December 2005 Archives

Yesterday someone had to get the directionals on my Mom's car repaired, and since I has already seen Memoirs of a Geisha, I sent the three ladies along and paid of visit to the mechanic in Sleepy Hollow. As it happens, Mickey's Automotive Service is just a few block up from the Old Dutch Reformed Church and Cemetery, which is one of the oldest in the United States and boasts the grave of Washington Irving himself. Of course that was nothing compared to the mauseleom I encountered when I first walked in--I mean it's right there, the very first one, on which OLMSTED greeted me in raised iron lettering. You could have knocked me over.

I immediately called my sister, who yawned at the "discovery," as it seems she and my nephew had already seen it on an earlier visit. (Sometimes I just want to slap her.) Frankly, I thought it rather newsworthy. I took pictures and will post them when developed. Not only of my personal family mausoleum, (this is indeed where my great-greats hail from) but of the tombstones of the Sees and the Storms and the Boyces and the Coppercutts and the Rhinelanders and on and on and on, good Dutch Yankee stock back to the Revolutionary War. Cemeteries fascinate me. The novels I wrote in my head during my hour and a half hike...(I actually went over a hill and got completely turned around and had to find my way back listening for traffic. What a place to get lost on Halloween, eh? Headless Horsemen, oh my!)

Then last night my sister and I watched the videotape made by my mother's best friend, Faye, for the Shoah Foundation. It's the archive created by Stephen Spielberg for Holocaust survivors as a permanent repository for their memories, lest they are forgotten or denied. I knew Faye's story in broad strokes, she used to tell it to her French students this time of the year, every year, and heard more in bits and pieces at our family dinner table over the years. But this is the first time I heard from beginning to end how she saw her mother taken away in a truck (to the gas chambers at Auschwitz), and was then spirited away herself to spend the rest of the war in hiding, masquerading as a catholic orphan in a series of schools and orphanages. It's an extraordinary story, and I think has to be the basis of my next screenplay, after I finish the funny one (I like to alternate comedies and dramas).

I just dropped my sister at the train station to spend the day in New York, my mother and I will meet up with her later for dinner with the nephew who just returned from making a documentary in Ethiopia. Tomorrow I fly back, so will blog again within hours of the start of 2006--whether before of after I know not. Seems an appropriate way to mark the transition to the second half of the first decade of this century. Can you believe it?

No, neither can I.

MCO 2005

Wouldn't that be a funny parody? "Memoirs of a Gay Shah" would take place in Tehran, and the last monarch would be a big ole Miss Missy, running around grabbing shoes to take with him as the helicopter is about to lift off and spirit him away from the mobs below. The only reason it popped into my mind was that we might be going to see "Geisha" this afternoon, me, my Mom, her best friend and my sister, who just flew in last night. I've seen it, but I don't mind seeing it again, if only for the costumes and the ritual.

I'm not really a clothes horse or a fashion plate, never have been. But that's probably because I don't have the money to dress really nicely, I suspect if I did, I would. I was somewhat surprised last night, when my sister put in the "mini-series" of all of our old family super-8's (on video, still to be digitized) how much I kept saying "I remember that outfit," "I loved that shirt" even "I loved that dress" (referring to my sister's.) And boy were my parents goodlooking in the early 60's. And my paternal uncle looked like he just walked out of "Top Gun." Boy, you could only have a few rotating outfits back then (like my mother did) and look great.

So I guess I'm the gay shah. Give me a uniform and some medals and shiny boots and I'm happy.

My sister also unearthed a long lost video that I had completely forgotten about, of me in 1988 reading a humorous script to someone who was leaving NYU, where I worked back then. (Rosalyn McWatters, if you google yourself and find this, contact me and I will get the video back to you.) First off, what I wrote, a mini-soap opera parodying all the dramas of the French department at the time, was very funny. Secondly, after it was over my sister exclaimed, "Geez, Marc, you were SO handsome."

Thank you sis. Or Shah-shah (that was her nickname). Wish "were" was "are", though I suppose there are some who still feel that way. Absent flowing booze to lubricate the tongues of potential admirers, I hear it a lot less than I used to. Not to mention I'm 20 years older, duh, ya think that could have something to do with it?

I sure was a cute 4-year old though, as were my siblings. There's one famous scene where we are all doing the hokey-pokey in our backyard in Hazlet, New Jersey that is so adorable I almost cried.

MCO 2005

Yesterday afternoon I took the train (along the Hudson, quite lovely) down to Grand Central, and then from there, walked 40 blocks down to the East Village. During my 10 years living in the city, Third Avenue was one of my very favorite boulevards, and one I knew well. I worked for three years at a bar called Uncle Charlie's South, at 38th and 3rd, and across the street for a time at Uncle Charlie's Restaurant at 36th and 3rd. (One of my favorite haunts turned out to be Uncle Charlie's Downtown, but that was on Greenwich and 10th. One day I'll tell you about Uncle Charlie--a.k.a. Lew Katz. What a New York Story that is!)

None of my other haunts, Company, on 27th, or Dakota, on 26th, are still there, but there were a few diners and Delis that have hung on, 20 years later. But it didn't matter. There is a timeless quality to a city like New York, and I knew--or slept with--someone in almost every single block I passed, although almost certainly, to a man, they have moved by now or hav been taken by AIDS. My memories, however, are very much alive. I was practically inebriated with them by the time I got to the East Village--ground zero of nostalgia.

Boy, I drank alot when I lived in New York. But I was in my 20's, and never a blackout drinker, nor a personality change drinker, in that Dr. Jekll/Mr. Hyde/apologize the next day all over kind of way. That doesn't mean I didn't drink alcoholically, but I have to say I don't regret it. I had a blast, the vast majority of the time, and met millions of people and had such good friends. Losing so many was one extended widowing. No wonder I turned to meth. I had a helluva lot of pain to medicate.

Okay, gotta check email before my time is up. (One more note: L.A. is the Cadillac of Recovery Communities. So amazingly warm and loving compared to wherever else I go.)

MCO 2005

First off, this is not Sandra, but Marc, but I must have typed in my password wrong so had to sign in under her name. I'm in a wonderful place I've discovered called a library. It has all this books and magazines and is quiet and secret agents are probably reading every word as I type.

Yes, Virginia, there is a real place called Sleepy Hollow. In fact, Washington Irving lived here and wrote his stories here. It is lovely, and a great place to be at Halloween.

My mother lives in a big assisted living Community right on the Hudson river. Some of you old timers (as far as the blog goes) will remember me moving her here in July. It is considerably colder, of course,in fact, my short trip from her apartment to the car has convinced me of the necessity of getting a hat for my trip later this afternoon to New York, where I will be meeting up with a sober friend from Los Angeles and doing the sort of things that sober people do together involving church basements.

It is very good to see my mother. Unfortunately she has a very difficult time in the morning, just getting out of bed and feeling motivated. I told her that was exactly how I felt for days on end every time I tried to get off drugs on my own, and why I never was able to until physically forced to by incarceration. I don't know if this information was helpful to my mother, but I think she may have understood a bit more something she probably didn't think she could identify with in any way.

I better sign off now because I have to check email, and we are only supposed to be on these bad boys for 30 minutes.

MCO 2005

Well, boy, did I make the right move having a dog and roommate. They're gone for 24 hours and I'm climbing the walls with the feeling of loneliness and isolation. It's good to know that it does make a difference to have Gaza even quietly laying on the bed or the couch when David isn't here, and that I do not in fact resent having to walk him three times a day including up to Griffith Park every afternoon. In fact it is a privilege and an honor and keeps me sane. I just hope he is enjoying a new yard and a bunch of new cousins to frolic with for a couple of days.

Yesterday was a great day. In the afternoon I indeed had some companionship of the handsome male variety that included going to see King Kong. What grand cinema! Let me tell you, if you need to be completely distracted for 3 hours from your own reality, go see this movie. I went to Film School and I couldn't even begin to imagine how they made this movie. Think Titanic. Some of today's filmmakers just boggle my mind with their talent and imagination. (All I can do is write witty dialogue.)

And so, what am I going to do this afternoon? While I should undoubtedly work on my own screenplay, being so inspired by the work of others, I cannot shake the feeling that it is Christmas Eve. I just don't want to be alone in the apartment, so I think it's off to the movies again, before 8:00 mass tonight. (In fact, I'm going to see Walk the Line, mostly for Reese Witherspoon.)

Then tomorrow morning, I'm off to visit Mama in NY until New Year's Eve. I think there are some computers available to the tenants of her assisted living community, but I imagine my blogging will be spotty. But, as I have discovered reading the blogs of others, I don't trip when they miss a couple of days of blogging, I just re-check. My fear of missing a day and then losing all my readers is simply silly, and rather grandiose I might add.

I almost deleted the below, unread, thinking it some sort of dirty ethnic internet joke. But I happened to read it and it's completely sweet, and a propos for the holiday.

WeeWeeChu

One beautiful December evening Pedro and his girlfriend Rosita were sitting by the side of the ocean. It was a romantic full moon, when Pedro said, "Hey, mamacita, let's play Weeweechu."

"Oh no, not now, lets look at the moon" said Rosita.

"Oh, c'mon baby, let's you and I play Weeweechu. I love you and it's the perfect time," Pedro begged.

"But I wanna just hold your hand and watch the moon."

"Please, corazoncito, just once, play Weeweechu with me."

Rosita looked at Pedro and said, "OK, one time, we'll play weeweechu."

Pedro grabbed his guitar and they both sang.....

"Weeweechu a Merry Christmas, Weeweechu a Merry Christmas, "Weeweechu a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year."

MCO 2005

A year ago today I took my last mood-altering drug, a glass of wine, on the train to Alburquerque for Christmas. I was completely anonymous, and when the strangers with whom I ate suggested splitting a bottle of wine, I said "sure." I just didn't want to be a person who could not say yes to such a "harmless" request. Of course I told on myself in one of the rooms where one does such a thing soon after, when I went from one kind of anonymity to another.

And I didn't get drunk, I barely got tipsy. Frankly, my love of alcohol had been rather supplanted by the meth for several years, I think my last drunk was some time in 2000. But, I finally figured, if I could really take it or leave it, why not leave it? Besides, one can be a little bit sober like being a little bit pregnant. There are degrees, but you are or you aren't. And while those who drink or drug "normally" can justly claim to use it to enhance or accentuate their experience of life, I can say without reservation that once I crossed the line into addiction, forever after any use of drugs or alcohol will only be to block, impede, medicate. To feel less, not more. To cut myself off from a spiritual experience.

I am almost two years off the meth, and in many ways that is a more accurate barometer of where I am in my sobriety. But hell, really, all we ever have is the last 24 hours. I don't know what will happen tomorrow or next week. I confess it is very hard to imagine the rest of my life without ever taking another drink or drug, but no one is asking me to. Just to not pick up today. And that I can do.

I had to bid farewell to Gaza an hour ago, for a week that is. David took him down to San Diego while he's with his family till Monday, and when they come back I'll be in New York. (Thank HEAVENS the strike is over. Boy, did that union miscalculate. Everybody hates them now.) I was a big baby about Gaza's departure, but of course he'll be fine. Hell, he's probably dying for a vacation.

I'm taking advantage of the absence of both the roommate and the dog. I've arranged for a little rendezvous this afternoon, of a nature that I hope will alter my mood without involving anything mood-altering, if you catch my drift.

MCO 2005

P.S. This is also the-9 year anniversary of the death of my Dad from cirrhosis of the liver. I wonder to what degree I subconciously chose this to be the date of my last drink.

Don't wait for the Last Judgement. It takes place every day. -Albert Camus,

writer and philosopher (1913-1960)

Gee, Albert, lighten up! It's the season to be merry! (Reminds me of a fake commercial I came up with once: "Camus: The beauty bar for existentialists." - I was inspired by the Saturday Night Live classic: "Kierkegaard: All day protection for Danish philosophers.")

Not that he doesn't have a point. Everyday is, indeed, an opportunity to show the universe that you're one of the good guys. What I find annoying, of course, is that if you do good anonymously, you sort of ruin it by telling people about it. The best is when you get "caught" doing it.

Hell, I'm only halfway there, I admit it. I want to go on talk shows but I don't want to have to do anything to get there. Well that's not entirely true, I do want to publish books and have screenplays made, I just don't want them to have to be published and produced before I am rich and famous. I careen between grandiosity and sloth, with a heavy dollop of impatience.

Not entirely. Thank the Goddesses for that practical streak. I gave the editor my book yesterday, and knowing him, he'll have a good chunk done in short order. I love collaboration.

Last night I dreamt that I was directing and writing a show, and it was opening night. Halfway through I realized it was way too long and bombing, and starting cutting whole scenes, arguing with the producer about it. Needless to say, I was relieved when the alarm went off.

MCO 2005

This came to me as an offhand comment on someone else's blog, but really, don't you think it might be a good compromise in this "War on Christmas" brouhoho(ho)? Admittedly, it's a ridiculous conjecture in the first place, but in the spirit of the season, I hereby suggest everyone try saying "Holy Happy Days" for a bit and see if that placates the religious right. (Because frankly, I haven't seen or heard of one Jew, Muslim, or Kwanzaa-celebrant object to "Merry Christmas." Have you?)

MCO 2005

Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts... perhaps the fear of a loss of

power. -John Steinbeck, novelist, Nobel laureate (1902-1968)

You said it, John.

I need to finish my edit of the intro of the book so I can print it out for the editor, to whom I will give it later today. He is an interesting and talented guy who is constantly keeping me on my toes. It's a rare one who usually outflanks me politically and culturally on the left, but he always marshalls his arguments so well and never fails to make me think. For example, he noted that in "Brokeback Mountain," there isn't one scene where the passion isn't infused with an undercurrent of violence (even when they make out one throws the other up against a wall). Though I still adore the film, my friend was quite correct in pointing out we still haven't seen a mainstream movie where two men having sex are filmed in that soft loving light, making love, just like the straight couples do. Period.

Another friend roundly condemned the "HIV-Not Fabulous" (a.k.a. Men in Diapers) campaign that I wrote about in Wehonews.com. He thinks the campaign "shames" the HIV+. I disagree, of course, I think the campaign's intent is to scare,and that is a necessary thing, and if the models don't feel shamed, than it is inherently not "shaming." I don't think he would make the same claim if it was an anti-Diabetes campaign featuring amputees, trying to scare people into proper diet and exercise.

But, as I wrote yet another friend, I am grateful to have friends who keep me on my toes. One "threadfriend" (see "comments" in the yesterday's entry) turned out to be my adopted second cousin, Heather, who I've never actually met. Do click on her "h" and visit her wonderful blog, The Velvet Cerebellum. What a name, eh?

I really should find something that catchy, but I wanna go where everbody knows my name.

Cheers.

MCO 2005

As I start to troll through the blogosphere, I have observed the genesis of an entirely new form of communication: That which exists between chronic commenters on the blogs of others. I'm not talking about commenting on each other's blog, I'm talking about the back and forth conversations that continue between regular readers of the same blogs/and the relationships that develop as a result.

No doubt I am impossibly out of the loop, and there is a term for this--something like "threadfriends"--that everyone knows but me. Someone will no doubt tell me, and I'll remove this entry, with my head between my legs, despairing of ever having a novel thought.

It's a hard thing to want to stand out among 6.5 billion people. Good luck. (Hey, I wonder who the best known living person on the planet is, and by what % of adults is he/she known? Dubya? Madonna? Muhammed Ali? 56%? 63% 72%? I guess that's an impossible question to answer. But think about this. If you were known by just 1% of the world's adults, that would make 40 million. 400 million is only 10%. Humbling, isn't it?)

MCO 2005

Above, the LA sky at 6:45 in the morning, taken from my camera phone while walking Gaza.

Sometimes I feel just like that sky.

On that note, it seems appropriate to share a Letter to the Editor I wrote at the behest of moveon.org. (Their suggestion, my composition).

To: The New York Times

Let's face it. If every caribou could contribute $100 to Ted Steven's campaign chest (and who knows what else), the congressman would be fighting hard to defend the Artic Refuge from oil drilling.

Mr. Stevens acts as if oil lobbyists are the endangered species.

Sincerely,

Marc Olmsted

MCO 2005

P.S. Overheard this morning: "I knew a lot about suffering, but not so much about pain."

Ouch. Right between the eyes, baby.

For all our conceits about being the center of the universe, we live in a

routine planet of a humdrum star stuck away in an obscure corner ... on an

unexceptional galaxy which is one of about 100 billion galaxies. ... That

is the fundamental fact of the universe we inhabit, and it is very good for

us to understand that. -Carl Sagan, astronomer and writer (1934-1996)

Boy, I feel "right-sized" after reading that!

I've decided to pay a professional editor to get the blog where it needs to be, and I absolutely need to do one more pass before I give it to him. So I'm writing this short (and sweet, hopefully) entry way early so when I get back from that hour-long anonymous activity that I engage in every morning (codeword: "Walking the God") I get down to work instead of getting lost in writing an entry and French television or reading other blogs or the news or whatever. I've got to turn off all things techno for a day and take a pen to the hard copy for some old fashioned red-inking.

Watched two fabulous DVDs this weekend. "The Incredibles" and last night, "Crash." Almost everyone saw the former, but no so much the latter, and it's an absolutely mind-blowing film--superb acting, elegant, smart screenplay, the works. Four stars, and at least one moment that is absolutely unforgettable.

MCO 2005

Frank Rich has an excellent article in the Op-Ed section of today's New York Times on "Brokeback Mountain." Unfortunately I can't access it on line, because I only suscribe on Sundays, and that does not seem to grant me "select" status. If you can read it, do. It looks like the movie is going to have a huge cultural impact--deservedly so.

About this eavesdropping authorized by Bush: Here's my surprised look. (That would be an utterly expressionless face.) That's because who can even begin to doubt that someone with the adolescent frat-boy psychology that Bush has wouldn't have taken the very first opportunity to sign top secret authorizations that would bypass those horribly pesky courts. These were secret courts mind you, that he could have even consulted after authorizing the taps. Of course they would have been authorized. But then Bush wouldn't have had that mission- impossible moment when he signed the orders proving in so doing to the other frat-boys that he was no namby-pamby Clintonian democrat all hamstrung by a wimpy concerns for civil liberties. We're in a war, dammit! (This from the man who cowered in the Texas National Guard during Vietnam while John Kerry was in the Mekong Delta.)

To be completely fair, there are very few, if any, Presidents, who can resist exercising the perogatives of power once they get into the oval office. (And that includes the West Wing's Josiah Bartlett/Martin Sheen). It would probably include me, too. And no doubt the congressmen and women, including Democrats, who may have known but did not object or blow the whistle, fell prey to exactly the same rush of being part of the elite inner circle that shares a big powerful secret. Everybody participating gets to pat themselves on the back and puff up with pride that they are willing to do what's necessary when the nation is in peril.

Thank the Goddesses for the leakers in the CIA, NSA and wherever else who had the good sense to meet the press about these 6th graders running the country.

MCO 2005

Last night David accompanied me to the two parties and all went well--mostly, because, after all these years, we are still capable of giggling an enormous amount about everything and everyone. We have both long accepted that ripping everyone to shreds after we leave a party is simply much more fun than saying how wonderful everyone is--except of course, in the case of sexually attractive men, who get plenty of nice things said about them. The trick here is to 1) rip yourself and each other to shreds along with everyone else, 2) be fully cognizant that just because there is more humor in being catty than in being nice does not mean that it is remotely a reflection on the people you are being catty about. Because I observe that stranger X should really read the memo about not wearing pants so high-waisted he looks like humpty-dumpty does not mean he either merits our contempt nor even gets it, really. Certainly such an observation would never ever reach his ears from our mouths at least, nor the ears of anyone who knows him, and would never impact how we would interact with this person if we talked to him. (In fact David did talk with him and was quite personable). It's just that we laugh our pants off playing the superfical bitches in private about relative strangers.

I have to have SOME vices left. When we got back from the parties (rather poorer, as we contributed to the Marriage Equality Campaign and Toys for Tots), I said to David:

"I have good news and bad news."

David: "First the good news"

Me: "I'm not drunk"

David: "The bad news?"

Me: "I'm not drunk."

We then proceeded to take a few trips down memory lane. Enough to enjoy some recollections about the good old days, and as well to feel mortified at some of the embarrassing excesses. Basically, to appreciate that the good old days are the good OLD days.

MCO 2005

The nicest doctor on the planet, oozing bedside manner, yanked off my toenail in the blink of an eye while distracting me with stories of just having formally adopted his daughter that morning. No anesthesia, no nuttin'. (It was barely hanging on).

I let out a little yelp, but that was it. As for the raucous Christmas party I'd imagined, it was a very staid affair of lunch in the lobby.

Damn, now I have no excuse to miss two Christmas parties I am invited to tonight. I might just not go anyway. I've become completely addicted to going to the movies again. King Kong, anyone?

MCO 2005

This article on HIV and Africa and some people who are doing stuff about it was in Wehonews.com. It's a recommend for so many reasons.

http://wehonews.com/z/wehonews/archive/page.php?articleID=203

MCO 2005

For those of you who went to the Wehonews.com site, thank-you. Page views are increasing there at a healthy rate and I like to think you're a part of that. But for those of you who waited, it follows a few paragraphs down.

I just got back from my regular doc. I am now going to a podiatrst have minor surgery on the toe this afternoon at 2. I was hoping to be totally put under, as the injection of local anesthesia in the toe is excruciating. (I know, I've experienced it--and I have a very high tolerance for pain.) Unfortunately, it turned out the podiatrist is finished with surgery for the year and I made the mistake of eating breakfast before he called me back so would not have an empty stomach by this afternoon.

He's seeing me even though the office Christmas party will be in full swing. I hope my screams don't put a damper on the proceedings. It reminds me of Kramer vs. Kramer when Dustin Hoffman lands a job interview on December 23rd.

Kronic Living: Men in White

Dec. 15, 2005 – Marc Olmsted, West Hollywood

Prepare yourself to see giant images of men in diapers looming over you as you drive through West Hollywood. It’s one of several images constituting a new campaign “HIV-Not Fabulous” launched by the AIDS Healthcare Foundation on December 6, highlighting the heavy toll AIDS treatments can take. Apart from diarrhea, lipodystrophy--in the form of facial wasting and bloated belly--is also being “advertised.”

The images are jarring, to say the least, and that, said Michael Weinstein, AHF’s President, is precisely the point: “Two weeks ago, the CDC announced that HIV incidence among gay men nationwide increased by eight percent in 2004. Almost twenty five years into the epidemic and despite years of prevention messages targeting gay men, our collective HIV prevention efforts and messages are simply not getting through.”

For a few years now, HIV prevention and treatment activists have been objecting to the images of happy-smiley men engaged in mountain-climbing and other robust pursuits that have characterized pharmaceutical ad campaigns for AIDS medications. (The necessity of such ads is arguable as it is, considering very few patients would consider themselves able to argue the merits of one med over the other to their doctors. Bloated ad budgets also increase the cost of the medications themselves) Add to that the use of steroids to combat wasting, which puff up the bodies of HIV+ men who 15 years ago would have been skeletons, and fuel has been poured on the fires of misconception.

Karen Mall, AHF’s Director of Prevention, puts it this way: “While we are grateful these medications have enabled those already living with HIV/AIDS to live longer and healthier lives, we believe it’s important that people see and hear the full story. There is more to living with HIV than a day at the beach: many people have physical, mental, financial and/or social hardships as a result of their illness. The ‘HIV—Not Fabulous’ prevention campaign is a deliberate effort to encourage an oftentimes high-risk population of gay men to protect themselves and stay negative.”

The drug companies have listened, up to a point. Much of the new advertising is comparatively muted. But certainly they cannot be asked—or expected—to publicize how debilitating some of their medications can be. Within the HIV-infected community itself, there is often a reluctance to discuss side effects as well, particularly to the HIV-negative who need most to be made aware of them. Like anyone else, and perhaps more than most, gay men want to be attractive to potential mates or to their social peers in general. No one is going to tell a hot date they have to cancel because they’ve got the runs from their new pill regimen.

Which is precisely what makes the men who have appeared in the ads so remarkable. They have all suffered from the effects being highlighted, and there is no mistaking what is being referenced. Across the board however, the models I spoke to were uniform in their desire to derive good from bad. Michael Margolis, who posed in a diaper, observed: “The younger generation of gay men don’t seem to get that this is still a toxic virus that requires toxic weapons to fight it. Whether it’s the HIV or what you take for it, the bottom line is that once you seroconvert, you will be adversely affected by this disease.”

Which illustrates the importance behind the website name chosen for the campaign “Staynegative.org.” The only real cure for HIV is still prevention.

In my opinion, the campaign is a giant stride forward in that it seeks to bring back a healthy fear of AIDS, even if it involves more of an appeal to vanity than dangling the specter of ill health or early death.

What the campaign doesn’t bring up, nor seeks to, is an argument I would like to see more widely promulgated. In my experience, I have yet to hear a gay man calculate into the equation the costs to society of his seroconversion. AIDS treatments are very expensive, and whether paid for by private insurance or public taxpayer, everybody pays. In a world in which there is so much unpreventable disease and suffering competing for the government or philanthropic dollar, it is veritably an act of civic responsibility to remain negative.

I think the consideration of this factor is practically non-existent because so many Americans, the at-risk-for-HIV and the young in particular, feel alienated from society as a whole, even while feeling entitled to its benefits. They don’t vote. They resent paying taxes. The government is thought of as “they,” not a function of “we” (the people). As gays, they feel socially marginalized, as young people, more preoccupied by their social lives than the communal good.

This is hardly confined to AIDS—witness smoking. How many of those who never start don’t because of the arguments about its social costs? (I can’t even get the smokers in my car to use my ashtray instead of tossing their butts out the window.) However, increased social disapproval of smoking seems to have made a real dent in how many people take it up or choose to quit.

In wanting to (rightly) destigmatize having HIV, we may have fallen prey to the law of unintended consequences. Getting HIV has lost much of its fear/disapproval factor as well. In not wanting to make those of us with HIV/AIDS feel bad about our status, the message has been diluted that being negative is better than being positive. Not morally better. But better health-wise, just as not smoking is better than smoking.

Staying HIV-negative needs to be encouraged, and supported, unequivocally. By that measure the “HIV—Not Fabulous” campaign is a welcome and necessary addition to the fight against AIDS.

To view the campaign images, go to staynegative.org.

MCO 2005

I'm blogging the night before instead of the morning of because I will be going to the doc first thing in the a.m. I slipped in the shower and managed to almost detach my dead big toenail from right big toe. This toenail had gotten infected and been removed years ago, and had grown back not at all pretty--Hard and ridged and impossible to cut, but evidently fairly poorly affixed to the skin below.

Fortunately it hardly hurts at all--hopefully that will remain the case while I sleep. In any event my heart is so heavy from seeing Brokeback Mountain that I don't know if I'd notice. I cannot begin to tell you what it is like for a gay man to finally see a story that, while acknowledging the necessary plot point that they are homosexual in a condemning world, still manages to impart a deep and particular love that we simply never see depicted on screen. It is a beautiful, restrained, wrenching film and my hat is off to all concerned.

As the years go by, I seem to become more and more aware that the world is much more hostile to my kind than it seemed to be to me 20 years ago. Isn't that odd? Are we going backwards or am I just more aware of what a socially liberal cocoon I hatched from, coming of age in New York? Brokeback Mountain reminded me that the duo depicted is probably more representative of the typical homosexual experience than my life is. For every out, "liberated" urban gay male, I wouldn't be at all surprised if there isn't one who gets married, has kids, and leads a life of furtive encounters and quiet desperation, without ever even being lucky enough to have the requited love affair that at least the characters in the movie get to have. It might even be more, Who knows? These guys are hardly going to show up on the census, are they?

This is a pretty sad thought. It's so so wrong. What the social conservatives would have us do is to deny our feelings, get married and have kids--as if somehow the feelings will just go away, and if they don't, so what?. At least we're not sinning. But what about the millions of incidental casualties, the uncomprehending wives and girlfriends, many of whom suffer a terrific sense of inadequacy because they either know or sense that they aren't "enough." Don't they deserve to be first, not forced loves?

MCO 2005

Do cut and paste this into your browser and read my latest article in WEHONEWS.COM. (Although yes, I'll post it tommorrow anyway...but they have pictures...)

http://wehonews.com/z/wehonews/archive/page.php?articleID=202

MCO 3005

Yesterday I got hit by a wave of anxiety around noon that I just didn't know what to do with. A lot of it had to do with my periodic irritation at what I perceive to be my incredible unproductivity. And I know I'm not being entirely fair to myself--between the blog, the articles, and e-mail I actually produce reams. But let's face it, no one is paying me for such production, and that matters.

But the work I might see some money from eventually, the prison blog if published, the screenplays if produced--why do I seem to procrastinate to death before I sink my teeth into working on them? So often, just when I seem to have cleared all the must-do's from my schedule, and I can spend hours writing, I am overcome by anxiety or depression.

I am not a lazy person, but I am a tired one. Tired of working for so many years on creative projects whose payoff seems far in the future, and involves so much more work before it gets to that point. I suppose also there is a mixture of entitlement and guilt. I think I should have done more with my both my God-given and developed talent, and at the same time, I feel I should have received more for what I have done. As if it's anybody's fault but my own that I took the detour I took. (I've shared this before, but for the recent readers, I went very far with a screenplay in the 90's, and two directors died on me. I really don't know what I could have done differently or better on that project.)

The reality that remains is that I'm no spring chicken anymore, and I want to publish some books and make some movies. I've got to get cracking, period. No more excuses--anxiety attacks included.

MCO 2005

My buddy inside, Mike, lamented that he, helas, has no blog, and he was a little bit envious of me. While I'm not selfless enough (as my sister was) to create a blog for him and type up all of his entries, I sure can take a little time to post some of his better letters. One of which follows with clarifications from me in these [brackets].

Dear Marc,

I got your letter today. [Actually a week's worth of the blog] Is the digitial camera new? [He doesn't realize it's my camera phone]I also like the article for World AIDS Day. I must confess, I didn't even know there was a World AIDS Day. I am fully aware of AIDS awareness. It's good to have a day like this because ignorance is probably the worse thing about something as significant as AIDS.

My new map is slowly coming along. I've started inking the borders--the continental borders--the territory borders I'll do in pencil until I'm sure they are right, then I'll ink them [Mike has created a vast "Lord of the Rings" type kingdom].

As you know, prisoners are the kings of assumption. [Actually, I'm not sure what he means]. I just found out that I can apply (which I did today) for a hobby card. This card allows me to order special products from special catalogues. Things like drafting pencils, art paper, colored pencils, pastels, paints, and kitchen sinks. [???] It is supposed to take several weeks to be approved, but the card is good for quite some time. [Unfortunately, after restitution, Mike only brings home 19.60 a month from work, so I don't know how he'll get this stuff.]

I sent off my letter to Farmer John last night. [He has a new product idea. Square bacon strips.]I was thinking as I sent it off that I'll probably get $1.00 off coupons as a result. If I do, do you want them? [Sure].

Do you have a fascination with words? [YES!] Some words just sound good. "Lurid" and "threshold" are two of my favorites. [Emily Dickinson cites "phosphorescence" and "circumference" as two favorites--words you take your "hat off to"] I like "cigarette" when I see it printed--although that's probably because I want one (congrats on quitting by the way, I wish I didn't have to.) I also have a running list in my head of three name that I like. Here's how I remember them: E. Garner Goodman and Ann Arbor at the Taproom Wisdom. I'm not sure why but I just like the sound of them.

That reminds me of the phonetic spelling method I thought up over 10 years ago. Yeah, it's silly and probably stupid but here are the rules:

1. Do not put any letter in the word unless it makes a sound in the word.

2. Vowels are pronounced long or short depending on its capitalization. A capitalized "o" is pronounced long whereas a lower case "o" is pronounced short.

3) Proper names always use a cursive capital.

4) Letter combinations such as ch, sh, or th are replaced with [he has a series of hybrid letter symbols I cannot duplicate here.]

5. Every letter is pronounced as it should be, thus eliminating the letters c, x and q.

Here are some examples: litl (little) slotr (slaughter) harmOne (harmony) Enuf (enough)

I know what you're thinking: "this guy is crazy" [Not at all! It was my favorite part of the letter. I so appreciate original--and grandiose--thought. I am the king of it. Shall I tell him the Chicago tribune tried a lot of this out 50 years ago? Lite, rite and thru being examples, before they gave up. I do think I'll send him some info on Esperanto though]. Well maybe not you, but everyone else I've told about my "alfabet." And no, it's not foolproof, it does have some holes, (I think) but it's fun.

Anyway, I'll talk at you later, I gotta write Dert and Brains, Justin's kids. Have a good one. I hope everything is well for you.

Until next time

Mike

Rather than write him back, I'm going to send him this. This retyping is hard work, I am in awe that my sister did it for me last year, hundreds of pages worth. Wow. Am I blessed or what.

If you want to write Mike, it's:

Mike Stiltz

V-31062

D14 15U

P.O. Box 8103

San Luis Obispo, CA 93403-8103

MCO 2005

So you're curious about the potential bumperstickers. Here they are.

I would appreciate feedback. Favorites? Not so much? Any you just plain don't get?

Gonna try to blog a great letter from my buddy Mike, inside later. (Funny, the farther I get away from it, the more prison seems like it used to to me. I have to catch myself shuddering, thinking "I could never go to prison.")

MCO 2005

THIS IS ACTUALLY A QUITE CHARMING AND FINE SONG- marc

This from singer/songwriter/pianist Steve Conn. Perhaps not a traditional

'toe tickler' but as a Louisianan he is obviously feeling the sting of a

forgotten New Orleans this holiday season... He asks that it be passed on.

I'm from Louisiana. Like so many others, I was heartbroken by the nightmare

of Hurricane Katrina. I was, and continue to be, angered and sickened by the

government's response, and the subsequent lack of resolve in the rebuilding

of arguably the most soulful city on earth. So I've channeled just a bit of

my anger into a short, snappy (okay, acerbic) little Christmas song, which

is available as a free download on my website:

http://www.steveconn.com/music/KatrinaChristmas.mp3

Since it's a song specifically about this Christmas in New Orleans, it

obviously has a pretty short shelf life, and I'd like to get it to the ears

of as many people as possible -- especially those who were hurt or

infuriated or affected by some aspect of this unfathomable tragedy. So if

the song moves you, I'd really appreciate it if you'd spread the word. Fast.

Now. Christmas is next week, you know.

Here are some sample lyrics:

all I want for Christmas is New Orleans back

some wetlands and a levee in Santa's sack

and:

all I want for Christmas is Michael Brown

hanging by his thumbs from a tree uptown

Thanks so much for your help in getting the word out. I hope you have a

wonderful holiday and a fabulous year.

I have long been a bit dismayed by the dearth of comments on the blog, and then I became downright mystified when I started duplicating the entries on an AOL journal and I almost immediately got at least a few comments per entry--from far fewer readers.

Then I realized one very simple difference between the two. At the end of an AOL entry, it reads "Add comment." At the end of this one, it reads "No Comment." Frankly, if I read that, I would think--and maybe not even realize it--that I was being told not to comment. I may know better if I thought about it, but more likely I would be mildly put off, if not out and out indimidated.

For the record, "no comment" means no one has yet commented. As I have added to my permanent intro, do feel free to comment whenever you so desire. I'd love to start some "blogversations," and if you yourself have an interesting blog, I'd love to know about it and return the favor of reading it. (And my readers might as well.)

MCO 2005

Extreme justice is extreme injustice. -Marcus Tullius Cicero, statesman,

orator, writer (106-43 BCE)

One thing is irrefutable: a significant percentage of those killed via death penalty have later proved to be innocent. I don't know if that was the case with Mr. Williams. But I do believe that the death of even one innocent man is not worth whatever justice there may be in the death of many guilty ones.

That is why I oppose the death penalty in all cases. (Not to mention the sentiment behind the astute bumber sticker: "You don't teach killing is wrong by killing.")

MCO 2005

I took this from the roof of the parking garage at the Arclight Cinema where David and I saw "Memoirs of a Geisha" on Saturday (Good, but not great). He said: "I really do love Los Angeles." We're not supposed to, you know, particularly to prefer it to San Francisco or New York. But I have to say, on a bang for buck basis, Los Angeles is underrated. You can live quite well here for much less than in either place, with as much if not more excitement as far as cultural buzz goes.

I should be writing my weekly Wehonews column, but I flipped on French TV and completely love their version of Law and Order. Worse, I can't keep my eyes off the subtitles, because I compare it to how I would translate--and I learn a thing or two. For example, Franglais is alive and well. They use "overdose" and "standing social" instead of any French words for those tres Americain terms.

And now must go to the eye doctor and then to help move some furniture at my church. I'll also see the Rev. about some bumper stickers I came up with for the marriage equality campaign that is going to be a big thing in California in 2006. The bastards are not only trying to pass a constitutional amendment against gay marriage, they want to repeal existing civil union legislations. And yet, as I note on one of my bumper stickers" "Adam and Eve were domestic partners."

If they really want to punish us, they should legalize gay marriage and then ban gay divorce, no?

MCO 2005

laterre.pps (845k file)

This link will lead you through an entrancing journey seeing the planet from above. The text is in French, but it doesn't matter.

The party yesterday was great. I reconnected with my ex-producer and gave her the first 20 pages of the script, and had some interesting conversation and maybe got a new blog reader or two.

Today in church Rev. Neil discussed love and (gay) marriage. Really, it is just so ridiculous that the RR (religious right) and/or social conservatives could somehow think an institution which is already in dire straits could be weakened by allowing more people to engage in it. Why aren't they attacking the institution of divorce? Which, by the way, gays could also teach the mainstream a thing or to about. How many straight people do you see ending up becoming close, even best friends with their ex's? It happens ALL THE TIME on this side of the fence--my living arrangement at present being a perfect example. Jeez, I can't count how many memorial services I went to when AIDS was at its worst, and the eulogy-givers were the two ex-lovers, who spoke instead of the present lover, who was too grief- stricken to speak.

I'm not pro-divorce, any more than I'm pro-abortion--who is? But I think both are necessary evils, and in the case of divorce, I think by far the worst harm that comes from it is the hostility that so often rules the relationship of the ex-spouses. For what it does to them, but far more for what it does to the children.

You'd think they'd want to give gays a chance at marriage, just to be able to later point and say, "see, they can't do it any better than we can." Could it be that they might be afraid that the opposite proves true? My own opinion is that gays will do better at it because they are much less likely to get married in the first place unless it's going to work. Gays, on the whole, have to go through so much self-examination just to come out, that I think we get to know ourselves a bit better than alot of our straight peers. We have some advantages--we don't have societal and familial pressure to have a wedding or to start a family. If and when we choose to get married, the choice is likely to be derived from rather purer motives. I certainly can't imagine "taking the plunge" until I had been with some for a long time and was absolutely clear about our level of compatibility.

Actually, I can't imagine ever taking the (gay) marriage plunge. I personally don't believe in traditional marriage--I think we should have a range of options to choose from, the most sensible being 7-year renewable contracts. But I sure as hell believe in the equal rights of everybody to make a usually bad choice. (Oh please. Name 3 couples you know married for over 30 years whose relationship you genuinely envy. I rest my case).

MCO 2005

A new and witty friend and I were swapping life stories, including the fact that we both had wonderful sisters who live in Albuquerque. We then found ourselves confessing to each other in hushed tones that our brothers-in-law were republicans and that even our sisters had developed conservative leanings. My friend then observed that gays spoke about their republican relatives in remarkably the same way their republican relatives spoke about them. Phrases like "we just don't discuss it..." "yes, we let them sleep together when they visit, but we prefer they don't speak about their lifestyle in front of the kids" and "you think they're born that way? I think its a choice" pepper the conversation.

I howled.

I am trying to finish up the first 20 pages of the new screenplay, as I am going to a Christmas party this afternoon at the house of the woman who almost got my last screenplay produced. We've had a few years to recover from that "almost" and if she likes it, she can get it seen by practically anybody. It would also light a fire under me to get it finished if I knew I had someone waiting for a completed first draft.

My question for the day is: to what degree can humility and ambition co-exist successfully?

MCO 2005

Do you think I would't notice that you didn't bother to cut and paste the link into the navigation bar and read the article? Honey, I've not only been around the block, I landscaped the block.

Okay, so perhaps I'm projecting. That's probably what I would do, so I suspect it of you. If that's not what happened, my apologies. If that is what happened, then I caught you, and as penance you have to actually read the article.

Treating Compassion Fatigue

Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do

only a little. -Edmund Burke, statesman and writer (1729-1797)

As has escaped no one’s notice, this has been quite a year for natural disasters. Compounded by the fact that one of our manmade disasters, Iraq, is turning out to be an endless drain on the national treasury, these catastrophes couldn’t have come at a worse time. Mother Nature, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to care a whit about our deficits.

And if Katrina itself wasn’t bad enough, we may well be facing several more years of terrific hurricane seasons, whether as part of a cycle or due to global warming or both. In an economic climate where prosperity is hard-won and often uncertain to last, it is hardly surprising that charities and non-profits are feeling the pinch. We are hearing again a term that wasn’t heard quite so often in the halcyon days of the last decade: compassion fatigue. (Its reoccurrence makes it a chronic condition, hence eligible for consideration in this column.)

This state of affairs is compounded by the modern reality that slick P.R. and marketing campaigns are no longer confined to elite philanthropies or Ivy League fundraising operations. Everyone from your local P.T.A. to the Disease or Disaster of the Week Association seems to have their hand out in the form of guilt-inducing targeted mailings, telethons, walks, runs, and heart-wrenching exposes on Oprah. We may be giving just as much as we ever have, but our perception is that we are giving less, because there seems to be so many more out there that we decline to help. The natural human reaction is to recoil at the overload. Confronted by the sense that what we do is never enough, we tend to throw up our hands at doing any of it at all. Perversely, we may end up giving less, just as the need is greater than ever.

The truth is no matter how much progress there is in our lifetime, there will remain an enormous amount of suffering and disease that is never alleviated. This sad, inevitable fact should not diminish another fact: that immense good is done when the haves of the world share with the have-nots. A few examples: In the third world, $25 can vaccinate 100 children against a deadly disease. $250 can pay the monthly salaries of the staff in the clinic that administers the vaccine. $2500 can mean 100 microloans of $25 each to the widowed mothers of those children to start small businesses that can jumpstart entire local economies. The price of a used car here can transform thousands of lives elsewhere.

Oddly these modest statistics pack more emotional punch than reading “1.2 billion approved for foreign aid,” don’t they? Our brains can’t quite conceptualize saving hundreds of thousands of lives at a time, any more than we can grasp the same numbers dying from mass starvation. We need to put a individual faces on both human suffering and alleviation.

So my advice during this season of charitable giving:

1) Go ahead and have compassion fatigue. Just recognize it as such, and don’t think that it has to mean anything, particularly that nothing you do makes any difference. Throw up your hands, if necessary, but then roll up your sleeves again.

2) Recognize that what you do give has real impact. It’s doesn’t simply disappear down a rabbit-hole or all go to buy paper clips (although some charities do a much better job of keeping administrative costs down than others—do some research). We improve the world one life at a time, and those lives can be changed in so many different ways. And it doesn’t have to involve giving money at all. Giving of yourself and your time is often worth far more.

3) Don’t feel too guilty for buying gifts. The extra spending we do during the holidays is built into the economy. If everyone took a year off Christmas shopping and gave it to charity, that money would soon be spent meeting the needs of millions of newly unemployed—including, possibly, you. (Not that you can’t overdo it. Here’s how you can tell that your Christmas giving needs a reality check: You think how much you give or get reflects how much you love or are loved.)

As for meeting the increased need that seems to be genuine of late, may I suggest the following: If you have at least the same income as last year, give at least what you gave last year, and add 10 dollars. That’s 2 packs of cigarettes or 2 mocha-choca whatevers at Starbucks. You can surely manage that. I sure can.

MCO 2005

Please check out my latest article for Wehonews.com, on Treating Compassion Fatigue

http://wehonews.com/z/wehonews/archive/page.php?articleID=189

I would just print it out here, but I'm trying to drive traffic to the site.

MCO 2005

I knew one these days my long hours observing nature in Griffith Park would pay off. This may be one of the only existing photos of a flock of elusive Pelican Wren, long thought to be extinct in Southern California.

Unfortunately, Gaza barked, and they flew off just after I took the photo. No doubt the holier-than-thou purists who run the local birdwatching outfit, We the Peepers, are going to claim that I doctored this on photoshop, so I'm going to do an end run by posting my find on the internet. With any luck, Bird Fancy and maybe even some of the major dailies will pick it up by tomorrow.

Check your morning paper, but remember, you saw it here first.

MCO 2005

rabbitxmas (65k file)

I don't usually post these things, but I thought this was just adorable.

MCO 2005

I discovered the blog of a sister of a friend of mine who is an ex-80's TV star who now fights the good fight from the Christian Left.

If you like me, you'll like her.

http://www.lydiacornell.com/

MCO 2005

We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we

created them. -Albert Einstein, physicist, Nobel laureate (1879-1955)

Fine, if you won't listen to me, listen to Al, here.

I may add to this entry later, but this is really worth framing all on its own, I think.

I will say that I have received at least two completely surprising emails saying some very nice things about the blog that completely made my day. Thank you both, so much.

MCO 2005

I figure the time has rolled around when I start to recieve Christmas cards in the mail and feel guilty because I never send any out. So here's my effort to spread some cheer and save a tree at the same time. (Although you're welcome to print it out and put it with your other greetings.)

Note: I will also be sending it via e-mail, so some of you will be seeing it twice. But some of my emailers don't read the blog (imagine that!) and most of you blog readers are completely unknown to me--and I daresay in countries where you haven't adopted the holiday card habit. I which case this is just another entry, just sillier than most.

MCO 2005

If only I could so live and so serve the world that after me there should

never again be birds in cages. -Isak Dinesen (pen name of Karen Blixen),

author (1885-1962)

Boy, she said it.

I've been thinking about fear. How it is at the root of almost every negative emotion we spend our lives trying not to feel.

And yet, if I could wave a magic wand, I would not banish fear. It is absolutely essential to survive as human beings. We need to be afraid of pain, so that we do not do dangerous things. We've evolved to be afraid of heights, because we need to fear falling. Personally, I wish I'd been a lot more afraid of something like drug addiction, or prison.

I'm reminded that courage is not the absence of fear, but doing something in spite of one's fear.

So let us not be unnecessarily fearful, but let us not either beat ourselves up for being afraid.

MCO 2005