me and power outages: not a cute couple

For those of you who do not live in the Seattle area or have otherwise been oblivious to our situation, *news flash* we had a major wind storm blow through here last week. Reports were of 60 - 70 MPH winds in the city, 90 out by the coast. Trees were felled, power lines were severed, millions were left without electricity. Well, A million, not millions, but still: it was HUGE. Several neighborhoods remain in the dark a week later, some with no estimate of when power might be restored. Freaky.

Here's how it went for us:

Thursday night (December 14) around midnight, the lights started flickering, sometimes just a blink, then enough to make the clocks flash 12:00, then these mini-blackouts, then that weird transformer-blowing noise, then it was pitch black. The wind was loud, the stuff blowing down our street was louder, the Christmas lights slapping against the house, the deck furniture and trashcans blowing over, it was a symphony, a cacophony rather, of weird sounds. The one noise we somehow slept through was the wind blowing the skylight off our roof. Missed that. Instead woke up at 3 a.m. shivering. We (translation: my husband) were able to reattach it, but not before the house was filled with freezing cold air.

So I went off to work that day (WITHOUT A SHOWER mind you) and my family went to stay with my parents, who were also without power but with two fireplaces. We thought that would keep everyone nice and toasty. It did not. Also remember, my people are from California; we are not a "camping" "REI" "outdoorsy" sort of people. We do not own a generator. The only time I use open flame to cook my food is in a nice cozy booth at a fondue restaurant. By day 3, we said this is bunk and went to a hotel.

What I wore, generally:
Shirt, shirt, sweater, coat, gloves, polypropylene leggings, pants, long socks, fleece socks, boots, gloves, scarf. The variation for sleeping was flannel PJs instead of pants, and 3 blankets instead of coat. Imagine wearing all that and still being cold! It was 25 degrees at night, 33 in the daytime. It was between 45 and 50 degrees indoors. I could see my breath indoors.

We were without power at work as well, so while I did leave the family compound for several hours a day, I was no warmer than they were, and plus I had to be "together" at work, and not "whine" and curl up in my down comforter and pout like I maybe could have at home.

The best ones through all this were the babies: my daughters were serious troopers. They kept their spirits up. They are brave little people. I whined a whole lot more than they did.
i.e.:

Things I was miserable having to go without:
1. Heat
2. A shower (from -- brace yourself -- Wednesday to Sunday).
Subset: blow dryer, flat iron, hot water
3. Starbucks
4. The Internet
5. Light
6. My cell phone (it ran out of battery on Saturday)

I mean -- really now. Puh-leese. None of us got frostbite, hypothermia, or -- as apparently lots of dimwits did -- carbon monoxide poisoning from running generators, BBQs, etc. indoors. We were not out in the wilderness, trapped in a Saab like the Kim family or in an ice cave like the Mt. Hood climbers. We were a little chilly and didn't see home from Friday to Tuesday -- but we are fine. We were fine all along. We were superfically not fine, and I did feel like a petulant little brat a few times, but we were never in any real danger. We were simply very, very uncomfortable.

Things I really appreciated during our ordeal:
1. My family
2. Fire
3. The Holiday Inn
4. Laughter
5. AM 710 news radio
6. These really cool crank/rechargeable radio/flashlights my dad gave us
7. My car heater
8. The Outback Steak House
9. My big thick wooly J. Crew mens sweater

Coming home on Tuesday, turning on the Christmas tree lights, starting to clean out the refrigerator, doing laundry, listening to the stereo, standing by the heater -- things that had always seemed so routine were now luxurious. I will never ever ever take this stuff for granted again. It's so good to be home, to be warm, to have warm babies, one layer of clothes, light to read by.

Not to mention the computer, my blow dryer and the drive-thru Starbucks.

fyi: new interview online

Seattle Writergrrls, an email discussion list/support group/networking sort of thing, did an interview with me for their online 'zine. Check it out at:

http://www.seattlewritergrrls.org/uncapped/2006i2_spotlight.html

that's why it's *anonymous*

It's not to protect the members of AA (or any of the other As...OA, NA, GA...there are over 200 twelve-step programs for whatever ails you) that it's an anonymous program. It's to protect AA itself from looking bad.

Take these comments from Lindsay Lohan, this morning on MSNBC.com (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16172919/):
“I haven’t had a drink in seven days. Or anything,” she says. “I’m not even legal to, so why would I? I don’t drink when I go to clubs. I drink with my friends at home, but there’s no need to. I feel better not drinking. It’s more fun. I have Red Bull." And then, later in the article, she says, about her well-publicized pantiless drunken nightlife: "I was off from work, I was getting ready to start a film, and I was, like, going out just to get it out of my system.” This is after she says she has been going to meetings for a YEAR.

Thanks, L. Now someone will hear you and think this is what AA does to people. That being of legal drinking age - or not - has anything to do with the disease of addiction, that you can pound Red Bull as an alternative, and that you can go out and get it out of your system on occasion, when you're off work, or like, whatever.

For many people, recovery from addiction is not a quick-and-easy thing. We all know that. More often than not, the addict relapses one or two or four hundred times before they find lasting sobriety. But what happens when celebs (see: Robert Downey, Jr, Courtney Love, Ozzy Osbourne, Tony Bennett) make their AA-ness known, they become sort of a spokesperson, an example, even if that's not their intention. We listen to what famous people say. We watch their every move. So when some dingbat celeb comes along and talks so flippantly, so not-getting-it about AA, it makes AA look bad and gives those addicts looking for one more excuse to not go that excuse to not go.

Notice the ones for whom it's working are pretty darn quiet about it. You might not even know who they are. And that is my point exactly. If you're famous, and just sorta-kinda in-recovery-but-not, ZIP IT until you have something intelligent to say about the process. What you'll probably find is that by the time you do, you'll know why you shouldn't. Do not mistake your fame as a great podium from which to start helping people. It's not about recruiting. People know where to go and what to do when they bottom out, they don't need newcomer celebutantes spouting toxic misinformation to help get them there.

Au contraire.

annoying is the new black

I must be officially at the end of my rope with this book thing. People and their questions are making me feel very, very bitter and sarcastic as of late. Maybe it's the cold snap up here in the suicide capital of the world. Whatever it is, I just have to say that if anyone asks any more stupid questions about the book, I am liable to GO OFF on them.

I thought my rock-bottom worst customer service moment came over the summer when some woman asked me if it was an autobiography. She had already purchased the book, it's not like I was losing the sale, just my reputation as a nice person (?) -- anyway, I actually closed the book, pointed to the words "A Novel" that are right there on the cover, and said, "NO, it's *a novel*" -- underlining the words with my (index) finger for emphasis. But that wasn't as bad as the last person who asked me that: I just stared at them, sighed, did one long (you freaking moron) blink and looked away, and started talking to the next person.

Then last week I get this call from a local county agency, this woman, a social worker type, says she wants me to come talk to the clients/inmates/whatever of theirs. She said they had heard of my book and I "have an incredible story to tell." I said, so is it like a prison book club, or what? You want the story of the writing and publishing of the book, or what? "Oh no -- your story: losing your best friend to AIDS, losing your twin brother at birth, surviving all of that, your addiction and recovery." My fists immediately clenched, as did my jaw. I can't help it. I closed my eyes, counted to ten. "This is A NOVEL," I said, evenly, trying not to scream. I tried to tell her that yes, I am a recovering person, as is about 10% of the US. And all that means for me is that I maybe used a few too many chemicals in high school and quit. Not that I have "A Story." At least not one with a capital S, not one worth writing, and certainly not one worth publishing. I mean -- we all have "a story" -- like we all have lips. But there are lips (you and I), and there are Lips (Angelina Jolie). No one wants to pay a zillion dollars for these lips. Angelina's yes, mine no. Most of the population no. As is with this whole "my story" crap. So of course once I clarified that with her, that there is no twin and there is no dead best friend, she rapidly became very uninterested.

Which is FINE with me.

I just don't GET people.

I do get JK Rowling, and maybe I'll fashion my next book after the HP series, so outlandishly not my life that no one will ask if it is. Do other writers get this hopped up about this line of questioning? I know I have a bad attitude and a great deal of people-loathing, but still, even for the most tolerant, patient, people-person types, can't this get old and annoying?

I am trying to work on this next book/whatever, and am now just seething -- I may need to make the narrator a male. A male dwarf. From Japan. A male dwarf amputee burlesque singer from Japan. With a lisp and naturally curly red hair. Maybe that would shut people up.

OH, and if that weren't enough, what about the people who look at the title and go, "Ooh, I just love beachglass!" There's some idiot on Amazon that has my book listed with all the coffee-table books on seaglass and beachcombing and such. Do people not understand metaphor? Symbolism? That the book is not about the beach, glass, beachglass, or anything actually found at the ocean's edge? THAT THE TITLE IS NOT LITERALLY WHAT THE BOOK IS ABOUT???

What are we coming to that these are the issues I have to grapple with? Can't a girl just bust out a few pages of fiction and call it good?