Tag: aids

One of my heroes

When Tom, Amy, and I went to Washington, D.C. in October 1996 as volunteers for what has been (to date) the last full display of the NAMES panels of the AIDS Memorial Quilt, there were several sites on our agenda to visit. We stayed in Georgetown (it was lovely) and used cabs (more expensive than New York) and the excellent subway system to get into, out of, and around the city. High points of the sightseeing part of our trip were the various memorials (Lincoln, Jefferson, Washington monument, the graves of the two Kennedys at Arlington, the Korean and Vietnam war memorials), the capitol, the White House, and several museums (historical and art).

It was in Washington that we discovered the marvels of Streetwise Maps. As helpful as the maps were, we also found that any time we stopped to study one, locals would also stop and ask us if they could help us find our destination. Never was “the kindness of strangers” more apparent than during those few very cold but magical days in the capital.

There was one place in particular that I wanted to go, and in those pre-Internet days, finding it presented a bit of a challenge. Fortunately, one of Amy’s Streetwise Maps came through for us. The place was the Congressional Cemetery. It was tucked away in what we were warned was a less than ideal neighborhood. We emerged from the subway in the late afternoon to find that the cemetery was a farther walk than we’d realized. It was cold, the sunlight was fading, and gray clouds threatened a drizzle. But Amy and Tom knew this was important to me, so they gamely kept going.
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So much to remember

From the Preface to Love Alone: 18 Elegies for Rog:

…I would rather have this volume filed under AIDS than under Poetry, because if these words speak to anyone they are for those who are mad with loss, to let them know they are not alone…. The story that endlessly eludes the decorum of the press is the death of a generation of gay men. What is written here is only one man’s passing and one man’s cry, a warrior burying a warrior. May it fuel the fire of those on the front lines who mean to prevail, and of their friends who stand in the fire with them. We will not be bowed down or erased by this. I learned too well what it means to be a people, learned in the joy of my best friend what all the meaningless pain and horror cannot take away–that all there is is love. Pity us not.

Paul Monette
Los Angeles
29 June 1987


Steve
April 28, 1948 — June 14, 1992
I would stand in the fire with you again always.

Featured S&S Author No. 2

Last year, one of my favorite panels at Saints & Sinners was a discussion of whether HIV/AIDS is still part of the story. There was a bit of a crowd at that one, with some good questions, and the speakers were excellent.

This year, though the crowd was a little smaller and quieter, the speakers at HIV/AIDS Awareness: A Novel Approach were equally excellent. As long as S&S hosts a panel on writing about HIV and AIDS, I’ll be in the audience, because this is my particular writing challenge that I grapple with. Though I think there is mention of AIDS/HIV in every novel I’ve written/co-written, and certainly there are references to safer sex, those moments in fiction barely scratch the surface of my real-life experiences.
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A tale for Rio

Dear Rio,

One time, I gave my friend Jeff a bunch of silly presents that included a marked-down Donna doll. (I wish I’d left the big orange sticker on her, dammit.)

In a very 90210 moment, he got mad and gave her back to me. Then he died. I don’t think the two events were connected, but I will say it’s never a good idea to mess with Tori, even Discount Tori.

Grumpy AND Sneezy

It was uncomfortably muggy yesterday, so I loved it that the temperature plunged during the night. The windows were open, and it would have been a perfect morning to snuggle under quilts with my dogs and sleep in. I wouldn’t be QUITE as bitter about all the equipment that cranked up on my street BEFORE SEVEN A.M. if I didn’t know the end result, after months of noise and dust and a tacky blue portable toilet, would be another CRAPPY THREE-UNIT town house in the neighborhood.

Once awake, I embarked on a fly-killing mission. Today’s last body count: 32 34 38. Nice.

Then I took these to the post office to donate them for NO/AIDS’s use in the Easter parade.

Did you know that I can’t Express Mail from Houston to New Orleans? No, I didn’t either. Hope the beads get there in time. Can’t believe the postal service has not recovered adequately from Hurricane Katrina to be able to guarantee mail delivery by a certain day. I wonder if other shipment services can? It’s not like beads are important, but I think of things like medications that often have to be overnighted. Is this not possible?

I asked a question the other day of authors–whether they went back and reread their old work. I asked because I’d decided to read IT HAD TO BE YOU for the first time since 2001. There were a couple of times I TRIED to read it, but I would start seeing so many things I wanted to change that it disturbed me, so I never reread it in its entirety. This time around, I’ve stuck with it. Things I may have wanted to change at one time don’t bother me so much now. Like the way Daniel is initially mired down in his history. That makes sense, considering his circumstances as the novel opens and who he is (big ol’ Virgo). What I’m struck by is how my feelings about Blaine are different. I see him as much more vulnerable now when I’m reading him. I think that’s because I learned so much more about him in I’M YOUR MAN. Now a whole new set of things is affecting me in relation to WHEN YOU DON’T SEE ME. I don’t know. I’m glad I’m rereading it, but there’s something bittersweet about it.

Note to Shannon: I got the photos. More later.

Note to Lindsey and Rhonda: Y’all are sweet. Sorry about the dentist.

Note to Tim and Rex: The CAR! is home.

Not really Hobbitses

Yesterday after Tom’s usual Saturday morning with AFH’s Stone Soup, we met the Disgruntled Liberals Club for brunch at The Hobbit Cafe, which at its former location was called The Hobbit Hole. This was my first time at the new place (“new” to me only, as it moved years ago), and the food is still excellent. The company included some of my very favorite people in the world. Only Don, our Founder, was absent. This is always the case when I have my camera. I threatened to photoshop him in to our group picture, but the best photo I have of him is in his cap and gown when he got his doctorate. Robin thought that would be appropriate, but I’m holding out. I truly believe that one day we’ll all be together at the same place at the same time when a camera is present.

Robin surprised us with this:
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Keep it up, mockers

You ever just sit back, put up your feet, and enjoy watching people mock your fear of scary movies? Or maybe theirs is an act of compassion. By taking my fear to a humorous extreme, they will rob it of its energy to frighten me… Yeah, that’s it. They’re all GIVERS! Selfless, considerate, thoughtful…

I do have the best friends in the world, which will be the subject of future posts. Like the one wherein I talk about How I Got to Know My Writing Partners Online and maybe also How the Compound Works (though I’m not sure I understand that question, Steve). Or I may first discuss My Theory of Evolution or Some Random Childhood Memory for Todd.

Meanwhile, speaking of friends…

YESTERDAY’s coffee cup, in this photo that I never had the opportunity to post, is one I don’t think I’ve featured before. It was a gift from Sweet Li’l Amy Sue (who some of you may remember is the former Rex-Tender) sometime back in the early to mid-nineties. The cup was designed by and proceeds from sales were contributed to DIFFA, which is the acronym for The Design Industries Foundation Fighting AIDS. It has long been the coffee cup I reach for most often.

In the photo, you can also see the little V-card that Tom made for me and put in front of my computer monitor for me to find when I awoke. Because in this house, if you want me to see anything? The best place for it is near the computer.

Denece treated me to lunch yesterday. We met at the Galleria. There are many, many places to park at the Galleria. There are several four- or five-story garages and also several underground garages. They are located in the vicinity of different anchor stores. I usually park near Nordstrom, but yesterday I tried a different garage. With my usual ability to step out of my car and go in the exact opposite direction of the one I should take, I ended up in the bowels of the Westin Galleria. If you should ever be a guest of this hotel (as Keelie’s grandmother was in A COVENTRY CHRISTMAS), rest assured: No one gets past the security guard of what is probably the employee entrance.

Once I found my way to Denece, we had a wonderful six-hour visit at the restaurant. (We go between the lunch and dinner rush and we’re always generous with the waitstaff, who let us take a table for the entire afternoon.) Denece always gives me so many things to think about, including insights into the complexities of human relationships as well as the wonderful world of animals (I daresay no layperson knows more about every dog breed than Denece). Plus I got to tell her one of my dirty little secrets. (HA HA HA!) We also made a little trip to Borders, where I ran into the manager, J., and got to thank him personally and hug him for his attention to A COVENTRY CHRISTMAS. He said he just ordered more copies of all the TJB books because he’s building up the stock of the GLBT section. He’s the best.

I have to mop the floors now and ponder my next post, which I may title Gone With The Exorcist, my being a SAP* and all.

*Southern American Princess

The Day After

Having spent several weeks talking about World AIDS Day, it seems right that I share how I spent my time on December 1.

One of the things I will always admire about Houston is that it responded early and forcefully to the AIDS pandemic. Our city, like NYC, LA, and San Francisco, lost many of its most passionate activists to AIDS. Our city, like those cities, struggles against indifference, carelessness, fear, prejudice, and a false sense of security among groups at highest risk for HIV infection. Yet Houstonians still keep fighting the fight, speaking for the marginalized, caring for the ill, and memorializing the dead.

Yesterday, I was privleged to spend time with some of these Houstonians or see the things they’re doing to make a difference.

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