It's the End...

Of the year as we know it. And I feel fine. Actually, I don't feel fine. Can you hear that tiny violin playing in the background? No? Well, I suggest you get your ears checked. It's there. Listen closely.

As we all know, the end of December is typically a time of reflection as well as a time to think about plans for the next year. I'm not very typical. I have never liked New Year's Eve, nor do I like the month that follows it. To me, January is a major let down after the consumer holiday frenzy from mid-October to December 25. After that we fast forward from peace on earth and goodwill toward men to the next big event that's not fun for anyone. And no, I'm not talking about Valentine's Day. I'm talking about April 15. This is how my mind works. I mentally go from the expectation of holly jolly wish fulfillment to the bureaucratic nightmare of tax preparation in a nanosecond. This bummer emotion usually hits me on December 28. Debbie Downer, right?

Well, the last two months of 2016 have been a big old Crisco frosted cake left out in the rain kind of downer. I'm not even going to go into it but it rhymes with lump--like a large, orange cancerous tumor of unidentifiable yuckiness at the bottom of your Christmas stocking. On a side note, I hate to break it to you kids, but coal isn't coming back. Maybe Santa will put a renewable energy source in your stocking if you're naughty. Or maybe Santa will be replaced by a nonjudgmental robot who is not only more efficient, but doesn't require quite so many cookie breaks. That should be lump's first executive order. You're welcome.

And then Carrie Fisher died. And the day after that horrifying loss, her mom died. How f-ed up is that? Yes, yes. We all know. 2016 is a killer. It's taking the icons. Gen X and the Boomers are losing their heroes. There are far too many to name. David Bowie, Alan Rickman and Carrie Fisher hit me the hardest. I wrote a post about the first two, but Carrie just happened and I'm just a little bitter right now. I became a fan of Carrie Fisher after reading her memoir, Wishful Drinking. I loved her voice and her sense of humor, so much so that I went to see her show in New York all by myself. That was awkward but I thoroughly enjoyed it. No, I didn't know her. No, I wasn't a Princess Leia fanatic. While Star Wars was truly a cultural touchstone for me as a kid in the 70's, I didn't fantasize about being her. Truth be told, I wanted to be Darth Vader. After donning a Vader costume and scaring a bunch of little kids one summer, I realized that it was much more fun to be the bad guy. Vader had a cool outfit, people feared him, he was powerful, and to top it all off, he was voiced by James Earl Jones. "This is CNN." I know, I'm weird.

Despite Lumpy and the copious amount of celebrity death in 2016, it was actually a pretty good year for me. I traveled a lot, both to promote my book as well as just for fun. I became much more comfortable speaking in front of groups of people. I also lived through a book event in New Orleans where only two people showed up and neither of them bought my book. That was totally awkward, but I lived to tell the story. What doesn't kill us gives us stories! I also finished my second book and I'm almost done with graduate school. So there's that.

So, did anything good happen in your 2016? Doing anything fun for New Year's Eve? Is there black-eyed peas on your grocery list?

Tell me.

Grieving for Public Figures

This has been a very tough week. Like many of you, I was jarred from sleep by the words "

David Bowie

is dead," from my local

NPR

station. I don't think I've ever jumped out of bed quicker to confirm the news on of all places, Facebook. Yeah, I know. Facebook.  I went to a social media site (a site that I have a love/hate relationship with) for more information about his sudden death. Immediately, I began to cry as his face popped up over and over on my feed. Yes, it was a sad day, but being there with others who were grieving about him made me feel less alone. Thank goodness I am not the only person who cares that David Bowie has left this world!

When I was writing

Death Becomes U

s, I was sitting alone in a fire station waiting for the crew to come back. My friend Katie called in a panicked state to inform me that Michael Jackson had died. (Farrah Fawcett had died earlier in the day. Poor woman. Overshadowed by the King of Pop.) I felt like a part of my youth had died. I wanted to commiserate with someone and nobody at the station cared one way or the other that he had passed. I felt ashamed for my feelings. But, let me be the first to tell you that nobody should be ashamed to grieve. Grief is part of life and it is perfectly normal. Heck, it's normal to feel more grief about your cat dying than your grandpa. But, when you live in a culture that doesn't exactly embrace grief, to the point that they would appreciate it if you got through it quickly (in seven easy steps!) and preferably somewhere else, what is a person to do?

I wanted her hair, but I wanted his dance moves.

Go to social media. Create a meme. Share your stories. I didn't know David Bowie, but his music meant a lot to me, especially when I was younger and a little bit strange. Okay, I was a lot strange. Still am, just in a different way. Anyway, in 1987, a friend asked me if I wanted to go see David Bowie at

Kemper Arena.

 She had tickets for 2nd row center on the floor and I was like, not only yeah, but HELL YEAH! I was 17 and my hair had recovered from my self-inflicted chop job I did in 7th grade. I remember wearing a white t-shirt, army green cargo pants and black boots. When I saw that we had tickets in front of one of the more popular kids at my school, I felt for a brief second that I was cool. This sensation was prolonged and sealed (at least in my mind) when Bowie sang a portion of China Girl to me. At least I think he did. It felt that way. And seeing as I was taller than everyone around me, my giant head is the one he focused on as he sang. I saw him years later at the Warfield in San Francisco. Once again I was on the floor, but I couldn't get anywhere near the stage because my date was a total goober who didn't like Bowie. That was our last date.

Then yesterday, I found out that Alan Rickman had died of cancer at the same age as Bowie. I didn't think I was going to get through the day. I loved Alan Rickman. I loved him in

Die Hard

,

Sense and Sensibility

and of course as Severus Snape in all the Harry Potter movies. His voice. His large expressive face. It was all too much.  But, this is what life is. If you've loved a lot, and yes this includes celebrities, you are going to grieve a lot too.

Do I have a solution? No. Just be kind to those that grieve, even if you can't relate. You'll get there one day.

So, was this a tough week for you? Did Bowie sing you to sleep? Did Rickman's evil charm make your toes curl? If not, has there been a public figure that died that really got to you?  Share if you dare.

If you want to read about my love for Michael Jackson and my exploration of death, you can get my book at

Amazon

or

Barnes and Noble

or from the trunk of my car, but please ask first before opening it.