It's Always Darkest ...

I ended up heading across town for my therapy appointment with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Anticipation because I will be glad to have someone to talk with and it is long overdue that I get to work on some of my "issues". Dread because I hate meeting new people. I constantly worry about what I'm saying, how they might react to what I'm about to say, what they actually meant by the things they said. I frequently have several conversations going besides the one I'm actually having.

As it turns out, I found my therapist to be a little odd. And that's a good thing. I like odd. Odd makes me more comfortable. And by odd I mean kind of nerdy. With a whiff of freaky. Like I wouldn't find it the least bit unexpected to discover him some night at a bondage club, tied up with jump ropes and having his completely hairless body flogged and pinched with clothespins. Which is cool. So I was remarkably comfortable pretty quickly. As it turns out, my insurance covers 24 weeks of sessions, so we can look forward to over half a year of ME talking about ME which, as a gay man is pretty much MY favorite subject.

As the weekend unfolded I got a series of phone calls adding days to my work schedule, and while the first two were profitable from an hourly wage standpoint, last nights shift was a holiday party for a financial firm, and they were appropriately generous with their tipping. I made some much needed extra cash, and I have another two days of work ahead of me. I should get a paycheck next Friday that will cover the cost of Riley's kennel stay while I am away for Christmas. There's another looming worry solved. I also had two job interviews on Thursday, and while nothing has come of either of them right away, they were encouraging in that both of the managers I spoke to were suitably enthusiastic about my qualifications.

And well they should be. With the exception of some experience with cost analysis and P&L projections, which I have never done but I have no doubt I could, there's really nothing I haven't done at one time or another when it comes to running a restaurant and nightclub. Scheduling, inventory, payroll, cash management, ordering, event management, interviews, human resources, press releases, menu creation, bar management, POS (point of sale) maintenance. The list goes on and on. In other words, the first person who is smart enough to snap me up and put me back to work full time will be one lucky fucker. I have another interview this afternoon before going in to work, and while I don't necessarily think it is the right job for me, you never know. I am also kind of surprised that I'm getting such a big response all of the sudden from sending out resumes. My phone hasn't rung for a couple of months now and suddenly I'm getting quite a few calls. Maybe the economy is improving after all.

Yesterday I reported to the Health Academy at the NYC Dept. of Health. After reflexively getting in to the line for syphilis testing, I quickly righted myself and lined up for what I actually was there for. I have spent the last couple of weeks taking a Food Protection Course. Yesterday I took the live test, which I passed with a respectable 84%, and I am now a Certified Food Protection supervisor. Not too exciting I will grant you, but a Certified Supervisor is supposed to be on the premises of any restaurant or bar serving food, whenever the business is open. Usually this would be the chef, as well as at least one sous chef, and more than likely the receiving supervisor. But many businesses in NYC also insist that at least the general manager and assistants are certified as well. This lessens the chances that a Health Inspector would show up and find no one on the premises with a certification. It's a Health Department violation and the fine can be hundreds of dollars. Many restaurant owners will ask you if you have your certification during the interview process, and a few of the on-line ads won't even see you unless you are certified. It's a leg up, and quite frankly, at my advanced age anything that helps me get even one leg over my head is a blessing.

I also took some steps to alleviate my financial crisis, and while it was akin to re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, I did manage to shore up the operation at least until the new year. Which means Christmas will come to Whoville after all, and I can take things down from Defcon 2: Panic to Defcon 3: Mild Anxiety.

Shrink My Head

Up early as my calendar is rapidly filling up for December. I frequently have multiple appointments that end with me having to work a shift at my low-wage part-time job.

Today I am starting with a lunchtime appointment to start a new round of therapy. You get a certain amount of counseling paid for (thanks ADAP!) as part of all the great stuff you get for free after you become HIV+. I did tell you about the big screen TV and the 200 free Netflix rentals didn't I? It's true, you get them both delivered to your house right after your T-Cell count drops below 300.

This round of therapy will be (I think) 16 weeks. I'm not going because I have fallen in to some kind of crisis. Far from it. Things are much improved since the last time I saw a therapist over three years ago.

The hated roommates have been replaced by two messy straight boys that don't give me a lick of trouble.
I no longer suffer from panic attacks, and the anxiety disorder I was taking medication for? I stopped the pills for that last month.
I got a dog and he died. I got another dog and he ate my bed, but was nice enough to continue living.
I got (and stayed) sober, attended regular AA meetings but so far have failed to find a sponsor.
I got a job and then lost it when one of my employees murdered a customer.
I entered a photography contest and got serious about art.
I sold 4000 comic books for pennies on the dollar as I slowly went broke. Again.
I joined a community advisory board at the local health center, and am now heading up the committee that publishes our newsletter.
I became a licensed foster parent, but still have no kid to show for it (that's another post).
And I am generally and overall a much happier, profoundly more peaceful person.

So why go in to therapy? Well, first of all, why not? I am a firm believer in taking the time to pick up the box and give it a good shake now and then. You need to find out what's inside. And as good as things have become, I am still feeling like a lot of things from my past, and a lot of the choices I made as an adult, are unresolved and unexplained. While I have no trouble (now) making conversation and casual connections, I still can't seem to figure out how to make and keep some real friends. And I have pretty much given up on ever having a boyfriend or babydaddy. I'm still a pretty solitary figure. Don't get me wrong, I'm not walking around all tortured by that. I'm not bemoaning the fact that I buy a half-carton of eggs and prefer to sit in the single (handicap) seats at the movies. But if I am the type of person who feels better, or at least more comfortable as a party of one, I would at least like to know how that happened.

There's more, and the therapy will most likely dredge some stuff up I may or may not enjoy dealing with, but I am confident the outcome will be positive. My last round of therapy pretty much got me sober.

On another note, I am BROKE BROKE BROKE!! The plane ticket home is paid for and I will have enough money and available credit to get a few Christmas presents to bring with me, but beyond that, we will be starting the New Year with maxed out credit cards and a woefully depleted checking account. I absolutely need to find a better (better paying) job, either part time as a bartender where I can make real tips, or as a manager where they need someone who is pretty good with numbers and computers, and can be trusted not to get drunk on duty and always balance the safe.

That's it. Gotta go. Busy busy!!

And So It Goes ... Happy AIDS Day Everyone!

By SETH MYDANS - via The New York Times
Published: October 13, 2009

AN NHON TAY, Vietnam — The first day of school was a special one last month for the 15 children from the Mai Hoa orphanage here. They are infected with H.I.V., the virus that causes AIDS, and for the first time they would be allowed to attend the local primary school. “The children were so excited,” said Sister Nguyen Thi Bao, who runs the orphanage and had been lobbying for three years to enroll them in the government school. “They had been wishing for this day to come.”

But when they arrived, they found an uprising by the parents of the other students, who refused to let their children enter the school together with the infected orphans. Some of the parents hastily backed away when the orphans walked past.

After a short standoff, the principal, who had agreed to accept the orphans, told Sister Bao that their papers were not in order and that they could not stay.

The children returned to the orphanage, just a short walk down a country road, where they continue to study in small classrooms, still exiled from the uninfected world.

... About 290,000 people in Vietnam, a country of 86 million, carry H.I.V. today, and Mr. Murphy said that although the rate of increase was slowing, the infection was spreading outside high-risk groups.

Among those infected, the government estimates that 5,100 are children. Although the law requires equal treatment, almost none of them have been accepted in schools because of the fears of other children’s parents, Nguyen Vinh Hien, the deputy minister of education, said last month.

read the story here.

**************************************************************************************************************************
By Todd A. Heywood 11/10/09 -via The Michigan Messenger


An HIV-positive Macomb County (Michigan) man is facing charges created under Michigan’s 2004 terrorism laws for biting another man in a neighborhood scuffle. That, HIV advocates, state lawmakers and legal experts say is “cowardly” and “nonsense” and increases ignorance and stigma surrounding the virus.

...“Is this a dangerous instrumentality? It’s like saying that because I breathed on you and I have tuberculosis and we are fighting, that somehow because I have this disease it suddenly becomes more than just that I have this disease,” said Meadows, a former assistant attorney general. “The other charges are more than sufficient to deal with the issues involved.”

HIV experts say it is a near impossibility to spread HIV through a human bite.

“Even if you accepted that as a transmission case,” said Catherine Hanssens, executive director of the New York City-based Center for HIV Law and Policy. The charges against Allen, she said, simply aren’t warranted. “It’s just nonsense. It’s cowardly. It’s the kind of thing that keeps kids [with HIV] out of day care and camps and allows kids [with HIV] to be kicked out of karate case.”

She said cases like Allen’s are proof that the nation is failing to address the epidemic with common sense. “It’s continuing the boogey-man characterization of people with HIV,” she said.

read the story here.

Further Proof That I'm Retarded

Several months ago I purchased a 2 gig Sansa Clip MP3 player. I bought it for only 20 bucks from Woot! and even though it was listed as refurbished, I wondered at the time what you could possibly refurbish about a little MP3 player no bigger than a cigarette lighter. So I went ahead and ordered it. It arrived in a couple of days and I set about adding songs I had built up in my MP3 collection. At some point that week I took the player to the gym and plugged in my headphones. It seemed that the connection was kind of loose, and the headphones popped out quite easily. Moreover, even when the headphones didn't pop out, the connection frequently broke up and songs would drop out part way through. I found I had to constantly hold on to the player as I walked around the gym, sort of manually holding the headphones in place. Whenever I did certain exercises that were particularly strenuous, I had to put up with the music cutting on and off all the time. This has been going on for months.

I assumed that there was a defect in the player that I bought, a loose connection, but for $20 it did hold hundreds of songs, adding music to the player was ridiculously simple, and quite frankly, I'm not a hard-core music-type person anyway. I rarely wear headphones when I'm traveling in the subway, and even rarer still when I walk down the street. I have always held the position that, especially here in NYC, there is always so much going on, so many hidden surprises, so often the opportunity to experience the unexpected (both good and horrifically bad), wearing headphones and listening to music all the time increases the chances you might miss something. I'm not the first person to notice that many New Yorkers opt to be outside but completely retreated in to their own personal space. Portable video games, DVD players and various Apple gadgets make the people that choose to be very insular. I prefer to mix it all up with the great unwashed.

So my MP3 player use is pretty much limited to the gym and when I am feeling particularly bored on the PATH back and forth to New Jersey. For the most part I found the loose headphone connection to be a minor annoyance, and one I would just put up with.

Flash forward to today, finding me at the gym, where I have been almost every day this week. I have decided that I've become woefully out of shape, I am still about 10 lbs heavier than I want to be, and since my bike is currently down awaiting parts that I can't afford, I have rededicated myself to getting back in to shape before next summer. I had just come near the end of a tough abdominal workout, and I had been frustrated the whole time as the music kept cutting out and the headphones seemed to be popping loose every couple of minutes. I seriously considered taking out the MP3 player and smashing it against the wall. Note to self: Explore out-sized aggression issues.

As I was pacing about between lower ab leg-lifts I had finally become so frustrated, constantly jiggling the headphone jack to find the sweet spot where the music played, that I finally violently jammed the headphone jack in to the MP3 player.

...... Which is when I realized that the headphone jack was never fully inserted in to the connector. As it needed to be. Which made the music, that I had always complained to myself was a tad "tinny", noticeably louder. And fuller. And the headphones weren't loose at all. And no matter which way I twisted and turned they weren't coming undone. And if this story sounds at all familiar it's because I went through a similar situation with a Verizon Chocolate phone a couple of years ago. Apparently, these new-fangled electronics that the kids are using these days plug in differently than I am used to.

So the end of this story is that after almost 6 months of owning the Sansa Clip, I am just now getting around to actually using it the way it was intended. I also need to remind myself on occasion that it has a perfectly good FM radio built in as well. I'm sure it does other things but let's face it, I'll probably never know what they are.

Just In Time For Thanksgiving

BBC News ran a story about four people getting arrested in Peru on charges of luring chunky folk out to desolate areas for the purpose of murdering them to harvest their fat. The "donated" fat was then re-sold to European pharmaceutical and cosmetic companies and used in anti-wrinkle treatments. The fat was reported to be worth $15,000 a liter, and some of the suspects were carrying soda bottles filled with human fat when arrested.

So if you happen to be walking along a desolate road after gorging yourself on Thanksgiving goodies, do not, I repeat DO NOT go in to a cave marked "Free Money" lest you be murdered and end up in a jar of Oil of Olay Extract of Cletus, and then slathered all over the face of some snooty old French lady.

Also, I will happily donate several liters of my personal fat, a bargain at $10,000, as long as I don't need to go to Peru and get bludgeoned to do it.

Dogs Don't Fly At Christmas Time

Before we even go there, let's just get two things out of the way.

I don't have a driver's license. I live in NYC and when my license expired after I had been here close to five years I sort of let it happen. At the time, I was militant in believing that I would never leave New York City and would never need a license. Besides, I always hated driving. I thought it was a necessary evil that was no longer necessary and was happy to let my license lapse.

And Pet Airways does not fly to Buffalo. Nobody flies to Buffalo unless they really have to. Sorry Buffalo, I couldn't resist.

But I wanted to take a little longer Christmas holiday this year since I am not working full time and I am just a lowly cog in the great machine. I thought it would be nice to take an entire week and spend some quality time with the family. I last visited home during the summer for my brother's 50th Birthday, and while I found everyone seemingly hale and hearty, I am mindful that both mom and dad are now 78 years old. Knock wood, they both seem to be doing just swell. Mom still holds down a part time job, working a cash register at a discount department chain store. Dad was working part time up until recently, and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he found another part time job in the next couple of months. I personally wish they would work less and travel more, but they have their reasons for why that doesn't happen and I respect their right to make that call. Besides, I seem to be the only family member that developed wander-lust. And even though I've been in the same New York City apartment for 20 years, If I could afford it I would travel all over the world. Well, except India. And the Middle East. And Alaska would be the very last state after I visited all the rest.

In any case, what I really wanted to do was visit home and bring Riley with me. First, if I was going to be gone a week, I didn't want to spend all that time, particularly Christmas, without my dog. Second, my mom loves dogs. And she hasn't had one in the house for many many years. They have Cat now, and I can't describe how unexpected that development was, but mom is a dog person. I thought bringing Riley might give her a much needed fix, and Riley could spend a week being spoiled and fussed over by someone other than me. Also, as much as I try to deny it, Riley really is about the cutest most loving dog I've ever seen. When he's not destroying your bed linens.

So I set about making inquiries as to which airline, or really any mode of travel, would be the best and cheapest to get me and Riley from New York City to Buffalo. Turns out, you can't get there from here.

The train was out straight away. Amtrak doesn't allow animals, even as cargo. Period. Some of the major air carriers don't take pets, and the ones that do are talking about small animals that can fit in carriers and slide under the seat in front of you.

Some, like Delta, will in fact take your pet as checked baggage, but unfortunately the only direct Delta flights to Buffalo I could find are on their commuter partner, and those are much smaller planes that can't take medium to large dog crates. Continental was my last hope, as it seemed on their web site that they had some sort of pets as cargo shipping service. But when I called them originally they flat out refused to take Riley because I described him as a Pit mix, and they "only fly Pit Bulls as puppies". Fucking bigots.

And when I called back two weeks later and made another inquiry, the reservation agent helping me first claimed that it would cost $250.00 EACH WAY to fly Riley as cargo, and then backtracked and claimed that they didn't fly Staffordshire Terriers, which is what Riley's breed is, kind of, unless they were under 20 lbs. Which sounded suspiciously like Pit Bull racial profiling if you ask me. And at that point, there was no way I could afford a ticket for me, at around $325 and then add another $500 for Riley. Not counting what it would cost to buy him an "airline approved" plastic kennel as well as a veterinary visit so that he could have a doctor's note clearing him to fly. It all became far too expensive for a week in Buffalo.

This being New York City, AKA Scams R Us, I got some information about where I could secure the documentation and a harness to try and pass Riley off as a service dog, but 5 minutes in to the flight that bit of subterfuge would surely disintegrate when Riley would likely jump up on the service cart and gorge himself on bags of blue tortilla chips.

So as it stands now, my week in Buffalo has been cut to 4 1/2 days. And Riley will be spending four nights in a local kennel, which kills me every time I have to leave him there. Not that they don't take good care of him, or that I have any doubts he will be fed and walked. But the kennel cage he sleeps in has a concrete floor, and Riley sleeps in a bed. My bed. With me.

I'm going out this week to get him a big fuzzy blanket, which I will stink up real good between now and Christmas. And then it's going in the cage with him, so at least it will be soft and smell like home.

OOOOOOOOOoooo Gurrrrl!

I swear to god, if I got dissed and dismissed on television the way Ms. Martha did to Sarah Palin I would curl up under a rock and JUST DIE! I especially love the sarcastic "Good for her!" response when commenting on her book sales.



And while we're posting humorous video, did you happen to see this bit of hilarity from the Miss Gay Brazil pageant? Right after she is crowned and giving her post-pageant interview, an obviously unhappy losing cunt-testant sneaks up and snatches her weave! LIVE on camera!! And check out the look on her face. Bitch IS NOT playin'!



And speaking of bitch fights, it appears by this post that the Senior Smackdown I was promised and was so looking forward to will have to be postponed until sometime in the new year. Note to self: Go for the throat.

Project Inform On HIV And Aging

"By the year 2015, nearly half of HIV-positive people in the U.S. will be over age 50. In San Francisco, that figure already stands at 40 percent. While about 15 percent of newly infected individuals are over 50, people who have lived with the virus for years or decades face distinct challenges." -via Bay Area Reporter

Project Inform held a September forum in which the aging HIV population and their ongoing medical issues were discussed. Here's what they said about HIV patients with undetectable viral loads, which up until now, has been the unofficial "touchdown" in HIV treatment:

"Even low-level so-called undetectable virus in people on effective treatment – which in fact can almost always be detected using ultrasensitive tests – can trigger persistent immune activation. In addition, HIV damages the gut lining during early infection, allowing bacteria to leak out and ignite system-wide inflammation. Antiretroviral therapy dramatically reduces immune activation and inflammation, but does not bring back the normal pre-HIV state.

...Chronic low-grade inflammation appears to be the common denominator underlying all these conditions, according to Dr Stephen Deeks at San Fransisco General. It is also increasingly implicated in age-related disease among HIV-negative people, demonstrating that long-term viral infection is only part of the puzzle."

I can tell you that I have experienced what's been characterized as "low-grade" (HA!) inflammation starting sometime after I began taking HIV meds. There are several blog posts dealing with the pain I was experiencing in my hand and wrist, and as soon as that cleared up, I experienced similar symptoms in my ankles and feet. I have been suffering from other forms of foot and knee pain so severe that I have often considered quitting my job as standing and walking both have become extremely difficult. I originally chalked this up to my ever-faster rush to the never-ending dirt nap, but I now feel that the sudden onset of symptoms coupled with the severity of the pain (I went from minor "wear and tear" discomfort to almost crippling joint and tendon pain) probably has an HIV connection. Whether it's cause is the underlying infection or the meds I have no idea. And apparently neither do the doctors.

In New York City At Night

There's a pretty heartbreaking piece about LGBT homeless youth that ran in The Indypendent several weeks ago. A social worker from Sylvia's Place, one of the few shelters available to LBGT homeless youth in NYC, took extreme exception to the bleak portrait painted of the organization and some client profiles. You can read the comments below the article to get his valid perspective. Still, there's no getting around the fact that conservative estimates are that there are close to 20,000 homeless queer youth in this country, and less than 250 beds nationwide to house them and help keep them safe. You can read the full story here.

"Across the room Damien Corallo slouched in a chair, looking grim. Somebody had stolen his iPod. “Things are always getting stolen here,” he said. I sat down next to him and, just as Collazo had said, once I got him talking, he did not want to stop. When he was a kid, his father was sent to jail and his mother sent him and his two siblings from San Juan, Puerto Rico, to New York City to live with his aunt. His brother was gay and Damien, who is transgender, had been dressing like a boy as long as he could remember.

“One day our aunt told us she didn’t want any faggots in the house. And we figured out that she had given our rights over to the state. So we left,” Corallo said. “I’ve lived in 32 group homes or foster homes. I’ve lived in shelters, halfway houses, safety houses. I’ve been into lock-up, stuck in residentials. I have been in every kind of home. I went to juvie for drugs. I used to inject drugs and snort coke. I was in for about a year. It was not friendly. It was a Missouri state jail and then I went to rehab.”

Corallo said he stayed in a group home on Long Island. Three years ago he moved to Sylvia’s, where he’s been ever since. On three occasions, he’s been beaten in what he described as “gay bashings.” He’s been called a faggot and a freak more times than he would like to remember. Somewhere along the line he contracted HIV, which has since turned into AIDS. He has attempted suicide more than once, and he relapsed, too — he’s got track marks up and down his arms and a chronic twitch. He is using crystal methamphetamines and heroin again. He said he wants to break the habit, but “I could never stay clean in this situation.” Corallo is 18 years old."

Sunday Funnies

There is an old guy in my neighborhood who has been using the PooTrap (well, technically his dog has) for several months now. I don't care how convenient it is, and I acknowledge that picking up your dog's poo means that you get an occasional poop manicure, but his poor dog appears to be humiliated walking around with this shit catcher attached to his butt. And there's nothing "Magic" about it. I'm just sayin'...