I'm okay, you're a little twisted... but that's okay.

I have opinions. Yup. Lots of 'em. Example: There's a right way to fold a towel, and many wrong ways to do it. I think my David has explored most of the wrong ways before discovering that my way is the best way. Not because he did the research and found out that the way I do it works the best. O no. He's figured out that the amount of grief he gets from me if he doesn't do it 'the right way' is just not worth the fight. Don't get me wrong here... he is still sloppy about it, but the folds are 'correct.' You may think the whole thing is silly, but it matters to me. I don't know why, exactly, but it does.

See, that's the thing about opinions. They are highly personal. Though the reasoning behind them may (or may not) be sound, we can be inexplicably and stubbornly devoted to them. An opinion is different from an idea. You can easily change your ideas about something, but an opinion is much harder to change - evidence to the contrary be damned. Ideas are about thought, opinions are about decisions. When we have an opinion, we've decided what we think - and decisions have an air of finality about them. You've made up your mind and that's that.

This, of course, can lead to statements like "you're being irrational," or worse - especially if the other person has also formed an opinion, and that opinion radically differs from your own. The discussion can spiral out of control, becoming the opposite of a discussion: an argument. Let's face it, an argument is not a discussion. A discussion is the sharing of information, the exchange of ideas. An argument is a contest, and both of you are trying to win. Nobody ever wins a discussion. Arguments are about domination. Discussions are about tolerance.

Tolerance is not about agreeing. You can tolerate something without agreeing with it. In fact, tolerance is like 'agreeing to disagree'. It's about understanding the concept of self-determination and individuality. You don't have to change who you are to tolerate someone else. You do your thing, and you let them do theirs. Their differences are about them, not about you. You've got enough to worry about. Trust me.

When you commit to tolerance, it can be very freeing. It has a tendency to jog you out of 'tunnel vision' and allow you to see things you might not have noticed before. Like how you are similar. You might learn something once you stop focusing on what you view as the negative, and take in the whole. If there was more tolerance, we might live in a safer and more joyful world. Less shouting and more laughter. Less isolation and more community.

I think we need more tolerance in the world. But that's just my opinion.

World AIDS Day 2008

I don't remember the first time I heard the word AIDS. What I do remember is the chill that washed over me when I suddenly realized that the people they were talking about on the news, the group that was primarily afflicted with it, wasn't some group of 'others'. It was ME they were talking about. I was at risk, because I was one of 'those people' - gay men. What I do remember is the horror that was AIDS in those early days - the horror of the disease as well as the horror that came from ignorance and fear. And boy, did I feel that fear and I surely was ignorant. Everybody was. Nobody knew for sure what caused it, where it came from, how you 'got it' - except that gay sex seemed to be connected somehow.

What I do remember is being angry. I hadn't come out yet, not to my parents, my friends, anyone - and barely admitted to myself what I knew in my heart to be true. I was gay, and O how I wanted to express it. As normal as any adolescent boy on the verge of manhood in that hormones played havoc with my body, my libido, my imagination. And here on the edge of the abyss where we all stood, waiting to step off into the sexual wonderland that seemed just within reach, suddenly the stakes were much higher. Impossibly high. AS IF I didn't have enough to worry about, now I could die a horrible death if I indulged, explored, discovered. It was SO NOT FAIR.

But it wasn't just about me. I was the lucky one.

Stories would air on the nightly news and articles would run in the national papers (certainly not local print) about how the one's afflicted with this new terror were shunned, cast out, pariah. Nurses refused to enter their rooms, leaving them to waste away in their own filth, trays of food left on the floor in the hospital hallways by their doors. Mothers and Fathers cast out their own children, landlords evicted their tenants, businesses fired their employees. The devastation of diagnosis matched only by the desolation that followed if it was revealed. Gray, skeletal faces stared back at us with desperate eyes and the nation turned away. Religion told us it was okay, because this was God's retribution for sin. We needn't feel bad, it was all part of the plan.

As dramatic and harsh as it sounds, the above is - sadly - not an exaggeration.

Mercifully there were Samaritans out there who didn't look away. The gay community rallied around it's fallen brethren, organizing to provide services to all who were affected, gay or straight. We cared for the sick, the dying, even the dead when a decent burial was difficult to acheive. We fed them, and housed them, and gave what comfort we could. We spoke up, spoke out, marched, petitioned, protested.

Even then, I wasn't directly affected. I did finally 'do it', and I thankfully I didn't 'get it' - though my first time was without a condom. I moved on from High School to College to the Navy, and Yes, I finally came out. I was fortunate enough to have a good friend to help me through my coming out - Van. Van took me to my first gay bar and taught me what to watch out for, how to buy a guy a drink, what a 'top' and a 'bottom' were, how to 'dish' and 'hold court' and date. He taught me what "Safe Sex" was, assured me that it was still hot and fun. He bought me my first box of condoms, and made sure I knew how to use one. And then one day he told me he had it.

He had to, he said, because we were going to be roommates and that I shouldn't use his toothbrush (eww) or his razor - and that I couldn't get it from casual contact. He was on AZT and some other new drugs and I learned about T-cells and Viral Loads. I was impressed, I thought he had it together. He took me to my first AIDS fundraiser, a raucous affair full of laughter and fun in which he participated as a performer, doing a drag rendition of "Let's Hear It for the Boy". It's a song that is forever bittersweet for me because Van didn't make it. Despite the odds at the time, I was sure he would. AIDS didn't take his life, but Van was no less a victim of it. At the first sign of opportunistic infection, Van sank into despair and took his own life rather than risk losing his mind to dementia or facing disfigurement and pain from Kaposi's Sarcoma or Pneumocystis. 4 months later the first protease inhibitors were introduced which could have prolonged his life.

Since then, I have read names at a showing of the Quilt Project, volunteered and even worked for HIV/AIDS nonprofits. I have become a certified AIDS counselor and tester, and I have tried to be more than a bystander. I have done these things as much for myself as I have for Van - and for my friends past, present, and future. But what have I done lately? Nothing. I burned out and had to take a break for a while. And during my hiatus, the numbers of newly infected young gay men are creeping back up.

This new generation of confident young people who come out in High School (or sooner!) and proudly declare themselves to the world have more information about HIV and AIDS at their disposal than any of my generation ever did. But they didn't witness the early horrors - the new drugs have put those days behind us, and so it's not so scary on the surface anymore. A false sense of security comes from the mistaken belief that HIV is merely a chronic inconvenience that a few pills can easily hold at bay. Unsafe, condom-less sex is on the rise and some even seek out HIV positive partners for unsafe sex, hoping to 'join the club'. But HIV drug therapy is no picnic, and the virus is still, ultimately, fatal. There is no cure.

So I say this to all of you: Protect yourself, Support those who are affected by HIV and AIDS, and Pray for the Cure. And never, ever forget those who are absent, the ones who went before.

I love you, Van, and you are missed.

A Killer Price

"Black Friday Crowds Trample to Death a Wal-Mart employee"

This makes me sick, disgusted, sad: Crowds gathered outside of a Wal-Mart in New York State Friday morning surged through the front doors in a mad dash to take advantage of 'doorbuster' sales, trampling to death the employee who opened the doors. "Doorbusters" in reality, knocking the doors off of the hinges and crushing them - and the employee - to save a few bucks. Witnesses say that members of the crowd STEPPED OVER the prone body of the man as they made their way into the building, and fellow employees were battered and bruised themselves in their attempt to come to the poor man's aid. When shoppers were told the store would be closing for a few hours because of the death many continued shopping, expressing irritation and exclaiming "I waited out front for hours, I'm not leaving!"

What is wrong with you people? What have you become? Never mind the Christmas Spirit, what happened to your humanity? Although it shouldn't matter, let me put it into perspective for you - and make it personal to appeal to your selfish natures: What if this person was your grandmother, your husband, your child? How would you feel then? Would you be outraged? Would it change your behavior? Would you still step over their crumpled and battered body for a flat-screen television?

Here's my gift to all of you, and to the world at large: I didn't kill anyone this year - or ever. I tried to treat others with respect and kindness. I tried to think of someone besides myself. I made the effort. It seems like such a small thing, no effort at all really... But maybe the lowest common denominator is all we can hope for against the backdrop of selfish indifference. Maybe it's no longer about what you do to help your fellow man - maybe it's about what you DON'T do to harm them.

That Magic Moment

One of the things that I have missed a lot since moving to Florida was experiencing four distinct seasons. Prior to living here I'd always taken for granted the cycle of the seasons from Winter to Spring to Summer to Fall. But I miss it. Technically we still have four seasons but it really feels like two - the wet season when humidity is high and the days are warm, and the dry season when humidity is low and the days are cool. Florida always seems out of sync with the rest of the country, too. Winter comes very late here and it's hard to get into the spirit of the Holidays when it's 80+ degrees outside, and the short cool days that pass for Winter here are over so very quickly. Spring is even sprung on you before you're ready. I guess this is the draw for many who move to the Sunshine State, but for all the glory of subtropical paradise - I've never really felt at home here.

But twice a year, late in Spring and Fall, I experience an echo of what life was like when I lived north of Florida - in the South, ironically. It's most powerful in Autumn, a magical moment when something within me responds to subtle changes around me and I *know* that Fall has arrived. It always catches me by surprise even though I look forward to it every year. I can't explain it, but there is a miniscule shift in the temperature and humidity, a breeze and an unmistakeable smell in the air that makes me sigh, lifts my spirits and puts a spring in my step, a smile on my face. Suddenly everything clicks into place, and the world around me is finally in sync. No longer do the seasonal decorations in the stores seem out of place. Suddenly even though we're not all wearing sweaters and sipping cocoa here it doesn't seem odd that others in the country are.

I look forward to this moment eagerly. It just feels good. It also stirs up the wanderlust deep within me. It grows stronger every year, this yearning to return to familiar surroundings where not all colorful fall leaves are silk, and where Christmas decorations are less likely to hang from palm trees. Where the Sun and long hot days of Summer are treasured for their brevity rather than grumbled about for their unrelenting, tortuous humidity. Where the first brave flower to poke up it's colorful head is greeted with delight while the chill of winter not yet past fails to beat it down. When this moment comes I am happy but wistful.

It finally happened a few days ago, while I sat on a bench outside of work taking a break from the madness that is retail. A golden, serene, blissful moment in time that changed me. Even my co-workers noticed, smiling as I re-entered the store whistling. So what if we're already taking down the fall decorations and splattering the store with red and green and glitter. Who cares if Santa Claus and snowmen grin luridly at me from every other shelf weeks before Thanksgiving. Today the windows of my house are open, a breeze is blowing, and the rustle of still-green leaves clinging tenaciously to the trees in my yard fills the air. Autumn in Florida - such as it is - has arrived.

Freedom, the Open Road, and Mixed Emotions

How dare you leave me! I hope you have the time of your life. I"m jealous as hell.

When the couple with whom David and I most often socialize were recently stricken by a double layoff that rendered them both jobless and with a hefty mortgage, we were very concerned. They have a very nice home in a very nice neighborhood, the kind of people who make good living look easy. But they worked hard to get there, and in these uncertain economic times all of that suddenly seemed to be in jeopardy. Imagine our surprise when they came up with an unconventional solution: Sell the house, buy an RV, and do some traveling for 6 months before settling in another part of the country with better job opportunities.

How did they come to this decision? I'm sure I only know part of their motivation, if for no other reason than perhaps they're not entirely conscious of it themselves - not completely. But one of them got a good severance package when his branch closed and he was laid off. Then there was the fact that they'd intended to move into less expensive digs anyway. So they went ahead and put the house on the market, accepted a lower offer than they would have originally, and instead of buying a house opted for a home on wheels and put most of their belongings in storage. Pretty radical. It's not permanent by any means, they're simply taking the scenic route to a new life in another city. Visit some relatives and friends, see a bit of the country on the way. 6 months, tops. If it were anyone else I'd think it was a very good idea.

Here's the problem: I don't want them to go. I take it very personally that they would even consider leaving us here on our own, to find someone else to hang out with. We've got other friends, sure, and we love them and enjoy their company. But it's no disservice to those friends to say that we connected the most with Mr. and Mr. Recreational Vehicle. In many ways we're natured alike, and our differences are complimentary for the most part. Now they're abandoning us, or so it feels. They've not left yet, and somehow I already feel completely bereft, like an unexpected death has occurred. It's totally irrational and a bit dramatic I confess. We'll stay in touch via phone calls and Emails and blogs - I'm confident. I think. We've known and loved one of them for more than 17 years, and have come to know and love his partner for the last 9 years. Of course we'll stay in touch. Right?

In fairness, though, we've been talking about moving out of the area ourselves. For a long time now - though we've been dragging our feet. So we would have been leaving them. But now the shoe's on the other foot, and damn it... I wasn't prepared. It all seems to have happened so quickly I can hardly be expected to adjust. Perhaps this turn of events will motivate us to speed up our own relocation to the mountains of Asheville, NC and start anew. Perhaps this will energize us, break us out of the holding pattern we've been in the last couple of years. Perhaps. I hope so. Maybe. I mean, I just started a new job, and the housing market is still bad, and... and... and.... And I'm terrified that we'll still be here treading water 5 years from now. Trapped.

Did I mention that I'm jealous as hell? I'm not even prepared to be gracious about it. They're going to be doing some really amazing things, stuff that I've always wanted to do - and they'll be doing it in style. Their biggest challenge will be trying to figure out how long to stay in one place, and where they'll go next. They've had to simplify and pare down in order to accommodate RV living, and even that has its draw for me. They've decided to stay at gay campgrounds whenever possible, and meet all sorts of interesting people. Enjoying the Grand Canyon more than you thought you would? Another gay RV couple just pulled into camp and you hit it off? No problem, stay another day. Or three. Why not? I hate them.

I wish for them the most amazing experiences as they make this journey together, and I fervently hope that an equally amazing life awaits them at the end of it. They deserve it, because they are amazing people. I love what they are doing. But I don't have to like it.