On Blogging

This morning, when I woke up...

....well, before I woke up because I hadn't had my coffee yet...

...I turned on my computer while the coffee was brewing and saw a post on my Facebook wall from a long-time friend. Someone I met online back in 1999. He'd written an article about me and published it while I was sleeping last night. I don't really have much to say about it other than it meant the world to me. Even got a little misty eyed (damn, why wasn't my coffee done brewing!). You can read the article here.

Like I said, I'll let the article speak for itself (or for Bryon - thank you my dear friend - I didn't deserve it. Hero or not, I love you.)  But it reminded me again of something from my past. I am a blogger. Or I was. If you read these posts with any regularity, you know I had a blog back in the day. Put it down for a long while. Picked up the habit again once I started this AIDS/LifeCycle journey. And this is the story of my former blog...

Last century (yes, it was 1999 - seriously, that was last century), I was living in Chicago and working a Return-to-Work program at Howard Brown Health Center for people with HIV. During this time, I met some friends who did this crazy thing called "weblogging" (or "journaling" as we called it because "weblogging" was kind of a clunky word. Thankfully some genius shortened it to "blogging" at some point).

Anyway, I was intrigued. Not because I wanted to keep an online journal but because these  guys wrote all their own code & HTML and it seemed like a cool little skill to learn. So I did. I'm kind of like that. Something interests me. I figure it out. And learn to do it.

But after I learned it what could I do with it? Well, the internet was pretty small back then and I didn't have a business or anything. But I figured I could keep an online journal like they were doing. And I could run a webcam from my home like they were doing. But... why? I mean, I'm just me. Slowly it become clear...

I'd spent most of the past decade educating others and bringing awareness to issues around HIV & AIDS. By allowing others a glimpse into my life, they would see that I wasn't much (if any) different than them. That I woke up groggy, drank a lot of coffee, loved dogs, sometimes smiled, sometimes yelled, sometimes vegged, sometimes dreamed. I felt by posting little snippets of my life on the internet, a few people would get a view into the world of HIV - not the sensationalistic stuff that was shown on the news but the day-to-day of an average Joe (or average Jim in my case).

So, with the help of my graphic design friend Marco, that's what I did.

But I had no idea...

No idea that the internet was still so small at the time that people with nothing else to do would visit my little website. That within months I would have over 125,000 visitors to the site per month from more than 80 countries around the world (how the heck was I relevant in Madagascar?!?!?). That people would sit in the chat room on my website and have long conversations with me. That they would watch my puppy grow into a handsome guy and give me advice (and sometimes chastisement) on how best to raise him. That they came back. That they listened.

My website had a blog and some photos and a chat room and links to other blogger's sites. And somehow it grew quickly. What started as a simple online journal suddenly became the place for others to ask questions about HIV. When I first started, I received a few emails a day from site visitors... and early on I made a promise to reply to them all. That ended a few months later when I was receiving hundreds a day. And my Saturdays and Sundays were spent trying to clear out my inbox. The one little black & white webcam I started with, was joined by a top-of-the-line webcam which then got booted by a couple of analog Sony camcorders with digital converters. I had three cameras running in my house, 24 hours a day, seven days a week and people watched some of the most mundane things for minutes - or hours - in hopes of catching something fun, interesting... or even a bit of flesh.

No, it wasn't a sex site. And no I didn't get paid for it. But sometimes I did use flirtation and a little show of the abs to keep people coming back. But my focus was information. And, again, a look into the life of a healthy, optimistic person living with HIV. This is something they weren't getting on their news channels. Or, maybe they were from a small town and had HIV themselves but knew no one else that had it. I became that person they "knew." And hopefully that person that made a dent in the stigma attached to HIV.

And know them I did. There were other webcammers like Tim who I've written about in a previous post. And those who still keep their blogs & cams like Rex from rexsworld.com. Or the sexiest geek I know (and I love me a sexy geek), the infamous Mark Allen from markallencam.com. There were others who blogged & cammed but don't any longer - like Christoph from Paris or Rage from Atlanta. We were this odd community. Trailblazers? That sounds weird to me because, at the time, there were about 50,000 of us worldwide. Compared to the number of blogs out there today though, I suppose we were pioneers in a way. And when we had the chance we met up, hung out, shared tips & advice. And a few I met in person (all the ones I listed). And most I'm still friends with today because, like this journey with AIDS/LifeCycle, we experienced something together. Yes, take note fellow ALCers, you probably won't be rid of me very quickly once we cross that finish line. I like to keep good people nearby, heh!



But I got to know others who didn't blog or cam. Some sent me birthday gifts or flowers on Valentines Day. Joe sent me a bottle of wine and, when I moved to San Francisco, we dated for awhile. Jon and I met when I moved to SF too. I met Christoph when he came to the States for a visit. Tim and I developed a long-lasting friendship. And even just a few months ago I met the sweetest guy Todd, who at one time dropped in on my site on occasion to see what this guy jimagery was up to.

And of course there was Bryon in London. We had a major connection right away and met face-to-face during a trip to the UK soon after our online correspondence started. For a few years we lost touch - like many of us did - until the miracle of Facebook brought us all back together again. With Bryon, I've written articles for his magazine, he wrote that article about me, and we still keep in touch regularly.

Sure, I only have contact - and much of it limited - with a few of those 125,000 people who once visited my site. But, maybe... just maybe... as Bryon wrote in his article, my website made a difference in some of their lives. Whether they were struggling with their sexuality, their HIV status, or with raising a puppy (and, let me tell you, those first years with J.D. were a struggle!), I hope I touched a few of their lives in some way. But mostly, I hope I saved one or two lives. Hope they received information they weren't getting from anywhere else. Or began to feel more comfortable knowing that somewhere out there another guy was living with HIV openly.

Most of all, I just hope that for one moment they understood the world is a very small place, that life is special and that, no matter what, we're all in this together.

My website at www.jimagery.com has been down for a decade now (but I still own the URL, believe it or not). But some crazy web guru started archiving websites a long, long time ago so if you want a little glimpse into a me who was a dozen years younger and a dozen years less wise, you can check it out on the web archive at web.archive.org

I didn't ask for this life. I just ran with it. Made lemonade out of lemons? Maybe. Really all I did was the best I could do with the tools & knowledge I had. That's all any of us can do, right? So I continue to strive for that. I hope you do too.

My Manifesto

I am Jim.

I have personally been affected through 22 of the 32 years HIV/AIDS has torn a path of destruction across our community. I have lost dozens of friends. Attended numerous memorials. Held far too many frail hands.

I have been an educator. A caregiver. A lobbyist. A poster boy. A policy changer. A eulogizer. A trailblazer. A friend. An activist.

But most importantly, I have been a survivor.

This year I will be the beginning of an AIDS free generation. And I won't do it alone.

I am Rider #1655.

And I ride to end HIV & AIDS.

Join me by sponsoring my ride here.

Live Like We're Dying

(In a selfless act, Holly wrote this entry for her own blog, without my asking, as a Valentine's gift to me. So I have to thank my guest blog contributor - and wonderful friend and former girlfriend - for this entry. Thank you for this amazing piece. And for giving me a day off from blogging, heh! It's relevant to my own blog & journey for so many reasons... but most of all because it's about loving deeper. Holly, I love you on this Valentine's Day and every other from the day we met 'til the day we part.)

The past six weeks have been a whirlwind. I’ve been so busy the days seem to blur together. I love my work at The English Language Institute, enjoy the blast of new classes and what new things I will discover, can’t get enough “feel-good” moments being a part of MAVS for UNICEF, pinching myself that I'm in my senior year at UT Arlington, psyched about having my sweet Lindsay now living 5 minutes from me in the Arlington area, and the list goes on.

Something exciting has taken the place of getting over the hump I always seem to feel during Christmas time. Christmas does a number on me and until recently—I haven't been able to pinpoint exactly why I feel that way. I dread winter. I think about many things, including how many more Christmas times I will get to spend with my daughter and loved ones.

Congenital heart disease is a bitch on the emotions.

This year I kind of skipped over the winter blues when an amazing gift flowed into my life. The craziest things seem to happen to me. A serendipitous moment comes to my mind.

My ex-boyfriend from my first year after high school drifted back into my life in 2009. Jim Akers. It’s been 23 years since our young romance, but it was unforgettable. I know for sure that the young man I used to love like a young girl does, is as awesome as he was "back in our day."

So many good things come to mind. But now one sad thing ties us irrevocably together and it’s not the many hours spent rolling around in the hay, partying like rock stars, and both of us trying to figure out just who we were.

Dying young. Yes, we share that common denominator now.

After Jim came back around all this time later we both had some sad news to share with one another. Jim has HIV/AIDS. I have congenital heart disease and survive with valve failure thanks to valve transplants.

We share the realities of living on the edge of death with diseases that are killers. Jim told me in written words, “Don’t cry, but I have HIV/AIDS.” I read it three or four times when I opened the message, and then tears flowed freely. I sat alone in my home office at my desk unable to fathom the words in that e-mail.

No way. No. No. No.

Dying young. For me? Yes, quite possibly. I can handle that. But, the people I care for dying young? I can’t handle that well at all. As I write this my eyes well up with tears a bit and if I were at home writing I would let the tears flow.

Jim has been living an incredibly extended life with his AIDS diagnosis. It amazes me. It should. What he does to exhale the next breath, well, there is no way to really describe it unless you’ve been to the edge of the deep dark depths of the canyon of death. The edge is scary. I’ve lost my footing on that edge, but somehow managed to crawl up; clawing, fighting, and screaming inside about dying young.

“What is that pain in my chest? Why am I short of breath? Is this it? Will I die soon? If not now, is it next week that I run to the emergency room for the 1000th time? Will anyone go with me to get help? Or will I die alone? Doesn’t anyone care? Someone please do something.”

So, I may not be able to save myself, and if I can’t do that what can I do? I can shout from the rafters, “Someone listen! Jim might die. Please help me to save him.”

To hell with you HIV. 

That is what I am thinking about and I can’t stop it. Jim is on a mission to ride 545-miles, in 7 days, with AIDS/LifeCycle. I’m on a mission to be his cheerleader. I have a big voice, but not big enough to kill HIV/AIDS. I need your voice too.

So for Valentine’s Day, I think about loving and living. Thank you Jim, your words have been a gift. It meant so much when you described what you do to make the most of each moment in this life.

Jim doesn’t save money for his retirement. He doesn’t climb the professional ladder so much. He’s not stuck in a rut, nor am I. We don’t have time for that. He gets out there. He writes, travels, sings, smiles, jokes, shares his time, loves his friends, loves a stranger… he rides his Cannondale down the coast of the California... not so much to save himself - it's about everyone else. I’m amazed at his positive outlook, and I have been changed for the better having him back in my life.

Folks, HIV/AIDS could be over. All it takes is people like Jim for people to take a second look.

I think he would tell you, “Appreciate your life, make the most of each moment, be selfless as a human can be, live passionately, make a conscious effort every day that you put your feet on the floor to help someone else. Open your eyes and open your heart." So I have and I will.

Let's live like Jim.

Let’s live like we’re dying.

Help me help him put an end to HIV & AIDS by reppin' his ride and donating whatever you can at the link below.

Jim's AIDS/LifeCycle Fundraising Page

Touring

Touring.

That's what I've been up to.

You probably know that already though.

Los Angeles.

San Francisco.

Palm Springs.

(And more to come very, very soon!)

If you know me, you know travel is my thing. I'm a vagabond. A nomad. A classic character from Kerouac's On The Road. I jump at the chance to dash off somewhere and this past weekend it was to Palm Springs... just 36 hours after returning from the big AIDS/LifeCycle events in San Francisco (I didn't even unpack - just took the same suitcase!). My primary purpose was to participate in the Tour de Palm Springs... but, like so many of my travels, the weekend brought me oh so much more.

Let's talk about road trips first. One of my favorite hobbies. I've traveled across this country many (many!) times in many (many!) cars. I love the open road. Love the adventure. The excitement of what awaits me. The surprises at each stop. The unexpected experiences. And even though Palm Springs is only a few hours away, it didn't disappoint on any level.

Leaving Las Vegas, whether in a plane or a car, is always exhilarating for me. There's so much I love about this town but, after almost seven years, I've got roots here and roots aren't really my thing. That open road... that's my passion (and part of why I've grown to love cycling!).

But the road proved a true adventure with high winds and flying tumbleweed as I left Vegas. The winds tried again and again to push me off the road... and quite a few tumbleweed got stuck in my grill. But, if you know Vegas, high winds are pretty common. Another thing that's common - but we often forget - is how small this town is. Early on during this road trip I was reminded of that when I stopped at the first rest stop across the California border. As I was walking out of the restroom, I bumped into a guy.... we both did a double take and I realized it was Damian. A friend from Vegas. He and his wife Lisa were traveling to Anaheim for a conference and here we were in the middle of nowhere running into each other. So I snuck up to their car and surprised Lisa and the three of us had a great little chat but watched the clock because, y'know, we were road tripping and had schedules to adhere to!

So yeah, that's a little weird. And then, a hundred miles later I drove right into a torrential downpour. No biggie. Driving in the rain. Part of a road trip. Turn onto the I-10 in the LA area and the first sign I see warns me of an accident ahead. Three of four lanes closed. Argh!

Oh, but that's classic LA. Los Angeles never fails to turn a freeway into a parking lot. I. Mean. Never. 10 a.m. 8 p.m. Or three in the morning. Their freeways... well, they just plain suck if you're in a hurry.

The surprise came when I was crossing the pass from LA into Palm Springs.

Blizzard.

Seriously?

Ok. Wind.

Rain.

Yes, palm trees covered in snow.

And now snow?

You're kidding me, right? This is only a four hour drive and I'd now hit three seasons along the way.

Didn't get a good pic of the snow but as you can see from this it was falling and sticking. To my surprise, the LA drivers didn't really freak out about the snow and traffic kept up at  a decent pace. Which I was happy to see since I was less than an hour from my destination and wanted nothing to slow me down.

When I arrived in Palm Springs, the first thing I encountered was a detour sign. Quickly realized the main street was closed for the Tour de Palm Springs Expo so I parked and went to visit Jim, Marni and Mary, all AIDS/LifeCycle staffers, at their booth. There they were out in the rain and cold working to spread the word about this cause and recruit new riders. Dedication. Real dedication. Because it was really cold.


Left the booth, swung by my friend (and ride sponsor) Marty's place for a quick catch up, then it was time to check into the hotel.

Recruitment Manager Jim, Teammates Erik & Jonathan, Me, Cyclist
Rep Marni, Recruitment Coordinator Mary and Erik's friend Joseph.

That first night we had a mixer hosted by Positive Pedalers - a group of HIV-positive cyclists and their supporters, many which participate in the ALC event. My friend Jonathan from San Francisco stopped by as well since he was visiting PS. I had the chance to meet some experienced cyclists, get some tips and info about the big ride the next day and some great ideas for fundraising. But most exciting for me was the opportunity to meet two of my teammates, Jonathan and Erik, in-person for the first time. Erik, also a top fundraiser and member of the 10K Club, has been with the team since the beginning. And from everything I've seen these past months, this guy's gonna rock this ride. He's recruited quite a few friends and family to join us on the ride, has made amazing strides in fundraising and I'd heard (and saw firsthand the next day) he's a beast on the bike. Jonathan is a new team member (brought on board by Erik) and is already closing in on his first thousand dollars in contributions.

Big hugs and "See you in the morning" all the way around then we all went to get a good night's rest before the big ride on Saturday.

Seven a.m. meetup. Thankfully we had decided to meet at a coffee house away from all the craziness.... because it was truly crazy. Cyclists and spectators and marching bands and flag corps and the mayor and vendors and volunteers and closed roads and balloon arches and... wow, this was our first experience in a cycling event like this and it was huge!

Although five of us from Manning Up Allstars were participating in the 55 mile route for this event, Duke was riding with his partner so wasn't going to ride with us. And our friend Brendan, a twelve year AIDS/LifeCycle participant, who was supposed to join us had come down with the flu and couldn't make the trip. So it was just the four of us at the starting line: Jonathan, Erik, me and Molly. Met Molly's wife for the first time too - wonderful woman.

And then we were off!

More craziness. Surrounded by extreme cyclists just blowing past us and recreational riders inexperienced in riding in groups. Heading out of town required a lot of concentration to avoid an accident as we were all bunched together for the first couple miles and there were red lights and stop signs and auto traffic. Wasn't long before we hit the open road though... and the first big climb... and the head/side winds. I think the first 15 miles of the ride were the most difficult. None of us had ridden in a group like this. The hill was a steady challenge. The wind shifted from pushing us back to trying to push us off the side of the road. But we did it together. Accepted and overcame all challenges. We didn't ride side by side but we stuck together with nothing more than about a hundred yards separating any of us. There were moments we doubled up... Jonathan & Erik pushing each other, Molly & I chatting, Jonathan & Molly taking the lead, then handing it off to Molly. Pulling into the first rest stop, Erik & Jonathan arrived first... I was fifty feet behind them and Molly was just seconds behind me. We'd not only completed 15 miles but all kept up with each other. I think that really worked to bind us together as a team and feel the shared experience together.

The next 45 miles (yes, we later realized we'd ridden a total of 60 miles!) was more of the same. Riding solo, taking the lead, doubling up, falling back, but always together as a team. We met up at each rest stop just minutes apart from each other, refueled, hydrated, hit the port-a-potties, then set off together again. Jonathan with his soccer legs climbed past us on hills and Erik and I, a little more experienced, blew past the others on downhills (our top speed nearing 40 miles per hour). After the last rest stop, we entered the city again with more of the craziness from the beginning and Molly got stopped at a red light so when she wasn't with us when Erik, Jonathan & I crossed the finish line together. But she had her wife waiting for her there. After finishing, we went to the AIDS/LifeCycle booth to share our experience with the staff and  our teammate Duke rode up just a few minutes later. We'd done it. And done it well. But most importantly, we did it together.

Not sure how the others felt afterward but my endorphins had me a little pumped. Yes, I was a little tired but not worn out. We posted our maps and pics and status updates about this accomplishment. And I know a couple of us took a nap because the weekend wasn't over yet....

That evening Jonathan, Erik and I met up again at an AIDS/LifeCycle BBQ & Potluck. There we all got to meet our Palm Springs teammate Harold for the first time. Was a wonderful way to wrap up the day... sharing our experiences, chatting with ALC staffers and participants, learning more and making new friends. Around 9:30, the day had caught up with me though and I had to say my goodbyes. Because I had another ride scheduled Sunday morning.

They called this a Recovery Ride. How a 26 mile ride was recovering from anything, I'm not sure. But this ALC sanctioned training ride gave me more experience, more time in the saddle, more friends and the opportunity to ride with Harold for the first time. It was a beautiful day... much warmer than the previous morning. And a great reminder after the previous day that ALC trains great cyclists. Courteous. Law abiding. Rule following. Communicating. Cyclists. Nothing like the day before. We stopped at stop signs. We used our hand signals. Called out obstacles in the road. Helped each other along because AIDS/LifeCycle really is about community.

The ride was almost casual after the previous day. Like a recreational tour through the park. No headwinds. No big hills. And a nice steady pace. I learned what they meant by recovery... stretch the legs... keep the muscles active... cool down, wind down. Just what we needed after 60 miles the day before. Plus I had the opportunity for a safety & rule refresher and got to meet some new folks and ride with some new friends I'd made over the weekend.

Finishing the ride, I checked out of the hotel, then met up with my friend Cary for a wonderful brunch at Tropicale. The day, and weekend, wasn't long enough though and I had to leave far too soon. But those sixty hours in Palm Springs will forever rank as one of my many grand, wonderful life experiences. As I posted on Facebook as I was driving out of town, "Living life may take a lot of energy but if you do it right it's never tiring."

Thank you AIDS/LifeCycle for everything you've given us.

Bottled Up

After a week in San Francisco filled with AIDS/LifeCycle events, fundraising and training, I'm now on a plane flying home bringing more stories about this amazing journey. But, with less than four months until the ride, there are moments I feel I'm running out of time to share all the HIV related stories I've experienced in my life.... stories which have driven me to commit to participating in a seven day, 545 mile bicycle ride. Yes... there are that many stories. New stories like those from this weekend and old stories from the twenty-one years I've been involved in the HIV community. Both my own stories and those of others. Some of these motivate me to pedal harder. Inspire me to climb the most intimidating hill. Or push me to train just a mile further than I've ridden before.

Then there are the stories that help me remember there's more to this than the ride. These don't come from people like me who can cycle almost the entire length of a state. And they don't come from people without HIV who still provide me inspiration through the way they've overcome other challenges, like the entry I wrote about my friend Holly. No, these are the stories about the people who benefit from the money we raise. The experiences that remind me to push myself to be a top fundraiser. That make it a little easier to ask my friends, family and colleagues to donate to the cause. These stories are from the other side of the coin.... and, in this story, that coin is a nickel.

Five cents. Not much to most of us. Hell, just the other day I left eighteen cents in the "Leave A Penny" jar at a corner store because I was wearing my cycling gear and had nowhere to put loose change. Many of us don't pay much attention to nickels. Even while looking for an image of the coin to include in this blog I realized I didn't even know the changes the five-cent piece has gone through in recent years (yeah, they've redesigned it a couple times... I've never looked at one long enough for that to even click in my head).

The second smallest denomination of currency we carry in the U.S. Nearly meaningless, right? Throw it in a change jar. Suck one up while vacuuming the sofa. Pass right by one laying on the sidewalk. Not even worth the effort to bend over and pick it up. Unless you're a person who's been on HIV related disability for years. Someone who spent his life serving others as a waiter and bartender. Whose past gratuity-based income means his disability payment provides him barely enough to scrape by these days. So he spends late evenings looking for nickels to supplement the paltry check he receives each month. Well, not actual nickels... there aren't that many just dropped on the sidewalk. He gets his nickels by returning refundable bottles for recycling.

While I was visiting Portland last fall, I met up with a friend I've known since I was twenty. A guy I used to go to the underage nightclubs with when I first moved to Portland in 1991. One of the first friends I made in that town. Oh, and let me tell you, he was a handsome, energetic, motivated, articulate, intelligent, thoughtful and caring young man... albeit a little lost like many of us were at that age. A few years after we first met, he called me to tell me he had seroconverted... had tested positive for HIV. He didn't know many who were positive and I was the person he trusted most to tell first, to get information & advice and to cry a little on my shoulder. Shortly after that, he joined the HIV-Positive Speakers Bureau I managed at Cascade AIDS Project and started on the journey of community education similar to the one I had started years prior. He was still young and handsome and energetic and articulate which all came together to make him an excellent speaker... really engaging the audience and, with his age, quickly relating to high-school and college students.

Back to my recent visit....

Although he's been on disability for a few years now and is living on a fixed, limited income, he was making dinner for me when I arrived at his apartment. Still the gracious host, he wouldn't think of asking me to bring anything or contribute in any way. It had been a decade since I'd seen him and he's still as handsome and sweet as ever, even at 39 years old and dealing with many health challenges. He even remembered I was focusing on a vegetarian diet and cooked up a wonderful meal of pasta in a savory red sauce with fresh veggies. After we ate and spent a couple hours catching up, we looked through his small collection of DVDs and put a movie on.

As it was getting late, I began preparing to leave. He insisted on walking me down to my car. But had to grab a couple things because he had something to do. That's when I found out he spends his nights walking through town (he doesn't have a car... or even a bicycle) collecting bottles to turn in for cash. Oregon has a five-cent deposit on most bottles but many residents just throw them out or put them in recycling bins instead of going through the hassle of taking them back to the store. He was grabbing a large garbage bag he uses to carry the bottles and a pair of old sneakers & gloves because he literally dives into dumpsters for these bottles.

My heart went out to him. He's this attractive, healthy-looking, neatly dressed man. Just a couple years younger than me. Someone you'd see every day and look at twice. Not because he looked homeless, or pitiful or scary or like he just climbed out of a dumpster. But only to catch his beautiful smile again. And here he was preparing to dig through garbage to find bottles to supplement his income.

So what did I do? I joined him.

Yep. It was 1 a.m. on a weeknight. I had a conference call for work in just a few hours. But how can you not help a friend in need. Well, not really in need because he does this by himself every single night. I just had to help him though. Couldn't stand the thought of driving off as he walked into the night looking for, what to him, is this little treasure hidden within what most men threw out as trash.

We spent about two hours searching and digging and collecting. I learned a lot in that time. First lesson was to identify which bottles were refundable and which ones weren't. He's quite the expert and I caught on quickly (Water & non-carbonated juice bottles are worthless. Orangina bottles... paydirt!). Then there was the art of picking up trash bags to feel if there were any bottles or cans inside and, if so, neatly opening them to pull out the bottles then place them back in the trash can as if we'd never been there. There were little lessons like keeping an eye out for police cars in order to avoid having to answer to our suspicious looking activity (we did not trespass, steal, or vandalize anything). After close to an hour, I not only became pretty successful in the bottle hunt but it started to really feel like a treasure hunt. I would get excited if I found a big stash of bottles that wasn't bagged with a bunch of stinky garbage. Sometimes quietly exclaiming, "Come here... look what I found!" And it wasn't just bottles. There were other necessities he picked up along the way. A kitchen knife in good condition. Barely used plastic storage containers. And even light bulbs (he would examine the filaments to confirm they were still good). Things he needed and used... and by finding them on these excursions, he avoided having to purchase them with his limited funds. The one necessity he doesn't dumpster dive for is food though. As a person with HIV, health is a priority and questionable food shouldn't be an option.

At the end of the night, we arrived back at his place a little dirty and very tired. And I was also ringless (my ring had slipped off in a dumpster and I couldn't find it again). But we also felt satisfied because when he counted the bottles he said we had a very good haul. Six dollars and thirty-five cents. That was because it was recycling night and we found many returnables in the bins.

$6.35
127 Bottles & Cans
That's 3,810 bottles and cans a month.
And $190.50 monthly to help supplement his income.
Money that helps him survive.

The biggest lesson I learned that night was that even with the many programs for people on HIV disability - food stamps, housing assistance, AIDS Drug Assistance Program, bus passes - there's still a gap that needs to be filled. My long time friend spends two hours every night in the cover of darkness collecting his "nickels" to get $2,300 a year to help close that gap. Today, thinking about that, I'm reminded of another reason I've committed to this ride and to raising as much money as I possibly can. For every $100 I raise for the clients at San Francisco AIDS Foundation and the LA Gay & Lesbian Center, we help people like my friend stay at home for fifteen nights instead of going out to find bottles to exchange for nickels. I know for me, a hundred bucks seems like a lot of money.

But it's not nearly as much as that six bucks in bottles is to him.

You see, I'm not riding because I have HIV. I am truly riding for a cause. An important and personal one for me even if it's not about "my" story. Please click the link below and think about joining my team of sponsors so my friends don't need to dig through dumpsters anymore. Or, if you've already donated, please think about a second contribution... maybe just a small portion of your tax refund... to help those who truly benefit from your generosity. $100 can be split up over ten months.... because ten bucks a month - or even just a one-time $10 donation - is only two lattes for us but it's four hours of work and two days worth of bottles for my friend.

Donate Here. Thank You.

A Little Fight Music

A few weeks ago, my friends Bryon and Christopher asked if I'd contribute another piece to their magazine Polari. With the respect I have for their work and their publication, I of course jumped at the opportunity. The theme focused on music - not my strength at all. But the assignment, to choose one song relevant to my gay history and write a personal story about it for LGBT History Month, made it much easier.

Here's my piece... dedicated to all you fighters out there:
(I hope I don't offend the guys with my copyright infringement by doing this!)

Queen - We Are The Champions
Coming of age in Detroit, Michigan during the disco era meant two things: owning at least two “Disco Sucks” t-shirts and a constant hoarding of rock anthems. My first LP, purchased at the tender age of nine, was just as tender as my age... the Grease Soundtrack. But the first “mature” music pick - and my first cassette tape - was Queen’s Greatest Hits in 1981. And the power ballad I forwarded to play, then rewound to play again, was always We Are The Champions. But I was 11 years old and that purchase had no significance to my yet-to-be-discovered sexuality.

That significance came a decade later. As a young man who both came out and tested positive for HIV in the same year. Early on in my gay life I felt I’d paid my dues time after time. And now, many years later, I’m still reminded that I’ve done my sentence. Twenty-two years with this virus. Sometimes feeling locked in solitary. Sometimes feeling judged. Sometimes even feeling a bit felonious even when I’ve committed no crime. Of course, there were bad mistakes. And like everyone, there’s no doubt I’ve made a few. And those early days - those teen years, that coming out year, or those early years of HIV - I faced many opponents and challenges. Whether they came from a group of conservative religious parents who felt I shouldn’t speak to their children about protecting themselves from STD’s, or from a group of straight fraternity brothers at a university who wanted to gay bash me, I definitely had my share of sand kicked in my face.

But, you see, I’ve come through.

The first years I had HIV, I became an HIV educator and spoke to groups in numbers as intimate as ten and as intimidating as 2,600. I took many bows and made many curtain calls.... meeting with the audience after I stepped off stage. Sharing my experience. My story. And my life. As I became more involved in this work, I took to the national stage which brought me an odd form of fame and fortune and everything that goes with that. Not the type of fortune you’re thinking... that type of “fame” isn’t bestowed on an HIV poster-boy. No, it was the blessing of community... of strength... of winning. And I have to thank so many for that.

Even with the most amazing support network, it’s been no bed of roses. And, although I’ve spent my annual vacation the past seven years on an HIV+ Caribbean holiday, the day-to-day has been no pleasure cruise. But I’ve never let it get me down. Early on I saw many friends who allowed pessimism to creep in and it took a toll on their health. For me, I considered it a challenge before the whole human race. Prove myself. Help others. Live long. Stay healthy. Today I continue that by committing to AIDS/LifeCycle and riding a bicycle 545 miles in seven days to raise money for HIV/AIDS services and awareness. From day one, my mantra has always been, “I ain’t gonna lose.”

You see, we are the champions. My friends, all of you, who’ve faced adversity of any sort and haven’t let it get you down will always be winners. And I know we’ll keep on fighting ‘til the end. We decided early on there was no time for losers. We used our combined strength to win our battles and survive.... whether it was to fight homophobic politics, racial discrimination, gender inequality or, like me, fighting HIV for my life. We stood up, stood proud, and yelled out, “We are the champions of the world!”
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The Polari music retrospective this month, honoring LGBT History Month and how music has an impact on our lives, is shaping up to be a eclectic & phenomenal collection of music and stories. In addition to the music articles, there's a section on LGBT heroes. They've been publishing one per day so check back often to see the new additions. And thanks guys.... for your wonderful magazine, this amazing music project, and for honoring me with the opportunity to contribute. Love ya both.