A PHOTO ESSAY OF ME WATCHING BREAKING BAD

Magenta

"Magenta. That’s what I call it when I get that way. All kinds of feelings tumbling all over themselves. You know, you’re not quite blue, ‘cause you’re not really sad. And although you’re a little bit jealous you wouldn’t say you’re green with envy. And every now and then you realize you’re kinda scared, but you would hardly call yourself yella’. I hate that feeling! I just hate it. and I hate the color magenta. That’s why I named it that, Magenta."

 - Blanche Devereaux

I did two things today. I got a haircut and then I got my first-ever-in-my-life prescription for HIV medication. One of these things has made me feel rull rull magenta. And yeah, I'm not quite blue about it, not like depressed or anything. I'm a little bit "Why me?" but not exactly envious of those who are not HIV positive or don't need HIV medication. I have some nerves and concerns but I'm not "yella" (Oh Blanche!). So yes, I'm just kinda angsty, twisty, a bit gloomy, ya know...magenta.

I've been HIV positive for over 7 years now and I am just starting medication. HIV is a very mysterious disease and I’ve yet to really experience any of the physical effects of the disease. I mostly wasn't taking medication because I am physically healthy. But there is a part of me that is afraid to go on meds because that means, I’m sick. It’s a little reminder every day that I am infected and need treatment. It's a new stage of acceptance I guess.

I go to the doctor four times a year for labs in which they test my blood to see how all of my cells are doing and to see how much of the virus is in my blood. I go in one week before my actual appointment. They draw the blood and then I wait a week for the results. I hate that week. I think of these as my Seasonique weeks. Ya know that birth control pill where you only get your raging intense period 4 times a year? Yeah. It’s like that. Blood and all.  After the blood is drawn I spend the rest of the week wondering, what if this is it? What if this is the round of labs where I find out I’m unhealthy? Where I find out I’m sick?? Where I find out that my T-cells have plummeted and my viral lode has exploded??? And I am scared of it. All of this causes a certain amount of anxiety that I have to combat every day.

...So I'm a bit over this frustration.

There is another reason I have decided to start swallowing a pill every day. I WANT A FUCKING BOYFRIEND! Ok. not really, but yeah, kind of.  Turns out that being on medication, having a low to non existent viral load makes you much more marketable. Being able to bandy about the phrase "Undetectable" on your on line dating  / gay butt sex hook up profile basically adds 4 inches to your cock size. Despite the fact that you might not feel any different, being undetectable makes you seem healthier and more attractive and less toxic to both positive and negative guys alike. I can't tell you how many times I've had negative guys ask me on line if I am on medication. But that is another topic for another time.

The whole situation is magenta. Which I think is a really great metaphor for my relationship to HIV in general. HIV has never been red for me. It's never been volatile or dangerous. It's never been green in any emotional color. I've never become ill from it. Nor do I resent those that are not positive.  My times of yellow, fear, worry are past me. I'm not particularly blue about being positive. Each day I work past shame and guilt and I work very very very hard at not being depressed.  It's silent. It's secret. It's a big 'what if'.  It's awkward. It's a stigma. It's off center. It's tough to bring up. It's not easily understood. It's not well articulated.  It's angsty. It's moody. It's contemplative. It's magenta. And that is all it is. And all it hopefully ever will be... magenta.

Has True Blood Lost Its Bite?

I'm more than a little concerned about this season of True Blood. Something is missing. It seems that True Blood has lost it's bite. 4 episodes in and I have to wonder, where is the danger? This season's tag line is "Everything is at stake". Plot-wise this is true. I suppose. I don't know if it's any stakier than past seasons but yeah every character is heavily embroiled in some kind of southern fried supernatural trauma. But, I don't feel anything is at stake for me, the viewer. Not in comparison to seasons past. Word on the street is that Alan Ball will be leaving his show - runner duties for the next season. Part of me wonders if he hasn't already checked out

What Alan Ball has always done so terrifyingly well is to tap into our innermost, visceral places. In simpler terms, gurl knows how to portray how fucked up we can be. Six Feet Under still reigns (for me at least) as the greatest television show that has ever existed. In Six Feet Under, Ball balanced mortality with sexual exploration and angst. David's coming out in between embalming sessions and wakes, Brenda's sexual addiction (not to mention the weird ass tension between her and her own brother), Nate's womanizing and the seemingly frigid matriarch Ruth may have had more lovers than anyone else on the show.

Thematically, True Blood is a fun house mirror of Six Feet Under. It's life vs. death (or un-death in this case) wrapped up in a whole lot of sex, blood and leather pants.  True Blood is a show about desire... excessive desire. Like really, deep, dark, twisted desire. Although the incest on True Blood isn't nearly as unnerving as on Six Feet Under. I mean what's a little incest between vampires? And there is a little incest this season. But that is exactly the problem with this season. The most taboo element is neither here nor there and merely a characteristic rather than a storyline. 

True Blood has always engaged the viewer by presenting danger that excited us and that tempted us. Even when we knew it was bad for the characters in the end, didn't we all want to try V? Don't we all want to dabble in a little witchcraft? Didn't Maryann's cake and dirt eating fueled orgies seem kind of awesome? At least at the beginning? Don't we all want to have sex with Eric - a Vampire who could quite possibly suck all the blood out of us as we dig our fingers into his well formed cum drains? And most of all, don't we all more than sorta kinda want to be Vampires???

But that's all missing this season. The allure, the danger, the hurts so good -  it's just not there. It's all plot, swift action and rather disconnected or unsurprising sex. Bill and Eric and their "Vamps of Hazard" storyline is abysmal and SPOILER ALERT, Tara as a Vampire is not really all that different than Tara as a human. She still hates Vamps and herself, now just a little more than usual. It looks like Sookie might be headed towards my favorite place in the world (Alcide's arms) but let's face it, that's about as dangerous as Ross and Rachel.  


Oh sure there's the sociopolitical commentary / parable but without the danger, well, I'd rather just watch re-runs of The West Wing. C'mon Alan Ball, give us some V. Give us some sex. Give us some  sex on V. Make us feel dirty again.   

I Love Poppers and Spooning with Muscle Bears!

This morning at the gym, I was on the eliptical reading Entertainment Weekly. (What gayer sentence could start this posting other than, "This morning I was gangbanged while listening to the new Kylie") The recent issue features a cover story about gay celebrities coming out in a way that is not a big deal. So often when these celebrities have come out as gay it is riddled with statements like, "I'm gay, it's just a part of who I am." or "I happen to be gay, it's not a big deal" or my personal favorite "I'm gay, but it doesn't define who I am". 


I am so over these sentiments! Why did you secure an interview / hold a press conference / hire a social media expert only to go on and on about how it's just a not big deal - triple question mark, double exclamation point. For once for the love of Jean Tripplehorn, I would be thrilled if a celebrity gave a coming out interview in which they said "Yes! I am a great big 'Mo. It's a big part of my life! I love poppers, her MADGE-esty, spooning with muscle bears and shopping for teeny tiny bathing suits. It is a very big deal!"
I'm sorry but my being gay does very much define who I am. It is kind of a big deal as I am kind of a big deal. It is one great, big, awesome, mother fuckin' deal. Most of my favorite qualities about myself do seem to stem from my experience as a gay person. As a little boy as I was chased down the street to the taunts of "Dannygirl" and "faggot", I began to develop my well honed sense of humor and wit. This humor and wit has evolved from being a defense mechanism or even a weapon of sorts, to being a way to bring joy and laughter into the world. Cuz as it turns out... I am high-larious.

 I felt "other" and "different" growing up, (probably because I was a giant homogaysexual) and was always looking for a place to fit in. I found that place in books, in stories of magical lands and extraordinary people. This experience developed my imagination tremendously. It left me with the desire to bring such stories to life,  igniting  my passion for and commitment to live theatre. This might have something to do with me creating my very own theater company.

This experience of being "other" and "different" has made me a more sensitive, compassionate, empathetic person. I identify with those that are also different, other, forgotten, left out. This might explain why I have a bent for social justice and why I might also be a decent shoulder to cry on.

Being gay however,  has not made me particularly humble.

I would not say that "gay" is a defining characteristic for me. Humor, creativity, compassion - these, I would safely say are my defining characteristics. But all of these characteristics come from the same experience, the same root and that experience is being a loud and very, very proud Liza lovin', Golden Girl's watchin', man - marryin', disco dancin', cock smokin' queer. It's a big deal. A very big gay deal. 


Happy Pride Kittens!
Dan

Nobody Ought to Be Alone On Christmas

This Christmas Eve, fate has decided that I should be alone. Completely and utterly alone. I have not shared a gift, a toast or a warm hug on Christmas Eve for the first time in my life. I am never one to shy away from the unconventional but this experience, though not entirely my own doing, is taking it a bit far.

I've known for weeks that this somewhat solemn night was coming and I have consoled myself with the fact that as of December 26th my holiday time with friends, food and family will be fast upon me. However it hasn't made the day that much easier. Christmas is meant to be a time for miracles and magic. I have gone about my day as any other. I woke up, did some tidying about the apartment, went to the gym, ate lunch and headed to work. All the while, various, magical, made - for - TV inspired scenarios of how the day could turn out ran through my mind. I imagined that:

A) I'd meet the real Santa Clause on a bustling mid - town street corner.

B) While at work I'd make late night reservations for a handsome hotel guest who would invite me along with him and we'd fall madly in love.

C) Through a series of comical mishaps, I'd find myself at a homeless shelter only to learn the true meaning of Christmas while caroling with charming raggedy orphans, urchins, wenches and meth heads.

Of course none of this happened. But somewhere in there lies a little bit of Christmas magic in and of itself. Christmas is a time of year where we are all children, excited about the impossible whether it be mysterious stars that guide us through the desert, fat men in red suits who deliver gifts in the middle of the night or babes that will be born and change the world. Even in this, my worst Christmas ever, I can still imagine, hope and believe.

This sense of wonder despite the circumstances, is something of a small miracle all on its own. While I am not likely to repeat this experience, I am glad for it nonetheless.

As soon as I finish this second glass of burgundy and take in a little Peter Billingsly, I'll hunker down in my bed and enjoy my Christmas slumber. Who knows? Maybe there will be some spirits that plan on visiting me...

Merry Christmas. Keep Dreaming.

All my love,

Dan

FOR BIG HAIRY NIPS...

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I'm Back!

My favorite episode of Absolutely Fabulous begins with the absolutely hysterical Edina (Jennifer Saunders) getting ready for a busy day of whining, boozing and door handle shopping . She puts on a pant suit and then looks at herself and desperately exclaims "I cannot be this person... not this person". She then rushes over to her closet and grabs a divining rod to help her select which awful, designer bit of garishness she'll throw on herself.

That moment from the dearly departed AbFab has always stayed with me. I love that expression and so often identify with that sentiment - "I cannot be this person". While I don't wear pant suits or over priced silver spandex tops, I have felt those exact sentiments when I've sat down to write in my blog. I open my laptop and look over the previous entries and attempt to replicate the tone of the majority my writing. I try to find something off beat, charming and whimsical to say. I attempt to be my best self.

The problem however, is that so often, I am simply not my best self. I am often sitting down at my laptop at the end of a long, insufferable day of making reservations at "The Spicy Market" or "Peter's Lugers" for demanding and often rude European tourists. Or I sit down to write after a long day of rehearsal or auditions that has sapped me of all wit. Sometimes I sit down to write and i can't focus because I am hung up on that last sharp toned email I may have received. Or I sit down to write and I'm totally depressed because I've broken up with my boyfriend. Or I sit down to write and I'm just feeling bitchy, critical and judgmental. Or I'm feeling defeatist. Or I'm feeling too absurd. Or I'm feeling frustrated because I'm obsessing about what to write in a blog that nobody reads anyway! It's like I'm screaming into a vacuum!

So for several months, I said "fuck it". I am simply not this charming persona I set out to be and should not continue to force that ideal on myself.

This was the wrong choice, in part.

Several months later and I'm saying "fuck it" again. I am not always this charming persona but that should not stop me from writing. That should not stop me from the wonderfully creative activities of observing, analyzing and reflecting. I should not stop trying to put those observations and reflection into words that form sentences which in turn form paragraphs and ultimately result in some sort of cohesive essay. So I say fuck it. I'm not going to worry about which person I'm going to be today but I am still going to write. I'm a moody bitch and I'm just going to go with that. The best thing I can do for myself is to be honest; to write honestly. So love it or leave it, here we go... again. It may not be pretty, and I may offend one of my three readers every so often or at the very least bore them regularly but I promise... to simply be me.