-- Tuesday, July 27, 1999 --

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10:47 a.m. Whenever I read a newspaper or magazine article that purports to talk about this or that trend, I always look for this number: 20 million. Keep it in your bin of useful information: 20 million. In this country, at the end of this century, whenever something is being consumed by, or noticed by, or neglected by 20 million people, it is, officially and truly: a trend.

I figured this out myself, a while ago. I have no statistical background whatsoever in my vita and I still count on my fingers, so you might be a tad wary of my figures ... but it does work out. Has to do with the population of the country (200-plus million) and the 10 percent factor. Something like that. Plus, as a baby boomer (one of 40 million), I feel it in my bones. It feels right.

So, here are some trends in today's paper to chew on. There are nearly 20 million depressed people in the US. On another page, I see that nearly 20 million people have lizards as pets. Hmmmmm. Merely interesting ... or is there a correlation?

The depression story talks about one poor woman from the 20 million who has tried every possible drug, and not a single one has worked. She has also tried psychotherapy and even electric shock treatments and still -- nadir. It's depressing enough reading about depression, let alone pervasive, persnickety, persistent, resistant depression. I so much want to reach out and help. I have some ideas about this. Nonscientific, to be sure, but this poor woman has already had a device surgically implanted under her collarbone to deliver electrical stimulation to the vagus nerve in her neck and she still can't get out of bed ... so really, my suggestions can't be any worse than that.

Here are two things I know: if you've had any alcohol in the last 24 hours, you're going to feel a little down for awhile. It's got to wash through your system completely before the sun pokes through again, and for a glass of wine (or two) it seems to take 20 hours or so, at least, for me. Your smilage may vary, depending on how much fun or trouble that alcohol bought you. But then, I have an extremely slow metabolism. Which brings me, inevitably, to the lizards. I used to believe that I was switched at birth with a princess, or an heiress, or at least the child of a solvent, hardworking swell. Now, however, I believe I am the spawn of lizard-skinned aliens.

Here's the evidence: I am cold all the time, including right this minute at the end of July as I type these words in a big scruffy sweater. I can go for days without eating. Remind me to tell you the story of the time our car broke down and the two of us had only two Tootsie-Roll pops for the 20 miles we had to walk. It takes me twice as long to get sick on something that Igor and I have both eaten at the exact same time, which is very convenient when you share only one bathroom. Don't remind me to tell you those stories -- you don't want to hear them, believe me.

And -- this is my salient point -- I have to sit in the sun. If I had a hot rock to sprawl upon, it would be so much nicer. Heat lamps: love 'em. I enjoy getting into a closed-up car that's been broiling in the sun for an hour or so. Saunas ... oooooh, heaven. More important: happiness. The first time I came to California for a visit was at Thanksgiving, and I never got over the shock of seeing people dancing about in the bright sunshine, wearing childish togs and generally behaving as if it were still recess when clearly, the East Coast had already buckled down and buttoned up and gone inside for third-period calculus.

Before I came out here to live I went to Just Bulbs on, I think it is Broadway at Fifth Avenue, and I loaded up on enough grow-lights to give a DEA agent pause. Believe me, I could hardly get out of bed long enough to plug them in, but once I did, I even slept with them on and dreamed of long afternoon naps in the desert sun. All that light and warmth! Eventually, I believe I balanced my bio clocks and juiced up my serotonin enough to feel happy again, and not so SAD.

Happy enough to figure out I wanted to live year-round in the sun. Happy enough to get myself out here and survive without all those things I miss from home. The neon in the night-bright rain slicks on Broadway and Fifth. The Christmas lights spilling crayon puddles in the snow. My friends. The fireflies. My family.

Amazing, really, that there are no fireflies out here. You don't miss them at first because there's so little to do here at night that you don't wander around so much outside after dark. And of course it's lucky for the 20 million lizards in captivity because for those poor, cold-blooded creatures, just one firefly means instant death. Just one taste of that exotic, forbidden light and whammo! Extinguishimo.

Now, that's depressing.

Thanks, Fiona!

Come back tomorrow ...