It's all covered!

As I keep saying, I am really thrilled about the cover of The Last Bridge. As I have learned through this process the whole purpose of a cover is to get someone to pick up the book and want to know what it is about. It should also convey something about the story.

The unanimous response I have gotten from people who pass by my office (yes, I have a copy of my cover taped to my door) is that they love the cover and want to know more about what the book is about. The best part is I get the reaction from men and women which is what we want.

Personally, the cover really stirred a intense response in me. It evokes a pivotal moment in the book. Although I had written and rewritten this moment many times and spent countless more hours thinking through the details and emotions of the scene, I did not, until that moment truly feel the enormity of it until I saw this cover. It captures it and in doing so, it captures the heart of the story.

I hope you will feel the same way too when you read the book, then again, you may not see the cover or the story in the same way. That's the best part of all...there is no one way to experience anything.

R&R in the DR

Sunday, November 23rd
I’m geared up for the “transitional” part of the trip. I’ve read about the 1.5 hour drive to the resort from the airport and have scored a better seat at check-in. I even managed to get in a security line that did NOT include a family traveling with strollers, car seats and children that are not half as cute as the parents think they are. At the gate the attendant announces that there will be NO special pre-boarding for children as there are thirty kids on the flight. She calls it a family flight, I call it penance for leaving my loved ones for Thanksgiving.

It’s hot when I step out of the plane. I still can’t get over the wonder of leaving a dry cold climate and landing in a tropical paradise in under five hours. It’s amazing.

I get in our nicely air conditioned van along with another couple with TONS of luggage. I assume they are staying here at least until this time next year. What the hell do they have in there?

“Do you get car sick?” The lovely long haired fresh faced woman says to me. This is not a good opener for a long car trip that you have read is riddled with lots and lots of potholes and twists and turns. Does she know this? I’m not going to tell her.

“Sometimes,” I say.

“Do you know how long the drive is?” I look at her husband, he knows. He hasn’t told her. Well I’m not gonna either.

“I know it’s a bit of a way,” I all I say.

45 minutes into the drive to take her mind of the rocky road she tells me they are Kosher and have brought all their food with them, including a hot plate to heat it up. Apparently there are pre-packaged meals you can buy for just this purpose. Who knew?

I’m queasy when we finally arrive and grateful for the cold towel that is given to us as soon as we get out of the van. The resort is lovely. I just have to get into my room and change out of my winter clothes (I dressed in layers and took as much off in the airport as I could, I’m still wearing long pants though) and get something to eat.

I changed rooms, mine was at the top of the stairs and ever since someone tried to break into my room in Frankfurt years ago, I don’t like rooms close to the elevator or stairs, plus when you opened the door there was a view of a dirty utility closet that had a door that didn’t close all the way.

Food is okay, just as reported in trip advisor. Drinks are good.

Monday, November 24
Weather is not looking good but I remember from my last trip to the DR with my sister almost twenty years ago that the rain comes in bursts and dries off quickly. I slap on SPF 70 and forage for breakfast. It’s a buffet. One of the best pieces of advice I ever got on traveling was from my dad, he said, “Always eat breakfast, it’s the one meal that’s really hard to fuck up.” He’s right. No matter where I’ve been I always eat breakfast. Bread is freshly baked and butter is unpastuerized so it tastes like real butter. This is bad. I decide I could live on bread and butter for the rest of my life.

I spent the day going in and out between rain showers and in the late afternoon decide the rain is nature’s way of telling me to take a nap. hmmmm…what’s better than a nap on vacation?

Forage for dinner, Mexican. It’s okay. Presidente beer is mui bien. Watch the Karaoke in the main lounge and wonder at the bravery of drunk people on holiday. Honestly, does that guy know he’s shouting into the mic? Stefan, does three numbers, the final is Michael Jackson’s beat it, which he adds his own choreography to. I am laughing so hard I have to stop when I can’t decide whether or not I am laughing at him or with him.

I haven’t checked work email all day. That deserves another beer.

Tuesday, November 25
Every time I go to a meal the hostess asks me how many and I say one. and they say, “Just one?” Every time. I feel like the guy in Forgetting Sarah Mashall. When they finally seat me they take away the place setting and sometimes the chair.

This is an adults only resort so there are mostly couples. Many of them honeymooners. I wish I could say I find them cute but I don’t. Especially the ones that walk around in t-shirts that say, bride or groom. Really?

I see the Kosher couple around and ask them how it’s going, the said it’s great but the water aunts got into some of their food so they don’t have cookies or bread. No bread? I would have to go home.

Weather is spectacular. I bake for as long as my pale Irish skin can take (that’s about 45 minutes.) Then I move into the shade.

There is a lounge chair competition that goes on at the pool in the morning. People get up at 6 and come out and claim the best chairs. Some people mark the chairs and never come back – how do I know? I was at the pool almost all day and saw chairs with books on them and no one.

They also grab the rafts and don’t give them up.

Yes these are the same people who bring take out containers to the buffets. I should tell a few of them about the Kosher couple, they’ll have free luggage space on the way back and might be willing to smuggle food back from the resort.

I met a nice couple who tell me their life story as we pass each other on rafts. I tell them I understand why they moved from Jersey to Florida and think their daughter is on the right track and don’t blame them for leaving her with her grandmother for Thanksgiving. I wish them well and realize I never told them a damn thing about my life.

I fall asleep in the shade by the pool and decide I should have stayed the week.

I feel tired but remember an old friend who used to tell me when we were on vacation that I wasn’t “tired” that this is what relaxed feels like.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008
I’m itchy. Don’t know why but it started yesterday around my neck and now I’m scratching everywhere. Took an antihistamine, thinking it might be my sunscreen. I wonder if you can become allergic to your own sweat?

Another gorgeous day. I celebrate by switching from drinking beer to Dirty Bananas. This reminds me of being in Bermuda and a promise I made to my nephew Christopher that we would bring him to Bermuda when he turned 18 so he could have a Dirty Banana.

At the gift shop I get into a long conversation with the salesman about Puerto Plata, he is from there and we chat about what it was like when I was there twenty years ago. He gives me “good price” on a cool ring. He squeezes my shoulder before I go and tells me he liked talking to me that I am a good person. I smile and as always it is returned.

Before dinner, I take a hot bath in the tub in the room that is as big as a small pool, I am finally relaxed and am leaving tomorrow.

Thursday, November 27th
I am itchy again and decide it’s a heat rash but head to the pool for a few hours before I have to leave for the airport.

The resort is called “Excellence Punta Cana” so whenever you ask anyone that works in the resort how they are they say, “Excellente!” It’s cute the first 500 times you hear it but then I imagine the staff meetings where managers are reminding everyone to say and it kind of losses it’s luster. Still, I give everyone credit for their commitment to Excellente!

I ride back to the airport with Kosher couple who really are very nice. Before we pull out the husband runs back to the lobby to get bottles of water and gets me one without asking. We’re also riding with a couple. The man has just had a shot of cortisone as he back went out as he bent over to pick up his suitcase. He also has a bad case of diarrhea (yes he told us, and we had to stop) but keeps talking about how much he loved the country and the people. Most people would never come back after that experience, he’s already booked a trip in February. I don’t think the woman is his wife, she fights off getting car sick on the bumpy ride back.

I’m sad, not ready to come back.

Lights, Camera, Photoshop...

One of the things I don't miss about performing was having to get head shots. The whole problem with getting a photograph taken of yourself is that you have to confront the differences between what you THINK you look like, what you SEE in the mirror and what DEVELOPS on film. Wow, talk about a disparity.

Last week I had some photos taken for my website and author photo and had the joy of facing myself in over 50 different shots. It was daunting.

Like the five stages of grief, looking at photographs of myself is a multi-step process which starts with shock and horror. Thoughts of "Oh my god, do I really look like that?" progress to, "this one isn't so bad," then evolve to, "I hate my teeth," and finally end with, "there are a few here I like."

What makes it even harder is when you seek counsel from friends and family and they pick their favorite shots (none of which were the ones I picked by the way) and say things like, "you look great in this picture" and then you look at it and think, "I look like I'm a hundred years old." I wonder how what I like could be so different from what they like and who should I trust more?

I realize that most people don't like looking at themselves and many, like me, think it is as bad, if not worse than trying on bathing suits after stuffing your face at the food court. I guess it's a testament to our eternal optimism that we always think we look better than it turns out we actually do.

Or do we?

Of all the wishes I could ever be granted...I am certain the one I would like the most would be to have the chance to see myself through the eyes of someone who loves me. Why? Well, I would like to see what they see when they look at me. It would be extremely illuminating. You know that chin you hate? They might think it's cute. The nose you think is too small may be your best feature to your best friend. And that laugh that everyone is always telling you is infectious, well you would get infected by it too!

It would be good every now and then to get out of your head and into one of someone who knows you and loves you. What would be even better would be to have a camera capture what they see so I could remember it forever.

And yes, that would be the ultimate author photo.

Until then, I picked these two, which I ended up being pretty happy with.

My name is Teri and I am addicted to...

My name is Teri, and I am addicted to Season 2 of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew. For the purpose of full disclosure I will also admit I started with Season 1. As hard as I have tried not to watch it this season, I am powerless over the pull it has on me. I feel for these people and truly want them to recover, even though I learned after season one not to get my hopes up.

While I support the argument that watching celebrities do anything other than what they do that makes them famous is a perverse kind of voyeurism, I take exception with Celebrity Rehab as it is one of the few reality shows that actually reveals a lot of what drives people to be famous and sadly, the price that one can pay.

Don't get me wrong I don't think people that are famous should have to pay a price or even be miserable. I also don't think that being famous is something worth aspiring to as I see more downsides to it that upsides. What fascinates me about the celebrities on Rehab are the stories they tell and the double life they lead as public figures and junkies. These people are in severe emotional pain, their addictions mask that. Once they get clean all that remains is the trauma and/or shame they worked so hard to avoid. That and an incredibly damaged sense of self-esteem.

In their conversations with each other in group, and alone with Dr. Drew, it is hard not to see how worthy each of them is of love and happiness and how out of reach that feels for them and has possibly felt for them since childhood. As I hear them talk about their desire for fame or fortune, I wonder if "celebrity-dom" isn't just another addiction. Or in the case of Rodney King, what does being famous for being abused due to a person?

The interesting aspect of the show is how it condenses a very long process into essential elements. In the beginning we see montages of the celebrities, snorting, drinking, smoking, and acting out, although they have agreed to be filmed, it is clear they have no idea of how they look or they wouldn't have agreed (would you?) After check-in we see them get clean and we think they are more than halfway there but they are not. Not even close.

The road of recovery lasts the rest of their lives. Compared to living without the drug, quitting is a cake walk. Relapse is inevitable and as hard as it is to believe, the courage it takes for someone to get off their substance of choice often has to be summoned many times over an addict's life. Relapsing is not considered failure, it is part of recovery. The odds of getting clean and staying clean are against you. Addicts know this, doctors know this and now television viewers know this and still, the desire to be whole keeps many people trying.

In the episode last week the group went on an outing to a park to go fishing. The boat that Steven Adler was in capsized. The lake patrol came and he got back to land safely but his frustration was palpable and to be honest I could feel the intensity of his need to get high. "How is he going to stay clean?" I wondered.

Maybe Celebrity Rehab is a classic underdog story and I'm a sucker for them. I want them to triumph over their addiction, not for ratings, or fame or even for a happy ending. I want them to know the joy that comes from living life sober, aware and free of shame.

I can't say I live every moment that way, but like those celebrity addicts I'm trying. I guess when it comes down to it, we're all in some kind of recovery.

Poll-arity

I arrived at work this morning with that special glow of self-satisfaction that only comes from doing your civic duty. That's right, I voted!

As predicted the polls were bustling with people anxious to cast their votes. I got there at 7:00am expecting to beat the crowds but apparently everyone else had the same idea.

The auditorium where I voted was filled with a mix of senior citizens and anxious office workers determined not to have voting eat into their 9 to 5 gig. I'm not sure why the seniors are hellbent on clogging up the line during pre and after work hour rushes - they do have all day don't they? Although I've never voted after 8:30am or before 6:00pm, so maybe it's old home week for seniors and I'm experiencing the trickle effect.

My wait in line was longer than I planned (about ten minutes) and in true New York form, filled with complaints, inane chatter and deep discussions about how the process could be better.

A very vocal Asian woman kept repeating to every new person in line that the sign indicating the district should be higher. When the machine monitor explained to her there was no way to do it, she said they should tape the signs to the chairs or have someone hold up the sign. A chatty red head with a Sarah Palin accent said, "You must be a manager."

The Asian woman said, "No I am a teacher."

Redheaded Palin asked what she taught, she replied, "I teach autism."

I'm serious.

Red said, "I used to teach kindergarten now I am a bookkeeper and I hate it but I'm thankful I have a job. I'm worried though, I've lost every job I've had in the last five years. That's why I moved here."

When I got to the table to sign in the elderly woman squinted up at me and asked to see my ID to find my name. After she located it on the roster I reached for it.

"I still need it," she said grabbing my ID out of my hand.

"No, you don't. You are not legally required to show ID in NY state," I said.

Then she noticed that the address on my license did not match my voter registration address. After I explained why, she said, "Don't tell anybody."

"Tell them what?"

"They won't let you vote." She looked around at the motley crew of monitors sipping coffee and complaining that there were fourteen more hours to go. Did she see armed guards I didn't see?

"Just don't say anything," she said.

I took my card and ID from her. "Next time bring the card they mailed to you. This way I won't have to know."

"Know what?" I asked again, still not clear of what law she imagined I was violating.

"That you have two addresses."

I rolled my eyes as I was waved into the booth and hid behind the plastic shower curtain cover that keeps our voting secret. Outside I heard Red telling the Autism teacher about her bitter divorce and how she now gets her haircut every six weeks.

Every time I pull the levers I think of my parents who never took the privilege of voting for granted. My mother votes in every election and studies the issues and makes informed decisions. My father did the same. Whenever I groused about not feeling good about any of the options my father would say, "In your voting life you will case more ballots against one candidate than you will for one."

I'm happy to say this year I cast mine for Obama -- I was a Hilary supporter -- but I got behind Obama. What was the turning point for me? The second debate when he spoke about women in a way that made me feel his admiration and love for them and how he smiled whenever McCain attacked him. He got my support then -- he had my vote all along.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed and my hopes high.

Of the many things I am grateful for after voting today -- I am most grateful that Autism was not a required course in my high school.

Happy Voting!