Travel Is Dangerous

The other day I had a really weird dream.

Among the bizarre mish-mash of images, the one that grabbed me was of course when she held my hand. Of course it did. The night before, I spoke with Golden about my actually wanting to ask someone out. First time in nearly two years, second time in nearly five years.

Frankly, aside from Corey, I've not felt up for asking anyone out because I'm HIV-positive. And with Corey that was a non-issue because he is too. But, now, after that debacle, here I am.

Last time I asked someone out before Corey was a co-worker, and I'm using that as a reason not to this time. Partly. But mostly it's being sick.

The one thing I've not asked anyone I know about but really want to know is how to approach it. The asking someone out and eventually, if things go well, telling them. Corey once said to me he waited until the third date, something like that.

Anyway, there's a woman I'm interested in. We work together. And, as the game's played, she gave me an obvious opening to ask her out last week...and I didn't take it. It's who was in the dream, holding my hand, smiling when I told her about the song playing (Mogwai's TRAVEL IS DANGEROUS).

I'm reminded too of Shawn Decker's MY PET VIRUS: his trepidation of asking women out after he's grown up with the virus. Also, Frederik Peeters' BLUE PILLS. And as gorgeous as the stories are, as likely, I choose to be afraid. Afraid of the simple rejection because it will mean something more. It will prove me right. The thing I've thought about for way too damn long. I think if we go out, and things go well, and maybe something develops, and then she says she can't continue with me. This specter that's haunted me for nearly five years now is everywhere. And every time I speak with her, I get all funny inside and I really like her smile, and she's really funny.

So, how do you ask a woman out when you're HIV-positive? I really want to know.

* * *

Then there's this over at Lou O'Bedlam's blog.

The Milk

Since I lost my job over a year ago, every week seems to feel longer than it really is. Of course, when things are bad, I'm sure this changed perception of time is prevalent. How could it not be - we say, "Time flies when you're having fun," and all that. And what came along with that, and continues until just a few moments ago, sometimes just makes me so angry and sad and bitter and defeated.

Okay, so at my new job, I've medical insurance. It's one of those things that with losing the previous gig was a huge worry for me (nevermind, the rest of the family - they were a mess). Paying hundreds of dollars a month, even with not enough money coming in, for COBRA just so that I could continue to pay a couple hundred dollars on top of that for medication and more doctor's visits seemed so ridiculous. It's one of the reasons last year the president let me down by not pushing for Single-payer Healthcare. But anyway, so am covered now...

Late last week I called in to have my two prescriptions filled because it was time. And it was the first paycheck where the new gig was paying me decently, finally. Not great, but every dollar counts, after all. I went a couple of days ago to pick them up and was told that my COBRA insurance had lapsed. I figured, so what, I've a shiny new insurance card (the cost attached to my meds then I've talked about before). So, pharmacy guy does whatever it is they do and comes back and tells me it'll be $500 for both. Turns out I need to pay my deductible before the insurance covers what it used to. This was a rather unexpected thing to have happen.

Just got back from paying this and I am still a bit embittered and sad by the whole thing. I drove to the pharmacy crying.

Honest: one of the things that bothers me the most about this is the contrasting example of the ex and my situations beyond us both being HIV-positive: I've worked for years, paying my taxes and insurance costs and all that; he's claimed disability for a lot longer than I've been taking these fucking pills: I pay what I pay for doctor visits, emergency room visits, and medicine (the most total was in 2008 which came to roughly $4000); he pays nothing. The juxtaposition is glaring to me and shows me such an unfair disparity that it simply infuriates me, and has ever since I first discovered this. And it isn't so much because it's the ex, no. It's more due to the fact that it seems that when you play by the rules in this fucking country, well, who the fuck cares, even when it comes to staying alive. To be fair, I don't know and don't recall the details of the ex's then-situation when all this came to pass for him, nor much do I care now. What stays in my mind, and did as I drove to and back from the pharmacy just now, is that while we were together, the ex said he could get any medication he wanted and he'd get it for free (I was present first hand when he had some pills for some friend of his (hair-growth pills or some such) and I know first-hand he has easy access to boner pills (he took some when we were in San Diego last year). This is the disparity: all I want is what I need and am willing to pay for it; he's one of those people others complain about abusing the system while not paying into it.

(Okay, since am on a tear about the ex, this: I am not certain of what constitutes being disabled due to HIV-infection or AIDS - if I remember correctly, he'd said to me once that he was so sick before he couldn't work. And I'm sure this is how one does this which is fair and right, especially without access to healthcare any other way. However, in the intervening years, although I'd only known him personally for about three years, from my very biased and outsider point of view, he is not disabled any longer. This is a man who gets steroids from the public clinic he goes to because he doesn't want to loose muscle because...I think he said more muscle mass is necessary to fight off HIV cells? Something like that. I'm sure there is truth to this to a degree. But I believe it is primarily so that he doesn't become physically unattractive.)

God damn but am I angry today.

I paid my $500.

Hopefully, as it was explained to me earlier by the insurance rep, I won't be paying as much next month and so on.

Sure, I'm all "woe is me" right now, but that'll pass. This is initial shock. And it's due to having to, first, spend money that I need for other things, and, two, the fact that someone like me even has to spend money on HIV medication. This is a case, for me, where I see me as part of the working class in America and I am not catching a break: from one end of the spectrum (the ex and those like him) to another (those for whom medical care is an afterthought-expense), there is a gap wherein most of lie where we have to choose between everything that is necessary (meds, food, shelter, etc) or losing most of it. It isn't fair and it isn't right. This blog post is completely biased and written in anger and may be completely offensive and all that bullshit, but who cares? It's all of it spilled milk.

Year Four

I feel that dry itchy bit in the back of my throat that signals a bit of a cold. Have a headache that hasn't gone away. Physically, I'm not feeling my best (nevermind the sore muscles, the cut up hands, and the blistered and callused feet).

Three years ago, so I got a phone call.

I remember back in fall (I think) of 2008, I realized that all my bellyaching and crying and bullshitting about being sick wasn't getting me anywhere except ridiculous nights of non-sleep and lots of stress. I think I remember feeling, at various points, indestructible. But when I got sick last month while at Corey's, it wasn't so much that I felt it was one of those little emergencies, and right now, me sitting here typing this (can you get tennis elbow even when you don't play that awful tennis?), fearing that sickness again, I realize, of course, that I am not indestructible.

(Did that last sentence even make sense?)

Anyway, even though my fingers have little red cuts all over, I'm looking at tomorrow, the start of my fourth year with my little virus, and as before, it's something that I'm not necessarily not looking forward to, but rather, wondering what it'll bring me physically. I mean, I've been fortunate to be honest: after first talking with Corey and my doctor so long ago, a lot of the things that they said 'could' happen haven't happened. I've not been on the cusp of death nor hospitalized, nothing like that. I think my mind is different, sure, but better than then. All of which is good. But, yes, year four. Which seems weird to think about. It is. I'm not sure if I can describe why; my head is a little full of emotional bugs.

Even through this pre-illness right now, I had a flash that, yes, I will make it to my sixties. Is that weird? Me being overconfident? Who knows, but after a good portion of time now, it seems rather weird to think of my life in terms of a video game character's hit points. I don't know anything about the next thirty odd years, but that smile earlier today at work, my hands being all cut up, my throat being itchy, and my writing this now, I'll take it. Why not?

See: Sex Positive

For weeks now I've been trying to write out a proper review of the Richard Berkowitz documentary SEX POSITIVE by Daryl Wein and I've failed so many times. I think there are too many thoughts and ideas and (yes!) emotions all fighting to be heard. And even after emailing Berkowitz himself, and talking with Corey about the film, I'm sort of a little lost on the approach. So, here are the five reasons why I feel you ought to see this story:

1 - I didn't know who Richard Berkowitz was when Corey asked me last year (Corey's interview with Berkowitz at HIV Plus Magazine). And when I discovered who he was I naturally wanted to know more. Because his is a name that the greater gay (queer?) community should know and when I discovered it was wasn't, I was appalled. I couldn't imagine the same happening now. SEX POSITIVE does a great job of filling in the blank you don't know you have.

2 - SEX POSITIVE is a great examination of how one man's life was irrevocably altered by going against the standards of thee mainstream gay community. Berkowitz wasn't simply demonized and made out to be an alarmist, he was ignored and dismissed. He was basically called an enemy of the burgeoning gay community of the late 1970's/early 1980's. He wasn't supported by those he wanted to save because...he was trying to save them. It's so heartbreaking to see his story unfold for me as an HIV positive person living in the 21st century. How can any community turn its back on glaring examples of doing right?

3 - Historically, SEX POSITIVE put me in a frame of mind that I was literally too young to understand what was happening in the world. It places you in the context of Berkowitz's life and his world and via Wein's use of archival footage, it reveals the true enemies of mainstream gay culture (itself). It makes me ask myself which side of the fight I'd be on, if at all. It makes me ask myself what I would do if circumstances where so similar in my life. It begs the obvious questions of us all about personal responsibility, ignorance, and even persecution all within the subculture we belong to. It makes me counter attack those who claim are only out for what's good for me and mine.

4 - Berkowitz's story strikes me very personally because Corey and I are HIV positive, and a lot of the bargaining Berkowitz shares on screen years after the fact remind me so much of the bargaining I've done over the years in terms of having unprotected sex. SEX POSITIVE makes me reflect on how, in the 1980's, gay men like Berkowitz, even knowing they'll keep getting STDs, still engaged in bareback sex, all of which is so personally prophetic when I think over my life and how I'd realized various times that I too was exposing myself to all sorts of nasty STDs including HIV/AIDS...and I still chose to engange in unsafe sex. So smart, all of us, just not smart enough.

5 - SEX POSITIVE is a human story. One that any person can relate to I think, particularly in this present day: HIV/AIDS not being the gay disease it used to be known as. That's the trite thing to say but still, I believe it to be true. And Richard Berkowitz, like so many other people before him, stood up against those who would shut him out of his community and still screamed. Me, so far removed from that place and time, and still not, I see a man who did not lose more than he gained: he never acquiesced and didn't waver. He was his own man.

Status Symbol +

Last month, Corey and I were at Highways Performance Space early in the morning, waiting for the tech/sound guy to get ready to help Corey rehearse for his show later that day. In the meanwhile, Corey and I took a brief walk through the small gallery there and saw the polaroids being featured there that month, THE FAIROAKS PROJECT: PHOTOS BY FRANK MELLENO. There were several photographs showing candid scenes at this bath house and aside from the obvious nudity and good heartedness of them, a few showed clear unprotected anal sex. Corey and I looked, he made a mention about how that culture was so integral to gay culture as a whole, but how it was how many men basically met their death that way, through unprotected sex which eventually lead to STDs including AIDS/HIV. Then, Corey and I briefly discussed whether or not the owners of such an establishment felt any sort of guilt for any of the deaths that came from that. We asked whether or not we should hold these business owners partly responsible for what happened to a lot of their patrons. Corey and I have talked about this a lot more since then. We talked about personal responsibility, and culpability, and our own experiences -- his in bath houses and mine in anonymous sex -- and how very much it seems that there will always be more of us getting infected with HIV or other STDs.

Over the years and my sketchy sexual past, I've had only one pregnancy scare, and I've had one HIV-positive blood test. Frankly, both coming rather late in my life (the former when I was 27, the latter three years ago), it could be argued I'm fortunate that way. Marginally. But until 2007, nearly all the sex I'd had since I was in my early twenties was without condoms and rather unsafe for me and whoever I was having sex with. There were several times when either men or women I slept with wanted to use condoms and I never reneged, I never argued. My own irresponsibility is that it wasn't ever me who made the choice to use condoms. I couldn't even tell you when it was that I used a condom last, how terrible is that? Probably back after that pregnancy scare, I think. This is all my own lack of personal responsibility: I'm very fortunate to have not developed something insidious through this part of my life and spread it about. And sometimes, since being aware of my own HIV infection, I wonder when I became infected for certain (I have a vague idea but only just a vague idea of it happening probably as early as late 2005/early 2006) and whether or not I had sex with anyone after that and unbeknownst to me, infecting someone else. What if I did? The possibility exists, but I don't know for sure. Anyway...

Earlier today I came across this article, discovering that a German singer had willfully engaged in unprotected sex with man several times, resulting in his own HIV infection, and was found guilty of a crime. In California (according to page thirteen of this PDF guide), it is a felony for an HIV-positive person to engage in unprotected sex with a HIV-negative person without disclosing the former's status.

All of this bringing me back to Corey's and my conversation about the owners of bath houses: do they share a certain amount of responsibility for a lot of us becoming infected, obviously gay men and men who have sex with men in particular? I don't think so. Corey and I agreed in that these people who run these places, they know what happens within the walls of their establishments, and sure, they can put out condoms for their customers, but they certainly aren't either required to enforce safe sex as a rule in their bath houses.

Personally, even though learning I was HIV-positive wasn't really an easy thing to move through, I don't believe I can blame anyone other than me. Really. I chose to have sex with lots of people without even asking about using a condom. Was it their fault? Not really. I mean, first time a man wanted to have sex bareback, I could've said no but didn't. I never made it a point to be protected because all I wanted was sex. It didn't matter. It didn't register. It was a non-issue. And to my recollection, it wasn't ever a debate. So, while not easy, my current status is pretty much my fault. Regardless of any of my sex partners's statuses, it was my choice not to engage in safe sex. Because, you see, I'm a relatively bright individual, I've always been informed, I know the whys and whats that comprise safe sex...and I still chose NOT to do it.

I've never been to a bath house, but, as I posited to Corey then, if I did, I don't believe I would believe that anyone who I fucked with there would really care about whether I was infecting them, or they me. I think it's as base as that. We simply do not care. And if the people who're engaging in the actual sex don't care, I'd imagine those taking our money to come in and use their building to fuck definitely don't care either. I can't fault them for it. I can only fault those who still do it, but even then, my own authority and responsibility stops at myself and, to a degree, my partner. I can't chastise anyone who still engages in bath house bareback sex sessions, I can offer my opinion in the discussion, but none of us can interfere in anyone else's life.

Wonder what it means when people of all ages, men and women both, continue to engage in unsafe promiscuous sex as a whole? Because, like me, we all know the risks associated with barebacking, so what does it mean that we will continue to spread diseases among ourselves so freely? I'm talking about us rational, seemingly normal, well educated, bright, informed adults, we're the ones I'm asking.

I know I'm HIV-positive, and everyone who knows me also knows. Now, what my personal responsibility is is letting those I will meet know. This HIV status is my ever-present pregnancy scare.

(most recent HIV statistics for California, Los Angeles County)

Alive

We were sitting at the Beverly Center, just outside the H & M store, having coffee and talking. And as we were talking about HIV and AIDS and the lack of impactful presence and communication in the gay community, we also came up with the same lack in the minority communities, especially 'straight' communities. So, we're talking. And we reach a point, again, when we're talking about when we're old, in our sixties, and honestly I'm not remembering the details of that, but we both made the observation that us making it to our sixties (and beyond) isn't out of the realm of possibility, the likelihood of it had grown a bit slimmer. I think it was me, pointing this out.

For a lot of the first year since I first discovered my own HIV infection, my greatest fear was that I would automatically become sick, you know? I would be that sick best friend in a sitcom, in a hospital room, hooked up to machines, looking sallow and my skin would be as thin as rice paper. I spent months crying and not sleeping well because it felt as if when I would wake up the next day I'd open my eyes and I'd have a tube up my nose. My doctor, then, said this is what would happen, and I didn't want to believe him despite his experience. And now, in retrospect, as I've said to Corey before, I can sort of chuckle about it because, well, my doctor was dead on, and I, of course, am not in some hospice somewhere, immobile and dying.

But that's just it, isn't it? Corey and I have gotten into a bit of a habit of making jokes about us "having AIDS" and us "dying" and us being sick. And we laugh. I've said to him how funny it sounds to me when I say something and his response is he's dying. Maybe you have to be there. Anyway, so why do we make the jokes? I mean, we're not with one foot in the grave as they say. That's what my doctor, then, would say to me. And it's the cliche we hear that once HIV infection appears, it's not a "death sentence" but Corey and I make jokes and comments to the contrary.

So, we're talking, drinking our coffee, laughing and all, and I point out we may not reach to live our sixties. I say how the odds are against us reaching that age. I'm not dismissing the possibility that we could. It's the likelihood that I latched on to. Corey details for me some more of what he saw and heard at and HIV training workshop last Sunday, and something reminds me of something I've come to realize about me over the last three years or so. After so much fright and so much worrying in that initial year, I said to Corey, I think there's going to come a time when my illness will more than show, whether it is through the damage it'll do to my body, or if I do indeed end up in a hospital bed until the end. I've come to accept the possibility of that. I don't think I've reached any grand zenith of self-realization, but I'm trying to keep a sort of realistic perspective on it.

Corey, since the very beginning, has been the person I can talk to about being HIV positive (the phrase 'living with HIV' is so much more passive and inert and ridiculous), but it was the first time I articulated to him this thought. Yes, we can joke around about telling some social services person we need help because we have AIDS, but I'd not brought up before the idea that, yes, we could be in fact dying of AIDS. But I'm not all gloom. I mean, what I think I have allowed into my life is that the possibility for the opposite of living is present, and not in a fatalistic nor negative way. I think the realization of that is something that we shy away from. Even from when I was a kid, through the sex education classes, through college, and through the real world, I never once heard that, hey, you know, being HIV/AIDS positive raises the incidence for premature death, so, keep that in mind. Why don't we tackle that, why don't we hear that?

Look, I'm not saying we should linger on the more sinister aspects of being HIV positive, that's just unhealthy and morbid and really rather strange. But I don't think we should discount what it probably means for a lot of us. I know I'm not the only one. I think it's okay to accept, or recognize the presence of one last final emergency in our lives (hell, we all say a lot of time that we could get hit by a bus tomorrow!). I'm going to take my last pill of the day, watch a few more episodes of the same tv show on dvd I watch, and get up and clean house, and talk to my boyfriend and kiss him.

I'm alive, after all.

More Of Us

Yesterday, Corey texts me about a boy who got in contact with him after seeing this picture in THE ADVOCATE (Corey's blurb is number seven in the series). This boy recently found out he was HIV positive and when he saw Corey with his doctor, something clicked in him to reach out and say what he needed to say, I suppose. Last night, we're talking about it, and I say to Corey how this kid must feel, you know, seeing someone as healthy-looking as him and reach out because of what is currently going through this kid's mind. Corey says that it's happened to him before, several times. At one point last night, I naturally recall what it was like when I first found out what it was like when I first found out I was HIV positive. Then, about three years ago, I'd known Corey for about a year and only online (we'd started communicating via myspace because I really liked his writing there). Below is the email I sent him then:

From: Javier
Date: Oct 5, 2007 11:46 AM

hi corey...

i find it a little weird i'm writing you this email; we've not met and know of the other online. this is the twenty-first century, i guess.

i know you read some of the things i post on here and you've emailed me about a few as i have about yours, randomly, so i hope this doesn't come off rude or in appropriate but i need some advice, and really, i hope you can offer me some because i'm a little lost.

two weeks ago i went to the doctor about something i thought was serious but turned out not to be. a week ago today, my doctor calls me and tells me my blood tests show i'm hiv positive. went through a lot emotionally and mentally over the last seven days, and my initial visit with my infectious disease doctor this week's calmed me down a lot. but i still find myself constantly thinking about it, driving myself crazy when there is no need. just returned from another blood test, and i'm sitting here, trying to read the paper and i can't.

maybe it's not really advice i want or need. but, i guess, what i really want to ask is how did you get over this initial shock? how do you reconcile the news with your everyday life? my friends are a great and all (and i've yet to talk to my family about this), but lots of times i just feel like i'm bothering them (i don't know if this is the right word) with all of this.

any advice is welcomed. as i mentioned earlier, hope this isn't inappropriate in any way, but i'm kind of feeling a little lost right now. hope you're doing well, writing lots, and enjoying this nice friday. thank you for your time reading this.

j.

Last night, Corey says the kid who reached out to him, I'll call him W. And I'm re-reading these emails from long ago and wondering if right now, somewhere in Oklahoma, there is a kid who's feeling just like I felt in October 2007. Of course there is. After I found out my diagnosis, I began keeping a blog for that here and I began posting pictures on flickr as well.
Also, last night, while about to call Corey on the phone, I got a direct message on twitter that said (sic, to be sure): "so i know this is completley random but I was going thru ur tweets, and pics on flickr and was wondering howd you tell ya mom about ya status". It came from a flickr and twitter and facebook 'friend' who I don't know (I'll call him D). We've exchanged comments on pictures I think, and a couple of tweets, but that's it. So, I answered and got back on the phone with Corey. But later that night, as he answered me back and I got a better idea of why this boy was reaching out to me (a latter direct message says, "...ya pics kinda let me know im not the only 1 in a relationship so its reassuring. yall like a hallmark card"), I began to think more as Corey and I had said earlier of the impetus we get to reach out to strangers in regard to something so life-altering.

Corey and I were talking last night and came up with that in this circumstance all we can do is be ourselves and be honest with these kids, which is what Corey was for me years ago. Corey even went further and said that there really wasn't anything that we could say that was the wrong thing and I agree with him. All things considered, after finding out you're HIV positive, what could another positive person say to you that he shouldn't? And I thought a little more on it when Corey said that me, now being the one someone reached out to, could be seen as becoming part of something bigger. And I think that was the feeling I got after I exchanged messages with D. As we talked, I pointed out to Corey that W and D both had not revealed their statuses to more than a couple of people (parents, and boyfriend & best friend, respectively) and us individually, and this, in turn, made me dig out the email I posted above because, well, the case was the same for me then. I wonder if Corey's was as well.

One of the most striking things that we came up with in conversation last night was how it simply keeps on happening: Corey said how at a recent performance he attended, a performer said in his piece how exes revealing their new-found HIV positive statuses showed him how it felt as if it were still 1983 at the height od the AIDS/HIV epidemic, and Corey and I did not disagree with that sentiment. I made the observation to Corey how I think I'm a bright guy, you know, and pretty decent, but still I got infected. Likewise, I said, Corey did also. A little chuckle between us both, but it's pretty much true: never once in my life did I ever think I'd sit here, typing away about this, but I am because of the choices I made or didn't make along the way. For me, until 2007, having sex was something I did to pass the time while intoxicated or bored. It's never really been the most important thing in my life, but when I was in it, I never considered the risks of unprotected vaginal or anal or even oral sex. I was an adult making dubious choices and when I was thirty, well, I discovered this bug in my blood. And I remember being so shocked then, obviously, but objective hindsight tells me, "Fuck, Javier, what the hell did you think would happen?"

Honestly, I think had anyone I knew at the time said to me to protect myself and avoid multiple sex partners and all that I wouldn't have listened anyway. It's the arrogance of the human being. And, even now, I don't fault anyone for anything because I made the choice to have some man fuck me bareback when I knew all the consequences it entailed. And of course it's a little late for blame-gaming. Curiously, I still believe it's a matter of choice with us adults, who we have sex with and how, and the greater responsibility is for oneself and not count on others to look out for us. So paradoxical, this, since I want folk to be safe, but am not so forceful in that belief.

So: W and D are part of this whole of us HIV positive men of color. I'm not out to castigate and chastise but to listen and hopefully help. Because I remember exactly how each of these two boys are feeling right now. I remember how it felt to hit the send button in that email to a stranger of whom one of the things I knew was his HIV status. Because then, like W and D, all I wanted was someone to listen to me and tell me something. Anything. And like W and D and Corey and I, there will unfortunately always be more and more of us who need US.

Of course, we will always be here.

On!

Yesterday, Corey had his one-man show debut at Highways Performance Space in Santa Monica. He talked about himself and God and Love (I'm not sure if he meant to be heard as capitalized Love but probably), and the interconnectedness of everything, and sex, and sexuality, and even the television show DYNASTY. For those of us who know him, aside from the obvious affection, I think it was a bit more of insight into the man than I think we might have known. I know it was for me. And at the same time, personally, I find the way he thinks and feels and believes about the world a little fascinating, so seeing it performed in such a lyrical way and with such humor, and in such an occasionally brutal way, it has a bit more resonance. There was a part in his script where he went through a list of five (six?) men who've shown him different types of love and/or how to love, and I wasn't sure how it might play out, and he pulled it off (which, I think could be an entire show in itself with some development)! I'm very glad I was there to see it, all of it, from beginning to end.

For as long as I've known him personally, Corey's always talked about having his performance stand on its own without being integrated into anyone else's work, or as a part of a whole. And this was a great way for him to do this with, really, minimal risk. It was such an unreal trip for me, the entire process, along with a bit of artistic, if not professional jealousy.

A few weeks ago, while I lay on his bed, Corey ran through a few of his lines for me a couple of times. The first as rote memorization, and the second with such emotion and passion and flair, I was definitely interested to see the remaining of his script performed. I was very impressed then, and also yesterday when I saw the whole thing materialize. It's one of the things I've always been curious about Corey, seeing him do his thing, what he loves and is passionate about. And from the initial invitation he received to perform his work to the very last applause yesterday at the theater, it was all such a wonderful experience for me as a tourist in the indie theater community. It really is remarkable to see how creative folk work, you know. It's that idea of seeing how Corey went from idea to show, and that was very impressive for me to witness.

Not until his friend Kacy said so afterward did I think a post-show discussion would've been rather interesting, but I may be biased.

Aside from the practical aspects of the work, what did I see and hear and feel? I saw lots of courage and sadness and happiness. I felt a little uncomfortable and teary and joyful. It's very rare that anyone I know who's creative in any capacity affect me in various ways with their work, and even at the very beginning, when Corey was first talking to me about it and I wasn't sure how it would work, but Corey managed it. I'd like to think that I'm pretty objective. I also have said to him I don't think I'm the audience for his work (he's said otherwise). But it's the special skill of a performance to penetrate even those of us who're mostly rebar and stone. The deeper spiritual themes in his piece notwithstanding, I'm very happy to see all of this happen to Corey because he made it happen. At no point did he ever stop to think he wouldn't do it, or wasn't capable of doing it. Even at his hardest point, I don't think that ever crossed his mind. And that is one of the most astonishing things about Corey that I've seen so far.

Slanted & Enchanted

A lot of people have said to me over the years that things in life happen for a reason. Things must happen in a certain patterned way for life to revolve as it should. Most of these people are probably rather insane. I know of two who aren't, and the reason why I think they aren't insane is because there is an odd type of logic as we talk about certain things. One of them is my best friend and we had a long telephone conversation today. The other is my boyfriend, Corey.

Recently, I told Corey how everything I was reading or watching contained the name Didi. Watched Don Roos's excellent first film THE OPPOSITE OF SEX and in it Didi is the central terrible harridan of a lead character portrayed by Christina Ricci. As I was reading Don DeLillo's COSMOPOLIS, Erick Parker's art dealer lover is named Didi: an older woman who makes time for her young lover because he is more fascinating to her than attractive. Then, Corey lent me his copy of DRAWING BLOOD by Poppy Z Brite wherein Trevor Black's younger brother's nickname is Didi, but he dies at the beginning of the story so there isn't very much there about him anyway. In brief conversation over this with Corey, as he does when I talk to him about lots of things, he pointed out the very different outlets by very different creators about very different things all seemed to have found their way into my current state and obviously something clicked in me. I said, as I often do, it's just coincidence. Corey said to me that's several very specific coincidences. He may've laughed at that point.

Didi is Cynthia's nickname. Cynthia is a girl I think I know.

Late last winter, I realized that the girl from fall 2006 wasn't even around anymore. In various capacities. I'd lost the closest friend I'd made since moving back to California. Previously, of course as I found out, she stayed away from me for the very retarded reason that her boyfriend was feeling a bit insecure with me in the picture. And last winter, as she started seeing someone else, it got to be a very familiar scene. I'm leaving out the few tough talks she had with me and I with her about our rather strange dynamic. Keep in mind also that I'm leaving out a nearly ten year age difference. I've written before that it simply feels as if I was wrong in choosing this person as my friend. In a very unfair and selfish and irrational way, had I known what would happen, I wouldn't have pursued anything beyond a working relationship with her. So strange that folk that you're not romantically or familially (sic) linked to can hurt you.

Not everything has been bad. In fact, we've had lots of terribly great times. Great talks. Experiences. And even when I've been at my worst, I've managed to get a smile from her and vice versa. Ah, but we that could make things different, would be even?

So, all of these signs as Corey might say, right? I've not spoken to her in months. Over the last year, since a last trip out to Las Vegas, I've maybe seen her five different times? We live fifteen minutes apart. She goes to school five minutes away. It makes me wonder if she, like me, thinks that I'm not a very good friend. I wonder whether or not she thinks I'm not worth the effort as a person. Perhaps she's too much involved with whoever her current boyfriend is to not include me. Here I am going on and on, sort of putting the onus of our fractured relationship on her shoulders, I'm forgetting to burden my share of it. I do that. I wouldn't mind hearing it. But I won't.

In a similar way to how Corey and I were talking about her then, I had a brief conversation about her with Golden the other day. Maturity and age and friendship were themes, and in the middle of it I remembered something Corey said to me a few months back about when folk get married, each individual's friends fall into the background or disappear. I wonder whether it's that, you know, if it's what Corey said in a way. Do some people function this way? I know I do not and will not.

As recently as this week, Corey's had a conversation with an old friend with whom he had a really strong friendship which ended, not unsurprisingly, over a "misunderstanding." As he and I were texting about that late last night, it brought back to the forefront what I'd written weeks ago about my own old friend. Still, didn't finish those thoughts. But here I am writing all this histrionic melodramatic drivel instead, aren't I? This is why: Corey's having a one-man show in about a week and he sent out a Facebook even invite over it and I forwarded it to the people who I know who live in southern California, Cynthia being one of those on that very short list. This afternoon, Corey says she'd accepted the invite to go to his show. They've never met, and she and I have not had a friendly conversation in quite some time. Corey said to me it could be a sign that she wants to reconnect. Golden intimated the same thing. And as before I am skeptical.

But that's all I get.

Anyway, this rant is over. Or is it an observation?

Run

I don't want to come off as one of those assholes who find some strange sense of worth in saying out into the world that I never ask for anything (which I don't) so I won't. I'm a different sort of asshole. But in a strange, if not unexpected, turn of events, it's becoming increasingly difficult to put on that I'm fine and everything will be okay attitude when I wake up in the morning. Look, I think I'm a pretty realistic person, I really think I am, and perhaps that's where my naivetee comes from, my lack of maturity, my weirdly romantic notions about the world and life and people (which now sounds oxymoronic), so, realistically, I'm wondering how much longer this will all keep up.

Over the last three weeks, I've built up from walking to jogging 1-2 miles near daily (six days straight, on and off the others) because I've this need for something that is mine, you know. And counting on anything or anyone for it seems awfully difficult. My inbox and voicemail stay empty day in and day out and that gets to be really difficult to deal with given my family's and my situations. That's a huge piece I'm missing, really, daily work. The drudgery most working class folk complain about daily, I miss it. I accomplish things daily at work, frustrating as that may be. So, I run instead. If I could run for ten hours daily five days a week, really. But, please, that doesn't pay the bills.

When I talk to Corey, when I talk to my family, when I talk to my best friend, what can I say, this is a big part of it for me. Perhaps as Corey's intimated in the past, I am one of those people who define themselves by their work. It's become my life and without it, without that sort of structure and discipline, nearly everything else in me stops working properly. You see, it's happen a few times before. Details notwithstanding, I've been here before.

This is all the practical stuff. What's not necessarily the most important in life. But it makes life happen. Let's be real.

So fine, I just lay in bed trying to sleep, worrying about all this fucking bullshit, trying to ignore the slight pain in my knee, and I can't, and I fire up this computer, do some online looking and fill out more and more forms and at the end of each, after hitting the submit button, I think, foolishly, maybe futilely, this one will be it.

Anyway, a little venting and a little me cowering in some corner time is allowed I think. I'm all for a good attitude and all but I'm not made of stone. But while all of this happens, good and bad, I'm going for a quick run.

Good morning.

"I struggled to love and provide. How many of you know the true and bitter force of that simple word provide?"
- Don DeLillo, COSMOPOLIS

Number Five With A Bullet

After erroneously asking someone who their favorite movie director is, and getting in return the, "So, like, what's my favorite movie?" answer, and exchanging a couple of tweets with Corey about it, it made me think of those lists I have, that I believe(d) we all have.

TOP FIVE FILM DIRECTORS

• Christopher Nolan (MEMENTO, INSOMNIA, BATMAN BEGINS, THE PRESTIGE, THE DARK KNIGHT)
• Darren Aronofsky (PI, REQUIEM FOR A DREAM, THE FOUNTAIN, THE WRESTLER)
• Michel Gondry (HUMAN NATURE, THE SCIENCE OF SLEEP, ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND, BE KIND REWIND)
• David Fincher (FIGHT CLUB, ALIEN 3, SE7EN, PANIC ROOM, THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON, ZODIAC (the latter is far better than I think he's given credit for))
• Alfonso Cuaron (GREAT EXPECTATIONS, Y TU MAMA TAMBIEN, CHILDREN OF MEN, HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN)

TOP FIVE MOVIES

• Fight Club
• American Psycho
• High Fidelity
• Requiem For A Dream
• Star Wars (1977-1983)

TOP FIVE RECORDS

• Nine Inch Nails, THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL
• Tori Amos, BOYS FOR PELE
• Joy Division, HEART AND SOUL (boxed set)
• Godspeed You! Black Emperor, f#a#[infinity]
• Atmosphere, YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH FUN WE'RE HAVING

TOP FIVE BANDS/MUSICIANS

• Joy Division
• Nine Inch Nails
• Atmosphere
• Deftones
• Godspeed You! Black Emperor

TOP FIVE SONGS (click here to listen)

• Joy Division, DIGITAL (curious it was their and Factory Records's first release)
• Nine Inch Nails, GAVE UP (from the BROKEN EP)
• Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, (I'LL LOVE YOU) UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD (from the soundtrack to Wim Wenders's film UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD)
• Kurtis Blow, THE BREAKS
• DJ SHadow, YOU CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN

TOP FIVE WRITERS

• Chuck Palahniuk
• Douglas Coupland
• Bret Easton Ellis
• Grant Morrison
• Warren Ellis

TOP FIVE BOOKS

• Chuck Palahniuk, FIGHT CLUB
• Douglas Coupland, MS. WYOMING
• Bret Easton Ellis, AMERICAN PSYCHO
• Nick Hornby, HIGH FIDELITY
• Alex Garland, THE BEACH

TOP FIVE COMICS

• Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons, WATCHMEN
• Grant Morrison & Chris Weston, THE FILTH
• Warren Ellis & D'Israeli, LAZARUS CHURCHYARD
• Warren Ellis & Darrick Robertson, TRANSMETROPOLITAN
• Neil Gaiman et al., THE SANDMAN

I Love You, Bret Easton Ellis

Yesterday, Xeni Jardin tweeted this link. In it, Bret Easton Ellis's feelings on why women aren't necessarily as good film directors as men are sort of criticized. Sort of because, well, where's the support in the criticism? Says the post's writer:

"Where to start? The part where he sounds semi-apologetic about his misogyny and then reclaims it all over again to claim that The Proposal is worse than say, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen? How about the part where Ellis thinks a director is always responsible for the visual components of a movie, except for when that director is a woman like Sofia Coppola? Or that women don't have a visual sensibility because he thinks only men get one? Or when he says that all female directors are "emotionalist"?

It is tempting to go through one by one, and point out the absurdity of these claims. Then again, in addition to his printed and onscreen oeuvre, this is a man whose previous Tweets have included, "John Mayer in the March Playboy is one of the most interesting, funny and revelatory celebrity interviews I've ever read. He just gets it." In other words, his idea of revelatory is saying things that are deep-seated, prejudicial convention and protesting that everyone can't handle his edgy truth. So he really doesn't care if it's actually true or not."

I for one would've loved to hear the support against Ellis's absurd claims. Really. I'm not overreaching, I think, because a good argument is based on, well, arguing, but I think this little post doesn't do what I thought it might do, which is tear apart Ellis's comments with supporting claims of the writer's position. But there were none. It read to me the same way it sounds like when folk claim they're Mexican but don't know why.

And what about Bret Easton Ellis's comments regarding women as film directors? He says:

"Regardless of the business aspect of things, is there a reason that there isn’t a female Hitchcock or a female Scorsese or a female Spielberg? I don’t know."

And, just prior to this, Ellis states:

"There’s something about the medium of film itself that I think requires the male gaze...We’re watching, and we’re aroused by looking, whereas I don’t think women respond that way to films, just because of how they’re built."

Is there any truth to what Ellis says? The knee-jerk reaction is he is wrong, as highlighted in the livejournal post. But as person who enjoys movies and film, I'm finding it very very difficult to disagree. I'd ask everyone, which are your favorite woman-directed movies and I'd wager a lot of us would need a moment or two of thinking to come up with a few. We can each come up with our favorite movies list in seconds, and I'd ask how many of these were made by women directors and I'd guess none.

It's very difficult to come up with a film that I love that features a woman at the helm. AMERICAN PSYCHO is one (of course, being that the source material is also a top three favorite of mine didn't hurt), and my favorite movie of all last year was THE HURT LOCKER. It isn't that I love these films because they were made by women, but because they're fantastic stories told with such fearlessness and with individual aesthetics that it would be hard to point out each films' flaws. But, personally, aside from these, what else do I get? My boyfriend and I were briefly talking last night about this. I read to him the bit where Ellis says that TRANSFORMERS is a better movie than THE PROPOSAL and Corey's reaction was that the TRANSFORMERS is trash and he really liked THE PROPOSAL. I asked whether or not us liking the movies made them any good (I also said that if given the option between the two, despite the terrible amounts of shit TRANSFORMERS is, that's the one I'd chose to watch), which of course lead us to the bigger question of what 'good' is, which to me sounds like what Ellis is saying: is a movie a good movie because a woman made it? If what I get from women directors are romantic comedies that don't really serve any artistic purpose, how can I not think women make bad movies? It's all in the evidence presented by the creators.

But, here's an example. Take THE PUNISHER: here you have a comics character in two movies made within a decade of each other, neither of which is spectacular film making. The first iteration was made by Jonathan Hensleigh and it's absolute trash. It isn't even fun. Everything about this movie makes me retch because it took what has been a good idea for action movies (revenge!) and made it a caricature that no one finds redeeming (he has a story credit as well). Four years later, Lexi Alexander made the second movie, and it's endlessly a much better-made movie that's not only more fun and violent and funny and exciting. Does it mean that the latter movie is better because a woman made it?

Like Ellis, I love the work Sofia Coppola puts out, even MARIE ANTOINETTE. I think her way of making movies each time has a clear vision and therefore genuinely brilliant artistic value. Kathryn Bigelow's STRANGE DAYS is also an incredibly brilliant film (but now a much dated story than I imagined back in the early 1990's). And I've loved all of Floria Sigismondi's music videos (I've zero interest in a movie about The Runaways, incidentally). So, the women who've access to making movies, how come they make such claptrap trash? What happens? It just seems that even just asking the question, or as Ellis did and sharing the opinion, labels you as sexist and misogynist. Okay. Fine. Just show me where the movies are and I too will re-think my opinion.

“…I’m just tired of being wrong all the time just because I’m a guy…I mean, a male chauvinist isn’t born, he’s made, and more and more of them are being made by women…Women are right. You’re wrong. You get used to the idea. You live down to expectations.” - Chuck Palahniuk, CHOKE

Choice

Here I am.

There's a bit to be said for going into things half-cocked, you know. Probably, most of what can be said isn't very good because jumping in the water without knowing how deep it is could lead to brain smashing results. Anyway.

It's been difficult. It is difficult. All these things that are happening right now and the things that are not happening. Said to my brothers the other day how it is the first time in our lives that we're finding ourselves more alike than ever...in dramatically despairing ways. We kind of laughed about it for a moment. Before, last week or the week before, the entire family is having lunch and we're talking about my niece's schooling and we're talking about the paradoxism of parents telling kids to not do what they did even though they came out better people for it. We're talking travel and we're talking going back to school (my sister-in-law is currently in a Master's Program) and having kids (new nephew, exactly twenty-three days old today). We're this little group of people who, when the water's not been deep enough, has been there for each other. For me. And I look around at these people I love and wonder who can we, collectively, turn to now? There is no one you see. And I'm talking about pragmatism, because that's an out right now that none of us seem to have.

Neither of my brothers and I have been able to find work. For whichever reasons there may be, it's come to the point where, personally, I'm having a lot of difficulty thinking about anything but and feeling, not lost, but a huge sense of weight, you know. My father has three more weeks worth of work. There are two kids in my immediate family, my mother and I are in treatment for our respective illnesses. This is what I think about a lot. It's what's making me worry a lot. Literally, it's what's keeping me up at night.

Corey and I were talking before and we said how despite my own take on it, I do very much feel like part of what makes me me is that I feel the responsibility of being able to provide not for myself but for him, for my family. For everyone. And it's affects me when I can't. It really does. Noble or not, just or not, courageous or not, it's fucking driving me insane.

And it's making me very sad.

I don't want to rant on and on about these weirdly socio-econimic structures we're in, the plight of the poor, the battles of the middle class, our constant consumerist culture, the irrelevance of bits of the private/public sector.

When I left Las Vegas five years ago this coming weekend, things were dismal and low and shattered in very many places. And the cliche of history repeating isn't far from my mind, and just like then, doing something about takes so much damned time. It does. It's not the lack of doing or the lack of focus or the lack of attention. That's what gets me a little powered for something. It's the waiting, this interim, this space that makes it all seem overwhelming and very stressful and very, very terrible. And, honest, this interim, as terrible as it feels sometimes, I don't know that it's not entirely deserved, you know.

I've never been one to cast off blame to anyone or anything when something bad occurs to me because these things happen because of what I do or don't do, and blaming anyone and anything else other than myself is total bullshit. But my problem is I'm harder on myself than anyone else. I guess that applies to most of us, doesn't it?

So, I've spent the last few hours imagining how I'm going to tackle this upcoming week and after a quick talk with Corey the other night, and joking a bit with my two brothers earlier, perhaps it doesn't need to be so difficult. What's upcoming? Choice.

Blue Sky

Last night, while on the phone with Golden, I needed to take one my meds, and did. And tried very hard to articulate to my best friend how I'd just had a little dispiriting moment. She said I better continue taking my meds and I tried to tell her that it wasn't that I wouldn't continue taking them, but that the fact that I had just then done it made me think, 'Shit, here we are, for life,' and she said I better. So, I tried again that it wasn't as if the medication was an option but that I was yet again reminded that I had to take them because it'll keep me a little safer for alittle while longer (Corey and I joke that they keep us alive (which is true but then I guess for someone who's not HIV/AIDS positive, they might think that's a fucked thing for anyone to say, but, hey it makes us laugh)), and my best friend just castigated me a bit that I better not consider stopping.

Sigh, right?

I've often wondered what goes on through my family's individual minds about me whenever this topic comes up, intentionally or not. I was on the phone with Golden, so I just verybalized what I thought, and I wonder if she did the same. Who really knows. Sometimes I just want to ask them straight out if they think I feel different physically, do they think I feel as if I'm ebbing away, are they constantly thinking that I'm dying, what do they see when they see me? Two years ago I began shaving my head, and my mother had a fucking fit over that because she and my father both said it reminded them I was sick. Now, so far removed, I call bullshit on that. At the time I didn't, but I did ask if they honestly thought that's what I looked like, a sick person. Neither really said so.

Yes, every so often I have pangs of, 'Man, I am seriously fucked and sick and shit,' and I feel bad about it for a moment but it passes more quickly than you'd think. Maybe feel bad is the wrong phrase. But for a brief moment, I'm taken back to three years ago and I'm thinking that I've this weird dark cloud over me that no one I love except for Corey really understand. The people in my life, how do you tell them that randomly, briefly, for just a moment, I realize I've a disease that could be killing me rightnowthisverysecond?

Sure, even a dark rain cloud passes over time, but mostly after it's left its mark on the rain-soaked ground.

Assembly

Early last week I turned on the television and browsed through the channel guide and saw that BBC America had a STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION marathon on. And that's what I did last Tuesday.

And I'm watching it and it's still entertaining after nearly twenty years of not having watched it (although I have watched the movie iterations of this series several times). I still find that Data is my favorite and I've a newly-found crush on Marina Sirtis and Gates McFadden. It's pure cheap sci-fi escapism of course. But it's terrible. As a piece of work, it's bad. It's nothing to do with production values and maybe even the acting. But its structure as a television program makes it bad. The melodramatic beats are basically semaphored way in advance, the tension is only called tension because you want it to be over not because you want to see what happens next, the comedic bits are only there awkwardly to try and shoehorn in some semblance of humanity into this odd construct of television, the lack of suspense is pretty much guaranteed because STARK TREK - any of its derivations - is the basic good guys versus bad. I still enjoyed these few hours of television nostalgia, and I'm sure I'll enjoy it again at some point (if I could manage to get my hands on some DEEP SPACE NINE episodes that'd be sweet!). But it doesn't mean it's not bad television.

Yesterday, Corey told me about the latest episode of GLEE, a television program he enjoys very much, and is apparently very popular and I don't understand why. But then, it's not GLEE that I've a problem per se: I've never seen an episode and I don't think I will ever choose to [so I might watch it in the future]. No, my problem, I think is with the fact that GLEE, much like STAR TREK is bad because television is just a bad medium, and unfortunately, most people take television to be something so important and relevant and as art. This is my problem with television.

I used to plan my classes around FRIENDS and WILL & GRACE and ALLY MCBEAL. I remember it was because in the first case, of course I wanted to know what happened; in the second case, it was the first time I saw an openly gay (albeit, oddly unfamiliar) male on television; and in the third case, I thought the writing was so clever and Ally was so adorable, I just had to watch. But between then and now, nearly fifteen years later, something happened that made me stop. And I'm not certain what. Corey and I were talking yesterday and I said the same thing. I don't remember really having an aversion to television until I was well into my twenties, and I still watch television shows from time to time (more on that bit later), but it doesn't have any weight to it for me as means of information, as means of disseminating the culture, and definitely not as art. Why am I the odd man out here? I don't think I am.

So, I'm watching STAR TREK and I'm loving and hating it. Hating it because its basic structure for a one-hour drama is of course very evident. You know all the cues, for example, but I don't think you're aware of them. In a show like STAR TREK for example, you've four commercial breaks which means there must be four pseudo-cliffhangers that make you stay in tune so that itself defeats many of the emotional and dramatic suspense you might have, and because this is STAR TREK, regardless of what's happened in the story, you know the status quo will be the same and comfortably back to the beginning, you and the characters and the story are basically back to being where you were unchanged and unaffected. I know what you're thinking: this is fucking STAR TREK for crying out loud! Right. What about the television shows you watch, is this their basic structure? Of course it is.

Television is just bad entertainment not because of the stories it tells (cliches or not, a lot of television storylines are excellent, but are wasted in the medium) but because of how it chooses to tell them.

I looked up the most popular television program currently on network television, LOST, and watched its first half-season ever. The basic story is okay and a little intimidating from one point of view, but possibly too derivative to be taken fully seriously (remember, only seven episodes watched, alright?). However, the pilot episode works pretty well story wise, the acting's decent (actors trying to find their show-voices), and the direction is not bad nor good but, well, bland. But this isn't about story, it's about structure. And LOST, regardless of how good its story or acting or production is (frankly, after the third episode I decided LOST wasn't for me; if it was a book, I would've closed it and returned it to the store by page fifty-something), is pretty much what you'd expect a television program to do. Its use of music to give the audience emotional cues and attempting at ratcheting up drama via horrible camera work, and the little segments of story that just have to have enough information to keep you locked in for a commercial break because it MUST GO TO COMMERCIAL BREAKS, all of that make this program, regarless of story, unwatchable.

(I went with LOST due, really, just to all the fucking hoopla regarding its upcoming end.)

((If I were talking story-wise, LOST is useless, but that's a different and less informed (seven episodes!) opinion.))

Of course, this is the reason why networks like HBO and STARZ make original content because of this lack of 'rules'. Network television is a pop song while paid-programming is a concept record.

I don't recall when I couldn't get past this way of watching television. That decision is somewhere in my memory but I can't remember it. But network television still has two stand outs for me. Still not talking story, SEINFELD and THE SIMPSONS avoided these conventions not necessarily by mere story alone. I'd imagine these two shows' producers chose NOT to do what everyone else is doing (one argument for THE SIMPSONS has been the fact that it's an animated program to begin with) because when I watch them now, yes, they're still entertaining, but I also don't feel the need to disassemble them into their corresponding parts the way that I have LOST and STAR TREK. I get that it's a business model as well as a television program model, but that's where it loses me.

I think television stories can be better told in either film or comic book form in a much more effective and artistic way, but that's another post for another time (yesterday, Corey and I briefly discussed Y: THE LAST MAN, whose writer, Brian K. Vaughan, eventually became a writer on LOST, incidentally.).

I will probably watch GLEE at some point in the future. My boyfriend is a fan and I think his influence might have something to do with it. But when I do watch it, or any other television program, hopefully I can enjoy a story the same way I can enjoy a pop song without the need to recognize its parts and take it as whole instead. And if I can't, that's okay too. I've been okay without regular television for years. I'm sure I'd be okay without it for a few more years as well.

Space

Last night at Corey's writing workshop's reading, I chose a seat away from everyone else who was there. Because I don't like to be around a group of people I don't know. I'm weird that way. I think I get on pretty well with strangers, but I'd much rather not. I've no problems saying hello, and making small talk, and asking questions, and talking about things. But I'd much rather not. I hate the familiarity people automatically assign themselves even if we've not met.

I met Brittany, what, seven years ago? We've talked maybe four times in all those years and I still think it's weird she hugs me when I see her. I mean, I suppose it's a nice thing to do but I don't know her, not really. And I think that's weird. A month ago, Corey and I began going to church and few weeks ago I met Alejandro (I think), one of the pastors, and we chatted a bit. The next week, pleasant and all, but he came over to say hello before service and hugged and kissed me on the cheek. I don't know him either and I think it's weird (Corey asked me a bit later what I thought about that because he knows I hate it when strangers touch me (which in itself is probably weird to everyone else), and while I can't recall what I said a few weeks back, I think it was the same.).

Last night at the church where the reading was held, I was thinking about six years back, when I first met Jobea and David and Justin at the Chuck Palahniuk reading. I don't remember how the three of us started talking. I was there on my own, so was Justin, and Jobea and David met on the plane as they moved to Las Vegas (I might be remembering this wrong), and clearly we were there for the same reason and we already had something in common, so probably it was that why we started talking. Funny thing is, as I'm sitting in the church last night, I'm thinking at every other of the type of event that I like like last night's reading, I've never made the effort to talk to anyone. How does that happen I wonder.

I like my space.

Make It Chemical

Went to pick up my meds and the lady at the pharmacy tells me my insurance has expired. Sure, I can pick up my pills but at full price. What is the full price you ask? Roughly $1200 each. Without insurance, for me to be able to continue living, I'd have to pay these people about $2400 every month. Puts the whole renting vs. buying a house in a weird sort of perspective.

The two pills I take are Truvada and Intelence.

Problem becomes that I haven't been able to get in contact with anyone from my old job's benefits department. This whole COBRA mess was too damn good to be true. I'm sure tomorrow I'll be able to get all this straightened out. Perhaps I should be worried but I'm not. But all of this has brought back to me the idea of a National Health Service. This is the sort of situation where this would be a non-issue if all Americans had equal access to healthcare. Never mind me, imagine if it was you and you needed some sort of treatment just to live but couldn't afford it, what would you do? What could you do?

(I'd called the Long Beach CARE Program recently about other options in regards to options for HIV positive folk in my stead and the very helpful woman on the phone said the best possible option was for me to try to keep my insurance because otherwise, even The Ryan White Act provided little in terms of assistance, and I would then be left up to whatever public assistance can do, which, she said, isn't very much considering my particular situation (which was something that I'd discussed with my older brother and Corey a bit ago, that I'm not sick enough to qualify for government programs and I'm too well off to even apply for them), and that in itself was disappointing to hear, not because of me (well, partly) but because other folk who don't have the resources that I do would simply linger.)

As I'm talking about this cost that I really didn't know until now, I'm reminded of what Clayton Cubitt said last year:

"I can't conceive of inventing a pill that would save lives, then charging money for it. I'm a failed capitalist."

Problem with every industry is that there's always someone who's out to make money. No one wants to just do the right thing, do they?

Anyway, imagine up to what point I'd have to reach before anyone anywhere who isn't family would help me. Suppose it was someone you care about, what then? That's the thing about examples and fictions and for instances, it's all make believe and not real, is it? Tell you something: I'm pretty real.

Party For The Fight To Write

I'm not very good, but I am.

Corey's been going to a writing workshop for last few Mondays. He's told me after each session how inspired he feels, and how he's amazed by how some folk there use words so well. He himself is pretty good writer (it is, after all, what got me interested in reading him way back when (it was back in 2006! aaah!!)), and so hearing such things from someone who I think is good (I'm being objective, honest!) certainly makes me curious. And jealous!

So, look, Corey tells me about his projects for his workshop and immediately I think about what I would do. I'm very cannibalizing this way. And he's excited about it, and wants to talk about it, all of which, in turn, make me excited and want to talk about it...even though it doesn't pertain at all to me. Years ago, when I lived in Las Vegas, I almost managed to get a writing workshop together. Almost. But what that would've been is a bunch of younger kids who're more creative than me, bounding about Mormonism and indie punk. But since I've been in Long Beach, I've not felt that fire. A few weeks ago, Corey said I could've taken the workshop with him and at the time he told me about it, I didn't even once think to ask him if I should or even could.

I took creative writing twice in college even though I didn't need to take it either time. I studied Language and Linguistics and that's pretty much math with words instead of numbers. But one of the things I took away from both sessions was the feeling of competition. So when Corey tells me about his workshop, I get jealous. Honest. Because I want to do that, compete, because I know I'm good at this. Right?

Last week, Corey got an email from his workshop teacher about a writer's retreat in Los Angeles. Immediately, I wanted to know more about it, but before I could even finish my thought, Corey asked me whether or not I wanted in. He forwarded me the information and on Friday we both sent off our applications and writing samples (last night, we're talking about what could happen if we both are accepted or only one. That's a different sort of post). And I'm very excited by this.

One thing that got me very jazzed is how well I work under pressure. To be honest, I am not a planner, I am not an organizational person at all. So, as we lay on his bed, talking writing (his) and looking over the application, I realized we both only had a couple of days during which we needed to get our work in order. I worked through the night editing this story and getting it to acceptable levels for my entry. And as I'm working on it, I came to the conclusion that my writing is pretty good. That I'm good at it. And I like the story, the way that it's fractured just right, the way it omits things that aren't at all necessary, the way its themes cover a lot of bases, and, plainly, the way the language in it moves.

The other thing that I found very exciting about this process was the fact that I'm in direct competition with other folk for a spot and hopefully a scholarship to the retreat (Corey and I covered briefly that we are, basically, competing for the same spot in the program). I know I'm not the best amateur writer out there, but I've this nagging suspicion that I'm pretty much top 10%. Really. Arrogance notwithstanding, it's that sort of spirit of outdoing the rest. One of things I love about working: I'm pretty much always one of if not the best.

Anyway, Corey says we'll find out whether or not we're in mid-June. That's six weeks away.

Consumer

Two-three years ago, Golden was in town visiting Kortney and the three of us went to the Shore House diner in Long Beach. I remembered it since then (it's located in the Belmont Shore neighborhood which has become such a string of douchebaggery over the last few years, I tend to avoid it). And I think what I remember most about that place during that first visit is the waiter guy. I think he was Hispanic because he had a thick Spanish accent but he had green/gray eyes, maybe middle-aged, and I remember him because he was incredibly nice to the three of us. I mean, neither Golden nor Kortney nor I are high maintenance customers but at the same time, I felt like my patronage was appreciated.

Years ago, before our trip to Philadephia and Seattle, Golden and I went to the mall for things to wear. And I remember very clearly we went into the Gap store despite my own reservations so Golden could get something. At the register, the girl took what Golden was buying and started ringing her up. The cashier did not once say hello and she did not make eye contact until, Golden, seeing what was happening, courteously but audibly said hello to the cashier.

Recently, Corey and I have been going places that unfortunately remind me more and more of the latter example than the former. And then it made me think yesterday, as Corey and I left Basix in West Hollywood, as I'm typing a quick complaint email, as to whether or not I'm a demanding customer.

I think at restaurants, when I order and I don't like what comes - either because I don't like it, or because I order something familiar sounding but is not what I want - I'm willing to chalk that up to adventurous ordering. When I go places I've never been with people who have, of course I ask what's good. And everything is up for grabs except seafood and curries. Most recent example was at the aforementioned Basix. Corey and I went for breakfast after church service and I ordered huevos rancheros and the plate was disappointing in size and flavor. Not sure how that's possible on supposed eggs sunny side up. But that's fine: I knew I would probably not like it and I stuck with it.

What puts me off more than bad food choices (and even bad food) is the service. Yesterday, we took a bit to place our order. We always do and the servers always keep coming back and I wonder how frustrating that may be for them. The service sector is about turnover right? So, we finally placed our order and the guy who was our waiter suddenly stopped coming. He didn't even bring our food out; someone else did that so where was our waiter? He didn't come back until Corey stopped him to ask for water and syrup. And then he returned when it was time to pay. I asked Corey whether or not he was going to leave a tip for the waiter because I was not.

Of course, it always reminds me of Mr. Pink in Quentin Tarantino's RESERVOIR DOGS. And then Mr. Blue asking Mr. Pink if a waitress taking him out back and giving him a blow job would be enough to garner a tip. Anyway...

I've been to two places Corey's suggested and the service has been, in my honest opinion, abysmal. As I mentioned before, it wasn't the food that put me off, or even the highly pretentious atmosphere at the other place, Rocksugar in Century City, but rather the terrible waiters we've had. Corey's mentioned he's okay with that because the ambiance and food are what he's there for. That's what people do, I think. So why do I even bother going out to eat anywhere? To be fair, Corey and I went to the Pho Cafe in Silver Lake and while the food wasn't what I was expecting, the guy who served us was pretty awesome so I would definitely go back there and try something else.

It leads me to ask this question about me: am I too demanding a customer?

I've often said I wouldn't ever work in the food service industry precisely because of people like ME. Why is that? Do I expect too much? What do I really want? If it isn't the food nor ambiance, then what is it I go places for? To berate the waitstaff once it's out of earshot? Hm,

Which also reminds me of Mr. Pink when he goes on to describe how many times his cup of coffee must be refilled in ratio to the time he's spent at the table.

My odd expectations at restaurants seems to be all consuming for me as soon as I walk in: am i greeted, did the hostess cop an attitude, did we have silverware at the table, did someone come for my drink order, did I get what I wanted fast, is the waiter friendly, is he knowledgeable, how many times will I have to ask for something, how many times am I asked if I'd like anything else, is the waiter visibly impatient, did I get everything I ordered when I ordered it, am I thanked, am I offered dessert even though I don't like them? And I'm sure there are more in this already-long list. And I think as soon as at least two of these are not meant, the only conceivable reason for it is our waiter, and by extension, the restaurant are not worth my time and money.

Who the hell am I? A customer. But, as the boyfriend's said before about other circumstances, am I human?

Corey's said at this rate we're not going to have very many places we can go to. He's right and I am wrong. Because, well, why should I hold a weirdly arbitrary standard to people who're doing a job even I wouldn't do?

There will be more about this, to be sure...

Re-Gifters

We were talking gifts the other day.

I don't keep very many things people give me over the years, whether friends or ex's. Because there is a disassociation with the people who gave them to me. Corey and I were talking, and this is what I said. I don't return anything that was given to me that I don't like because I appreciate the gesture and thought. But once that particular relationship is dissolved, whether through my or the other person's actions/inactions, there is no point in cluttering my life with things.

Don't get me wrong: I keep things that truly matter in context.

But most things do not last that long. People don't last that long.

I'm really not much one for gifts. I mean, I like giving to someone something I think they will like, or I know they want, or both. But as far as I'm concerned, the gesture, not the thing itself, matters a little more.

I was thinking that there wasn't anything from the last, say, ten years that I've kept beyond the 'I like it' part of it. But there are. A few. One being the envelope Golden gave me back in 2003 with the zine she made. Another is from 2004 when Justin mailed me a framed and autographed version of this photo. Another is this bracelet Cynthia gave me. And most recently, it's this list of things Corey gave me for Valentine's Day. I have these things and will continue having them because they matter in the context of my life at these various points in time. And, truly, most everything else I've gotten does not stand up very well to this test.

(Don't misunderstand: I've other things from before, during, and after the ones above. But the sentimental cache if you will isn't there anymore and I keep a CD because I like the music in it, for example.)

Corey called it 'love stories in the trash' in a text. But it's not nearly that, I don't think. Sometimes, I come across something someone's given me and that person and I no longer have any sort of emotional or personal or even practical attachment, so why keep it? Years ago, this girl, Carly, gave me a framed picture of her and me at her birthday party and I got rid of it a few years ago because...there is not reason for me to have it any more. It reminds of all the things kids write in year books during the last week of classes and we write "K-I-T" but no one does it; it's the polite thing to do because we know full-well that we are not going to do it. I know I'm not. I don't have anything anyone's given me who is no longer a meaningful part of my life. With very few exceptions. Funny thing: my best friend tweeted this quote from SEX & THE CITY as I began typing this.

All of this reminds me, of course, of CHOKE by Chuck Palahniuk: "You'd be surprised how easy it is to close the door to your past."

I'm not sure if this means that I'm more utilitarian than I think I am, or just more petty. Probably a little of both (or a lot of both.).

But then it makes me think of whether or not I place a higher value on the thing than the person. I mean, I have a handful of things that mean something to me - a good memory, a sad one - but the person from whom it came, why don't I have the same emotional attachment to it? Obvious answer is, well, I held that person in high regard but they showed me I was wrong and they are worth less than what they say. How vile does that last sentence sound?

While I'm not partial to receiving (I'm going to snicker at the double entendre!) anything, I suppose thinking that the person who got me something to for any effect probably has in their mind that I will always have it. I mean, I do when I give. For the most part I think we all do. I really do. But once that relationship is dissolved, then what? Clutter. It's the literal representation of when we say about each other that we have a lot of baggage with us at all times. Perhaps when I get rid of that book you gave me because it comes with baggage: you.