed the layout of this blog and everything is still a little broke

2) I just met the craziest, brightest, most amazing women at the BlogHer convention. If I met you there, and I'm not just saying this because I'm tired and glowing, I Love You, Woman.

3) Sometimes a convention is just a blur of panels and talking heads... this one was not. Because of this convention, I was reminded of myself. I realized why I have been so uncomfortable with blogging since leaving my corporate position. I was enriched and emboldened and humbled.

Seriously?

I was awoken.

There is so much now to do.....

(pictures and drunken tales to follow)

I Didn't Mean for it to look like THIS

July 27, 2007

I thought, because hey I am going to go meet a lot of real BLOGGERS in PERSON, that I should fix up the site a little. Put the Dynamic back in... uh..

Yeah, by now you've noticed. I pooched the screw. And how.

So, like, this is how it WILL look in a couple of days when I've read the fu--- uh, freaking handbook (AGAIN) and figured this out.

In the meantime, for God's sake, don't touch anything!

Or, what the hell. Go ahead.

Gets to a point where it's all so wired up and crazy down that you just got to call it day....

New 'Ask Elizabeth' post up at MoGo

June 22, 2007

I have a new post up in the 'Ask Elizabeth' category - about my personal top list of 'WiFi Airports'....

And I'm working on a few real posts, for here. If I can remember how :p

Wait, wait... there's more! Mee.nu has gone live! Our beloved Pixy (he who is king of that funny 'mu.nu' address I have) has created a free, ad-free, oh.. and FREE... laternative to Blogspot, etc.

If you want a blog home, I mean a really GOOD one, get thyself there!

Oh, and to all those who let me split my guts open yesterday and didn't run away screaming 'EWWWW!' - thank you. You know I start to wobble in fright pretty damn easily. And yesterday? Was crazy naked blogging. You made it OK. I don't know how to respond to the comments and emails other than... I love you.

Genuine Concern

October 19, 2006

I interrupt this broadcast...

Jim, the original Genuine, the venerable ol' man of the BOB awards and noted DaddyBlogger, started out about 10 days ago with a sudden trip to the hospital with chest pains.

Over the next week, the downward spiral picked up speed. He has honestly documented what's happening and how it all comes down to facing his alcoholism.

As of today, he is home from the hospital and detoxing. His wife and children have separated from him during this crisis, indefinitely.

Some folks, when they hurt, wrap themselves up in their thoughts as they sort through the pain. In American Sign Language there is actually a sign for this - a movement that mimics an invisible wall around the mind.

It's hard to know the right thing to do - express sympathy, give a hearty "It will be all right!", or to stand back.

In Jim's case, I believe he welcomes any words of support. I had an email from him today, and it sounds very lonely where he is.

So, if you're of a mind, please stop by his place.

Thanks.

And then you'll say... thank you

October 02, 2006

If you click on the picture, you will go to Lucinda's site (aka Her Royal Princess of Nashville Scene, Lindsay Ferrier). Lucinda is incredibly talented and has always been so very supportive of this site.

Some people, in the process of getting their dreams, decide that success is finite - and the more they can help others fail the more that will leave for them to win.

Lucinda? The opposite of that.

She decided that my last entry, "Wild Winds", should have this award: . The thing I like best about this award is that it is a grass-roots (that's a synonym for "Internet", right?) peer recognition campaign.

Which is really cool.

Kind of like Lucinda.

Meanwhile, I am gonna bask in the lift she gave me this cracklin' rainy Monday. And be grateful.

Whaddya Think?

December 19, 2005

OK, so there are a few kinks to be worked out (namely, all pages except the main index) and some people (we're not naming names) HATE the new banner. ("It's ridiculous!") (ME, I like it. I like the little family of snow people. But I could change...)

I want to hear your opinions... every comment and thought means a great deal to me. So please, voice off.

Some have asked why the change... so here it is:
1) I need to try some advertising, and the recommended layout for making it as subtle as possible was a 3-column with a white background (so 1 column could be dedicatedto ads or whatnot)
2) I plan on sharing my attempts at writing a book, and wanted more column space to link to that venture, as well
3) I wanted a fresh start to go with my...uh fresh start

OK, NOW voice off. Please :)

(And if I haven't attacked your site with some long overdue de-lurking and commenting, I should be there soon) (Except Philip *grin*)

De-lurking Friday

December 16, 2005

OK, time for me to keep my promise. Off I go to de-lurk on all your sites. Watch out.... here I come.

:)
Elizabeth

Please, join me. Let's all de-lurk today. It's like skinny-dipping! (Only, with comments) C'mon.... everybody is doing it.....

Beslan

September 14, 2004

I have been haunted by the Beslan tragedy.

I haven't been sleeping well. I have been hugging and snuggling my son within an inch of his life. I have set up a little workstation in my office and I've been having him "work" next to me when CD is doing other things. I don't care what that does to my job.

I am becoming even more overprotective, and I'm probably doing all sorts of un-good things to my son's psyche. It won't last; it's just for now. Until I find a way to buffer myself from this reality, and believe that it won't happen here. That it can't happen here.

I've done it before. Columbine. 9/11. I've seen the horrors before, and been afraid, and found a way to find again a sense of safety - real or imagined - in my little world.

Soon, I will once again blithely bring my son to the little schoolroom with the aquarium full of goldfish and the clock that tweets the hour and believe he is in a safe place.

But for now, I am haunted by adults who plan to harm children. I keep thinking about how it wasn't one screwed up homicidal sonofabitch that accidentally killed some kids. I keep thinking that these adults, these holy warriors, planned it. Looked through lens of a weapon and saw chubby cheeked little faces, and felt vindicated in squeezing the trigger.

I am nauseated with confusion. What cause is more important than the moral imperative as a species to nurture and protect the next generation to be better than ourselves?

How do you deny humanity and target the most innocent, most vulnerable amongst us?

I keep thinking, those kids. Those frightened kids.

Kids who believed in fairies and superheroes. Kids who believed that mommy kisses magically make hurts all better. Kids who believed that monsters could live under the bed. And then the monsters came into their classrooms and tortured them And the monsters looked like adults - the kind that checked their teeth at the dentist's office or coached their football teams.

Kids who died, after suffering hours of pain and fear and learning that their protectors - teachers and parents - were helpless to save them.

I have been haunted by Beslan.

How? When did killing children - deliberately, painfully - become a group activity aimed at any purpose? When did this become our world? I thought 9/11 was the depths of depravity, and now I no longer have the imagination to know how low we will go.

I have been haunted by Beslan.

I am afraid.

Slow Boat to Chicago

September 07, 2004

".... it was like having a giant thudding vibrator strapped to our heads. The only relief would come on the open upward stretches, when the van simply buzzed around us"

This is the worst of the trip, the part we were awake for... Boston to Pennsylvania, the longest 580 miles. Ever.

Massachusetts
Start time: 6AM, Sunday Morning
Route: Mass Pike - 134 miles
Time: 5 hours 15 minutes

Our alarms were set for 5:30AM and it was still dusky dark when we pulled out of my mom's driveway. We hit Dunkin Donuts (CD - "Can we get going already?") and then put our backs to the sunrise and hopped the highway towards the Mass Pike.

As soon as we hit 50 mph, the antique door that we had bought at New England Salvage and strapped to the roof rack started making a horrible noise; "thwacka thwacka THWACKATHWACKA!"

We pulled over and rearranged the door. Bear, almost asleep in the back, groaned.

20 more miles. 30 more minutes of "THWACKA thwacka THWACKA!"

Holy crap, we were barely to Worcester and we couldn't go over 50mph without rendering ourselves senseless with the noise. We stopped to readjust that ^(*&*$#@! door about a dozen times. We came thisclose to hucking it into a drainage ditch.

There are some serious hills on the Mass Pike. The road is forcibly wedged into rock cliffs, the striations from the dynamite blasts still visible. As the road narrowed, the 'thwacka' noise would increase - it was like having a giant thudding vibrator strapped to our heads. The only relief would come on the open upward stretches, when the van simply buzzed around us, quietly.

By Sturbridge, we were all bonkers. We pulled into the service center and had breakfast, got gas, and ran like banshees in circles. Bear's backseat nest was rearranged and his new Digimon DVD restarted. CD battled the door (again).

"Thwacka! ThwackThwackThwackTHWACKA!" for another hour as we gritted our teeth and made for the New York border.

New York
Hit the border on: Sunday Morning, 11:15AM
Route: NY State Thruway - 442 miles
Time: 11 hours 45 minutes

The first 125 miles of New York state passed in stupor. We were 3 numb bunnies, staring with glassy eyes at the miles of asphalt.

We'd passed through miles of construction, beautiful scenery, and glorious weather and never noticed a thing.

Thwacka. Thwacka.

By Utica, CD had passed back into anger and defiantly pulled off the thruway looking for a Target or something and some kind of solution.

What we found instead was a place called Big Lots. We'd never been to a Big Lots before. Oh. My. Stars. Have you ever been to a Big Lots? This is like a nice clean flea market.

We found a bunch of Rescue Heroes action figures and stuff for Bear's birthday! We found snacks! We found a bra! We found a cheap, streamlined boombox for Bear! We found a garden sprinkler thing! And best of all? We found a foam egg crate mattress liner!

All this, for like 5 bucks.

Out in the parking lot, CD and I pulled the %^#@@! door off the van roof, wrapped it in egg crate, and put it back on. We got back on the road.

Silence.

Oh, the blessing this was. I can't begin to explain. Nirvana.

I stuck the cruise control on 72mph and we tried to make up some of our lost time.

The next 200 miles spun by in a blur. Other than some bathroom and gas breaks, we sailed into the sunset on wings.

In Buffalo, we asked the toll booth guy for directions to his favorite hot wings joint. He sent us to Duffs. Wowza. CD, who is a hot wings gourmand of the highest caliber, purred like a kitten. Bear and I played in the grass with his new action figures.

Then we decided, what the heck?! Let's go to Canada.

After about 15 minutes waiting about a mile from the border in traffic, we decided that Canada? Not so much.

We turned around and headed to Niagara Falls. We pulled into the park just about sunset.

The lookout tower over Niagara

It was a 3-hour detour, give or take. We were all physically exerted, fed, and awed by the time we clambered back into the car. The plan was to drive to Erie and spend the night at a hotel.

40 miles later, we pulled into the Angola rest area - which actually sits in the grassy thruway median, accessible via a walking bridge from either side of the highway.

We took over the family bathroom (I love family bathrooms) to wash up, brush teeth, change into soft clothes/pajamas, and whatnot. Then we made a family decision - we were feeling strong, it was only around 10 PM. Erie was about an hour or so away - but did we really need to stop? Why not just keep driving until we got tired?

So we picked up some coffee and juice, cleaned up the car some and rearranged Bear's nest back into optimal sleeping position. The cool night air was good for a few stretches.

50 miles to the the Pennsylvania border, 550 miles home, a full tank of gas, a sleeping (wait - what time is it here?) 3 year old, a cooler full of juice and snacks, and a quiet door strapped to the roof.

Hit it.

Fenway Cathedral

September 02, 2004

Fenway Park, from Sect 18, Box 39, Row G, Seat 1
Game 67: Ana 7 - BoSox 12 (Yeah Baby), 09/01/2004

My old friend Kevin was into baseball in a very big way and infected me with it when I was in my 20's. I lost count of how many games we caught together.

I remember one night, Kevin and I drove around Chicago looking for a somewhere quiet we could talk. It was a melancholy night, just before he moved away.

Finally he pulled over on Addison, and I looked up at that old sign over the stadium. "I think this," he told me quietly as we gazed at Wrigley Field, "is about as Holy a place in Chicago as you could find."

I understood.

Baseball is a language that has given me common ground with other people as well. Like my dad.

Last night, he took CD and I to the Red Sox-Anaheim Angels game. Dad surprised us with amazing seats, and we lucked out with weather - warm with a cool breeze and a bright moon.

Johnny Damon got 5 hits for 5 at-bats and made it home 3 times. Millar got a 3-run homer. Manny got walked a couple of times. Red Sox spanked Anaheim. It was a rollicking boisterous game, and a great time.

It was the second Fenway game I've been to with my dad.

Aug 18, 1993 was the first time we'd taken in a Red Sox home game together. We got same-day SRO tickets, White Sox/Red Sox and grabbed some programs and some beers.

Danny Darwin, #44, was the starting pitcher. Usually, the Red Sox go through pitchers in a game like a cocktail nuts at a bar - but this day would be different.

It was a sunny summer day and my dad and I found a piece of railing with a good view. As the first outs were made, Dad and I got into a rhythm - he held the beers while I scored the game. He'd look over my shoulder once in a while, correcting my marks - "That was 9 to 3" he'd say. Or, "I'm not sure they gave him the error on that play."

Midway through the top of the 3rd, and a hush began to spread around the stadium. Dad peered at my box scores and asked, "Is that what I.." and I nodded. We shared a long look, and then held our breath.

Darwin, that inconsistent pitcher, was pitching a perfect game.

The full stadium was riveted. We watched in absolute silence.

5th inning, into the 6th and we still had, unbelievably, a no-hitter on our hands. Danny was throwing strike after strike. The catcher, Tony Pena, had practically crawled out of his shorts. Darwin was cool. We were praying, pulling, with glistening eyes and bated breath.

The Chicago White Sox were swinging with everything they had. And theirs was a roster of power hitters.

But no one could get a piece of Darwin.

Finally, in the 8th, with one out, Dan Pasqua connected and ran hell bent for leather before settling on 3rd. Darwin retrieved the ball, ready to pitch to the next batter. As though nothing had happened. No sign of disappointment, just steady focus.

But the fans had were not about to let the moment slide by. Before he could throw the next pitch, we stopped the play.

The noise erupted all at once, overtaking me with emotion. My eyes were puddled with tears. I looked around and saw that every man, woman, and child was up. Dad put out beers on the ground and we joined in pounding our hands together in a beat that shook the walls.

"Darwin, Darwin..." came the cheer. We screamed ourselves hoarse for long minutes, while the refs let the man have his due. Darwin stood alone, tall on the mound.

This wasn't Ripken, or Williams, or any of the guys who I've cheered for before or since. This wasn't Ramirez last night, used to the pounding affirmation from stadium full of admirers.

This was Danny Darwin. Traded around, stats up and down, the oldest guy on the team. You think he'd want to bust out in the Macarena. But there's an unwritten code in baseball. It's dictates a calm, unruffled gratitude to appreciation. A stoic's approach to the boiling emotions of the game. Darwin embodied all the class and grace of that code on that August afternoon.

He simply nodded in acknowledgement.

And I joined with 30,000 fans to peal a last hoot of frenzied joy and appreciation before allowing Darwin to finish his day's work- a 5-0 shutout that was much more than the stats of the day.

It was the best game I've ever seen.

Last night, my Dad driving out of Boston and we look back at the park, windows open and the night breeze still soft and cool.

I got a chill watching Fenway recede. It's as Holy a place in Boston as you could find.

Dear Paul Mahoney

August 17, 2004

Dear Paul Mahoney,

I bet you're surprised to see your real name on the internet. Well, I gave that some thought. And I realized, I could counter some of the dark corners of life by outing YOU. I hope you don't mind.

You are a real person, and you did something noble at an age when nobility and kindness are almost out of reach. I thought that deserved the credit of your own name.

You may not remember. So let me help you. You went to school in Fairfield County, Connecticut during the late 70's. And for the last 15 minutes each day it was just you and me.

You were popular. You looked like a young Paul McCartney, a little. You were comfortable in your skin, with a quick sense of humor and a big heart. You were known for being a flirt, but a good guy. You were into music, and as soon as the bus was a little emptied you'd convince the bus driver to turn up the radio.

I thought you were the coolest person I knew.

Conversely, I was pretty beat up. The kids bullied me something fierce for a while. Over the months, it softened to a dull roar; I made a few friends and had someone to each lunch with.

But I hated school, Paul. Counted the days in between the holidays.

At the beginning of the year, you were strictly a "back of the bus" guy and I was at the front. I would curl up behind the bus driver for safety. You'd expand, somehow. Taking up the entire bench seat with your arms and legs and white smile.

One day, in the crisp end of autumn, you yelled to me. It took you a week to convince me that it was all right for me to move to the back of the bus once it was just us and the driver.

You were a bit of the firefly, you liked the attention. You liked having someone to talk to.

You made me laugh.

I had girls in my life. Neighbors, cousins, girlfriends at school. I'd had crushes. But you were the first guy to ever hold a conversation with me without your mother forcing the relationship.

Did I mention you made me laugh, Paul?

You used to use your hands to tell the stories. I never saw so much happy personality tied up in so much testosterone before.

I wrote about you in my diary. Then I destroyed the pages because I had no privacy back then. But I didn't forget your name.

One day, in the spring, someone had really gotten to me. I couldn't face you, because I was crying. Huddled behind that chain-smoking bus driver, staring doggedly out a window that only opened from on top, and pretending not to notice that my cheeks were chapped. And wet.

You tapped me on the shoulder, and I still couldn't face you.

You'd moved. To the front of the bus. For me. And it only made things worse.

You said "Come on, now".

You said "What's wrong?"

You sat behind me. Until it was time for you to get off.

The next morning, you got on. You took my hand and led me to the back of the bus. You sat me against the window and took the aisle. And as the stops piled up, and disbelieving kids punched your shoulder, and you didn't move from my side until we got to school.

Then you silently exited, melding into your crowd.

So for a few weeks until school ended, I sat at the back. Everyday. With you.

No one said a word. That was a lot of power you had in the Darwinian ooze of adolescent political structure.

Why were you so kind? I wonder if you even remember it. Or if it was just a blurry moment out of your life, just something you did from some decent impulse. I guess it doesn't matter anymore but at the time, it mattered a lot. It was a domino that got knocked in the right direction, and my life was better for it.

The last day of school, you squeezed my hand and didn't look back. You said goodbye to the driver. I never knew what happened to you. I always kind of wondered.

Dear Paul Mahoney,

You were the only good thing that ever happened to me on a bus.

I hope you're having a splendid life.

Thank you.