In Support Of Gay Kids… (and how Tracey Ullman Saved My Life)

There’s been a lot of talk in the news lately about the number of gay kids who have recently tried to (or have successfully) committed suicide because they were gay. Unfortunately, this isn’t exactly new … it’s something that some of us anyway have known for a very long time.

As a kid … ok, teenager … I was fully aware that the suicide rate among gay kids was exceptionally high. Personally, I never considered suicide … not seriously, anyway … I just never considered that to be an option. Yes, I had those periods where my life was Hell … that’s putting it mildly … somehow, though, I made it through. Don’t ask me how… I think Tracy Ullman had something to do with it… but, I’ll get to that in a bit.

There is a small part of me that wants to think that kids today have it so much better than I had it.  There weren’t any gay characters on television … There were no YouTube Videos that said, “It’ll get better” … There were no celebrities appearing on talk shows or the evening news talking about these issues…

I didn’t have access to any kind of support system … there was a gay youth group, but I was never able to attend, and the people who ran the group were very reluctant to speak with anyone over the phone because they had been having some problems with nasty parents threatening lawsuits. I lived in suburbia at the time and it wasn’t like I could ask my parents to take me downtown…

When my family moved to a different city, they didn’t have any kind of support network for gay kids. The closest thing they had was someone who was trying to set up a gay youth group but ran into so many problems it never got off the ground. If anyone ever really needed anything, there was a P-FLAG group in town and there was usually someone there if you needed to talk.

Now, I know that not all the gay kids out there have access to any kind of support network … although I am glad they are out there for those who need them.

When I hear stories about what gay kids are going through today … I can relate. My childhood and teenage years have many examples of what today would be called bullying … I was called almost every name under the book … I was physically threatened … I was even beaten up a few times.

I can’t remember how old I was or where I was living at the time, but I do remember going to talk to a school counselor when things had gotten pretty bad. She told me that I shouldn’t let other boys push me around. Just walk away, they said.  She said I just shouldn’t give them a reason to harass me.

Several of the older kids in the neighborhood had a game they liked to play called “Smear the Queer.” When they saw me, they’d push me … knock me to the ground … rub my face in the ground or the mud while screaming “Smear the Queer!” or calling me a dirty faggot … they’d hit me … kick me … steal my lunch money … things like that.

So, yeah … I can relate to a lot of what kids are doing today.

Anyhow …

One night I was at my grandmother’s house … which wasn’t that unusual because she lived right behind us … and I was trying to figure things out. I prayed for God to give me a sign … are things going to be ok? … am I alright? … what should I do? …

I sat there for a little while … thinking … and, I guess, I don’t know, waiting for some Neon sign to drop from the ceiling with a message from God … like that would ever happen. It didn’t take me very long before I got bored and decided to watch some TV.

When the TV came on, I found myself watching The Tracey Ullman Show with special guest Glenn Close … not that I knew who either of those people were back then … and they’re doing a sketch about two aging, rival actresses … both competing for the lead role in some movie … but it wasn’t until the director left the room for a moment that they got into a verbal “I’m Better Than You” fight.

“I’ve one six Oscars,” said one. “So, I’ve won seven Tony’s” said the other. Back and forth they go until I hear … “Oh, and who was that David person you married? He was a homosexual.” “He wasn’t when I married him,” came the response. “No. You drove him to it.”

And my ears pricked up. Was that a sign from God? I kept watching … thinking it could have been a sign of some point … but no answers (or any other references to being gay) came.

As the credits started to role across the screen, I decided to pray again. “Um … God … I know I’m not the smartest kid in the world, but if you just sent me a sign, I really didn’t understand it. Could you please send me another sign? Perhaps one I could understand a little better?”

Another episode of the Tracey Ullman Show came on … and in this episode she played Francesca, a high school Junior who has to write a theme paper on what her family is like. Because she really wants to make a good grade on the assignment, she reads it for her teacher. “I live with my father, and William. …” The teacher tells her it’s an excellent paper, she just needs to explain who William was.

When she hands in her paper, she reads, “I live with my father, and William, my father’s lover.” At first, the teacher isn’t thrilled with the paper, but by the end of the sketch Francesca convinces her teacher that even through her family is different, there’s nothing wrong with them. The teacher gives her an A on her paper.

After some contemplation, I decided it was a message … the message was that it might not always be easy … that sometimes I might have to stand up for what I believe in … sometimes there are going to be negative people in your life, but you can’t give up … and in the end … things are going to work out just fine.

So … what was up with that first skit? … the one with Glenn Close … was that part of the message too, or was that just some fluke? Actually, years later, I realized that it was, perhaps, the most important part of the message.

Sure … things are going to suck from time to time … and yes, things will be okay in the end … but the first thing to keep in mind … the most important thing … is that no matter how hard things get … you can’t forget to laugh … you can’t forget your sense of humor.

I don’t mean to start an argument on whether or not God sends signs through Tracey Ullman and Glenn Close … but every time things got rough … I would think about that night.

Through teenage logic, I somehow knew I wasn’t alone. I believed things would somehow … someday … turn around … and while I might have to do some hard work along the way, things will eventually get better.

I still believe that.

So, thanks Tracey … can I call you that, Miss Ullman? And you, too, Glenn. Uh, Mrs. Close. Oh, and God too … if that was You?

My Aunt Irma…

In my last post, I quoted my Aunt Irma … not once … but twice. Now, I can hear a few of you (particularly if you’re related to me) saying, “He doesn’t have an aunt named Irma…what’s up with that?” Well … the answer is actually quite simple…

Aunt Irma comes from the UK … Actually, from a British comedy show called The IT Crowd.

In case you aren’t familiar with the show … it takes place in the IT Department of a typical business company. The three main characters are Moss and Roy (two very typical IT geeks) and the lady who heads up the IT Department, Jenn, who has absolutely no idea what IT even stands for. Yeah, there’s a few other odd people floating about … like the head of the company … as well as a goth guy who has absolutely no idea what his job is, other than to watch the lights on a machine blink even though he has no idea what the machine does. Anyway – you get the idea…

On the sixth episode of the first season (The first three seasons are available on DVD if you want to check them out) Jenn is a little bit irritable because, as she says it, her Aunt Irma is visiting.

Here, watch this clip from the show that explains it all:

I won’t ruin the episode for you … but I will tell you that by the end of the episode, every IT Guy on the planet gets a visit from Aunt Irma (and you can only imagine what that means.)

Anyway … after watching this episode, I realized I wanted an Aunt Irma of my own. No, I don’t want … well, you know … those days where I am irritable and all that … but I wanted a wacky Aunt who says things that every aunt should say … and thus my Aunt Irma was born.

See … it really was quite simple.

Stephen Slater is NOT My Hero

Chances are, by now, you have heard about Stephen Slater… you know, that Jet Blue guy who is all over the news (and the internet) after he pretty much cursed out a plane full of passengers, grabbed a few beers, deployed the emergency evacuation chute, and then left the plane … to start his new life as a … um … celebrity?

Excuse me?

When I first saw him on the evening news, the anchor actually compared him too Howard Beale – that character from The Network who opens up the window and screams “I’m Mad as hell and I am not going to take it anymore!” … even going as far as to say this guy was his hero. (Talk about your professional journalism…)

Over the past few days, I’ve seen a lot of stuff on the internet (websites, Facebook pages and posts, you name it) and nearly all of it supporting this guy. And I just can’t understand this.

My first thought was that this guy acted like a complete and total [jerk] … and I wondered what really happened. Something told me there had to be more to the story than what was reporting … it really didn’t make sense. The news was reporting that a female passenger hit him with a bag she was pulling from the overhead compartment causing him to go off over the PA System before grabbing some beer and fleeing. Ya know, accidents happen all the time … nobody was saying she deliberately hit the guy … so … he just gets hit on his head and bam! Instant [jerk]?

To me, it sounded like his interaction with the customer was the straw that broke the camel’s back. So my question … what else would I see on that proverbial camel’s back?

It bothered me a little bit that nobody seems to be saying much against the guy. In fact, the only thing I’ve heard so far was that he could have hurt someone when he deployed the emergency chute. Really? Is that the best you could come up with?

Everyone appears to be saying that his actions are no big deal. (And yet, it’s all over the news and he’s being hailed as a hero.) People keep saying he didn’t really hurt anybody. (I’m not so sure about that – I’ll comment on this in a minute.) They’re saying he didn’t do anything illegal. (Other than … stealing beer? … causing a disturbance? … and sure, I’m no expert, but I’m sure he’s broken some post 9/11 Federal laws involving air-traffic-safety or something?) They’re saying he shouldn’t go to jail … and he deserves his job back. (Really? If you violated that many company policies, do you honestly think you’d be allowed in the building again?)

I’m surprised not more people have a problem with this kind of behavior.

Let’s face at least one certain truth here. If you work in certain environments, there are going to be some things you just need to learn to deal with. That’s just the way things work. It’s like my Aunt Irma says, “Work is the worst, most vile 4-Letter Word there is.”

If you hate doing math, then don’t become an accountant. If you can’t cook, then don’t become a chef. If you can type only 3 words per minute, then don’t take a job where you have to sit behind a computer.

If you have one of those jobs or careers where you have to deal with people … no matter if you’re a bank teller, a teacher, a customer service rep, a waiter or waitress, or … I dunnow … a flight attendant? … One of the things you’ll have to learn to accept is that some people have the social interaction skills of a hamster … and you really can’t let those people bother you.

That was one of the first things I had to learn when I started working in the social work field. If I let every [jerk] get to me … if I got discouraged after dealing with those who were obviously abusing the system or acting like they were entitled to everything they ever wanted – then I would be completely ineffective too help everyone else. Eventually, I learned to stop taking things personally … and learned how to channel that energy into something a bit more productive.

So, about this Jet Blue thing… here’s my beef.

What if it was one of the passengers who stood up and cussed out everyone on the plane? If you don’t think this kind of behavior is bad … would you feel the same way if Mr. Slater were a passenger and not a flight attendant? Hey – airline passengers get frustrated too … from dealing with the kid behind them who keeps kicking the back of their seats … to having to spend five dollars for a small bag of peanuts (or however much for luggage) … and then there are all the delayed flights and claustrophobic bathrooms and what about the guy sitting next to you that poured an entire bottle of cologne on himself five minutes before boarding the plane. Would a frustrated passenger become a hero, too?

What if someone else who worked with the public did something like this? What would you think if you went to a restaurant and saw a waiter cussing out a room full of lousy tippers (or rude customers)? And what if you saw him put something into the food going to someone else’s table. How comfortable would you be eating your own food?

What if a teacher went off on a bunch of unruly students? We all know how frustrating some kids can be … would we call that teacher a hero?

How about bus drivers? What would you think if a bus driver drove his bus into a light pole because of unruly passengers?

Believe it or not – but all these examples are things I just read on some of the Stephen Slater Fan Sites or Pages that have popped up on the net. And people are cheering them on.

Even the guy who suggested on Facebook that unruly passengers should be killed (forced off the plane in mid-air with no parachute) had quite a few people “Like” his comment.

What? Come on.

Look … there are appropriate ways of handing people … be they rude, or obnoxious, or annoying … if they swear at you … refuse to follow the rules … or even hit you with their luggage as they’re pulling it from the overhead bins … and there are many reasons why those ways are considered appropriate. Maybe it’s just because that’s what the guy who signs your paycheck wants. Maybe it has something to do with creating a safe environment for everyone. Maybe it’s a legal issue. Whatever.

There’s no excuse for bad behavior … doesn’t matter if it’s customer or employee. It doesn’t matter who throws the first punch (insult, curse word, luggage, or …???) … bad behavior shouldn’t be awarded, and it shouldn’t make anybody a hero.

It’s like my Aunt Irma says. “Two wrongs don’t make a right. But, three rights do make a left.”

My Blog On The “C” List

When I decided to start blogging about my cancer and everything I had been going through with that … my first instinct was to create a new blog just for that. But then I decided against doing that, for a few reasons. The biggest one was that “Corky’s Blog” (the one you’re reading now) had lost its momentum and really wasn’t being used for that much anyway – so, why not just post everything here. The other big reason was that many of my online (and offline) friends visit this blog from time to time … so at first it just kind of made sense.

For several years (even though I’ve deleted all the much older posts) I’ve used this blog as a sounding board for my ideas … a place where I can talk about serious issues (like what I thought of the last movie I watched) to not-so-serious issues (like politics). Or something like that. Anyway … As I kept writing about cancer, I kept thinking how these posts really should have their own blog. And then a few nights ago, I talked myself out of writing something (non-cancer related) I felt passionate about, in large part because I felt it would interrupt the new momentum my blog has suddenly found. And I realized it was time for Corky to become a two-blog person.

Therefore, I am happy to announce the arrival of a new blog entitled (in case you hadn’t guessed)…

My Life On The “C” List

Over the past few days, I have taken all the published posts (as well as a couple of them I hadn’t published yet) and put them there. For the most part, I copied them exactly how they were here, although I did often change their titles.

Hopefully the new momentum this blog has found will continue – even without all the “C” List posts. I will probably continue to post the more important “C” stuff here, but I would really like it if this blog would go back to being its old self again … a reflection of me, what I’m passionate about, what I think about things, and all that.

Please visit the blog linked above … and feel free to leave me a comment or two – either here or there.

My Life On The “C” List (Part IV)

Isn’t it kind of funny how the thing you like best about a doctor can also be the exact same thing you hate the most?

With Doctor O (I call him that because he’s an oncologist, not because his name begins with the letter O) the thing I like the best about him is that he takes the time he needs with each patient. He isn’t one of those quick-in quick-out kinds of doctors. He’ll sit down and talk with you about things, discuss everything as thoroughly as possible and make sure everything is alright before letting you go. On the other hand – the only thing, so far, that I don’t like about Doctor O is that he takes his time with each patient … including the ones he saw before you (which means he can run a few minutes late.)

Yeah, sigh, a few minutes (cough snort) …

Today, I had an appointment with Doctor O at ten o’clock. Personally, I don’t really care what time I actually see the doctor, because like I said, I know he’s going to spend quality time with me.

After getting my weight taken (201, down from 213 on my last visit three weeks ago) … my blood pressure taken (137 over 92) … and my blood work done (everything was great!) … I was ushered into one of the rooms and informed the doctor was running a little behind (cough snort) and he’d be in to see me soon. I sat down, started reading a several-months-old magazine article on Glee, and was halfway through when one of Doctor O’s residents came in … started asking me a bunch of questions and writing notes in my file … and then … and then … Corky will panic in … 5 … 4 … 3 …

Resident begins to tell me about my options … and he says I have two. The first option is to completely take out the colon, rectum, and anus, seal everything up, and I’d go around with a bag strapped to my leg for the rest of my life. The other option is to do chemo and radiation for a few weeks to shrink the cancerous abscess, and then I’d be scheduled for surgery to have just the abscess removed. But, he tells me, there would be a high chance that I wouldn’t heal from this surgery, so they would have to cut me open yet again to take everything out and I would … just like the first option … end up with a bag strapped to my leg for the rest of my life.

And then Resident was out the door and I was alone to … well … panic.

Half an hour later, when Doctor O finally comes in, and as I am trying to wipe my tears off my face with my shirt sleeve, Doctor O asks me what’s wrong. I’m trying to pull myself out of Panic Mode, but when I start to tell him about what the Resident said I felt like I was slipping back into it again. Honestly, I don’t know if I was making any sense at all –the good Doctor had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. He starts flipping through my chart reading what Resident wrote while trying to calm me down and assure me that Resident shouldn’t have said any of that to me and that he sees no reason why I would need any surgery unless my cancer doesn’t respond to the therapy … and he said there was only a slight chance of that happening.

Once I was finally calmed down, Doctor O checked me out from head to toe … and told me I was doing very well. The next step for me is to see the Radiation Oncologist who would examine me, too … and he wants me to start Chemotherapy and Radiation as soon as possible.

I had been thinking I was going to find out today when I would be starting Chemo … and I had assumed Radiation, too … but I guess that all now depends on how things go later this week with the Radiation Oncologist.

My Life On The “C” List (Part III)

I have to admit it. I’m kind of scared right now.

Tomorrow is going to be the big day … the day I get to see the oncologist for the last time before the chemo/radiation hell starts. It seems like it’s been forever since my last visit, although it has only been a few weeks. This should have happened a lot sooner, however due to a slight misunderstanding between the oncologist’s office and myself about a missed appointment that set things back a week … and some difficulty in getting medical stuff from the hospital that did the surgery to the hospital doing the cancer treatment … well, let’s just say things haven’t been progressing as quickly as I would have liked.

Honestly, I’m not totally sure where this fear is coming from. For the past several weeks, I’ve been preparing myself … if that’s the right word for it … for what I know is about to come. So far, the only thing all the doctors I’ve seen over the past few weeks have agreed upon is that it’s going to get worse before it gets better. The radiation, they tell me, is going to hurt … they say it’ll irritate the cancerous abscess and most likely make that area swell up … but without the radiation the darn thing won’t heal. Hopefully that won’t last too long.

Then again, I’ve been in so much pain the past couple of months … especially when I have to … um … go number two … which unfortunately human beings need to do every day … I’m almost starting to think I’ve gotten used to it.

I also know that the chemo isn’t going to be a walk in the park either. I know it’s going to leave me weak and drained for a day or two … they say I probably won’t feel like eating … but within a few days that’ll go away until the next cycle starts. Hey, looking on the bright side … maybe this will help me lose that last 20 pounds I just can’t seem to take off. Size 34 jeans, here I come. Hey, I still have an old pair of Size 32 pants I just haven’t been able to part with – so you never know…

But, as I’ve said … over the past several weeks, I’ve been trying to prep myself for the time when the treatment will finally start … and right now, my attitude is somewhere between “Bring It On” and “Can’t we get started already?”

So, why do I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach … you know, the one you get right after you step on the banana peel, but before you hit the ground, when all you have time to do is think, “Holy Sh…” before you try to stumble into the bathroom for some Aleve.

Well, wherever this fear is coming from … I have a feeling I’ll get through this …

Somehow …

The Tale of the PET Scan…

Going in to have you pet scanned can be a scary ordeal … especially if you don’t have a pet. For a few days, you talk with your friends, to see if you can borrow their pets. And, Sure, your friends will tell you that you can borrow their cat or dog … but when the day finally comes around, you’ll find yourself sitting in the waiting room without a furry creature to try and pass off as your own and… yeah, I know … I’m joking. (Although, I do believe that pets can make ANY situation better.)

When your doctor orders you to get a PET Scan, he’s not going to tell you much about it. If you’re lucky, he’ll inform you that a PET Scan is a very good way to scan all your internal organs to see if they have cancer. Personally, I think that’s all most doctors (or, at least most of the doctors I’ve recently seen) know about it.

Everyone else, It seems, thinks they’re an expert on it.

In the week prior to my PET Scan, I heard so many stories about PET Scans… about how they will hand you a glass the size of Volkswagen Beetle filled with a liquid that takes like crap (if you’re lucky, you’ll get a flavored one, which tastes like cherry or grape flavored crap) and expect you to drink it until you just can’t take it anymore, and then, when you’re one step away from puking all over the person who gave it to you, they’ll hand you another one … about how they will strap you onto this table that jerks you around like it were a carnival ride while telling you to hold perfectly still … about how the machine that they stick you into is about as loud as a jet engine … about how … well, let’s just say you’ll hear nothing but horror stories.

You’ll also get a few weird stories too… about how someone went through an airport after their PET Scan and was detained by security for twelve hours because they had set off some kind of sensor … or about this lady who’s prescription medications caused an interaction with the drugs they gave her during the pet scan and she died … or … sigh …

Honestly, though … the reality of the situation isn’t nearly as bad as any of that.

The day before the PET Scan, I was called by the people doing the procedure and was told to report to the Emergency Room at two o’clock. However, there were a few things I needed to do first. For twenty-four hours before the procedure, I had to be on a No Carb diet. This, I found out, is nearly impossible because everything seems to have some carbs in it. After reading food boxes for several hours, I was finally able to figure out how to eat dinner.

The only other major thing was that I was not to eat or drink anything other than water for eight hours before the procedure. Personally, I think they need to pass a Federal Law that states these kind of tests must be run first thing in the morning because forcing patients to go without food for that long while being awake is akin to cruel and unusual punishment. However, I did wake up early in the morning (I’m NOT a morning person) and ate some breakfast (it felt like a last meal) … and then tried to go back to sleep (key word, “tried”).

After what felt like two years had passed, it was finally two o’clock, and I entered the emergency room of the hospital and told the nurse at the little window I was there for my PET scan. Because that was the exact place I was told to go over the phone, the nurse informed me that I was in the wrong place and I needed to go somewhere else. When I finally arrived at that other place, I had to take a number and sit and wait and wait and wait until my number came up and I could start to fill out the paperwork so I could get my PET scan.

I was still filling out the paperwork when the guy came to get me to take me to the PET Scan Waiting Room, which was really nothing more than a windowless space with a few chairs. Eventually, someone else came to get me and took me out to the parking lot.

Yes, I said “the parking lot”.

Because that is where PET scans are performed these days.

When I inquired about this, I was informed that because PET scan technology is so new, and because many of the hospitals could not afford to buy their own multi-billion dollar PET scan machines, they hired another company to do the scans. The machine was located in the back of a big-rig trailer, which went around from hospital to hospital or wherever they’re needed.

Once inside the trailer, I was asked a ton of personal questions (short of my shoe size) and had my blood taken. With this blood sample, they were able to measure how much “stuff” I was to be given, as well as what my blood sugar was because apparently that’s important too.

When everything had checked out, they then injected me with what they called “radioactive sugar water” and sent me back to the PET scan waiting room.

A half hour later (actually, thirty-five minutes, if anyone was counting) they came and got me and led me to the bathroom. Apparently, this sugar water goes through your system fairly quickly and builds up in the bladder, which causes it to light up like a light-bulb during the scan.

Having successfully peed, I was then led to the machine where I was strapped to the table where I was gently glided into and out of the PET scan machine with my hands raised above my head. Five minutes until the end of my scan, my nose started to itch. Daring to move slightly, I tried to scratch the itch only to learn my arms were both asleep.

Before long, the scan was over … the lights came back on … I was unstrapped from the table. However, before this would happen, I was told there were a few things I needed to know.

The two big things were to go to the bathroom as often as I can so the radioactive stuff they shot me with could work its way out … and I could not hold any new-born babies for at least twenty-four hours because I was radioactive enough to effect toddlers but not, apparently, anybody else. (They explained that most people hold babies very close to the bladder, which is filled with the radioactive fluid, and because babies bodies are still developing, it could cause problems.) Anyway … not a problem for me …

But, it did make me want to stay clear of those new airport scanners for a while… just in case.

 

My Life On The “C” List (Part 2)

After writing my last post, My Life on the “C” List (Part 1) … I started thinking about the nature of the club I just inadvertently joined. It’s starting to become fairly clear to be that there is something different about being on the “C” list … as opposed to being on other similar lists, if they even exist. Do people diagnosed with other illnesses get to be on the same kind of list? For some reason, I don’t think so. Or, if the list exists, I don’t think it’s exactly the same.

In the first week of July, 1994, I was diagnosed with AIDS after having spent the better part of the entire month in the hospital. First, I got the flu, and then the appendix ruptured. I got the flu again after that, and then it was pneumonia. And not just any pneumonia – it was pneumocystis pneumonia, or PCP … the kind you get with advanced HIV disease. Oops. Because my last HIV Test, which had been six months prior to this, was fine (negative), the doctors put me on some pretty awful pills (HIV Meds back in those days were NASTY!) and pretty much told me I had about six months, if that, to put my affairs in order.

To make a long story short, I pretty much told that doctor where to go and shove it and went looking for a better doctor. I like to think I found the best one Denver had to offer – he sat on several HIV-related boards, spoke at the National HIV Conferences… I figured he knew what he was doing. Sixteen years later, I’m still here, so I think that was the right decision. (That’s Doctor Greenburg!)

Anyhow … being on the HIV/AIDS List isn’t anything like being on the “C” List. While I am not trying to compare AIDS with Cancer … they are two completely different things … they do have a few major similarities. Namely, they’re both horrible incurable diseases (although, with the right treatment plan, both can be highly manageable) … both diseases have killed a great number of people … the treatments for both diseases can be fairly severe …

One of the major differences between the two “Lists” is that you rarely, if ever, see anybody on the “HIV/AIDS” List. How many HIV Positive celebrities can the average person name? Rock Hudson, maybe? Or, sports stars like Magic Johnson or Greg Louganis? And … Um … Ok …

What about celebrities on the “C” List? Well, there’s Suzanne Somers, Olivia Newton-John, Melissa Etheridge, Sharon Osborne, Jerry Orbach, Colin Powell, Arnold Palmer, Lance Armstrong, Sheryl Crow, and … and …. Goodness, I could certainly keep going, but you get the point.

Is this just a case of more celebrities having cancer than celebrities having AIDS? Maybe. But I am not totally convinced.

I would be lying if I said there still wasn’t a certain stigma attached to HIV/AIDS. This has been going on since the early days of the epidemic when the largest number of people testing HIV+ was gay men and those doing intravenous recreational drugs – not exactly the most accepted groups by society at large. Even today, that sentiment remains, even though the statistics quite clearly state otherwise. Maybe people have been saying that for so long that it is hard to convince them otherwise. Or, maybe people just don’t like these groups and are still trying to find an easy thing to strike them down with.

When I was first diagnosed with AIDS, it was hard for me to find someone to talk to … someone who had been through it and knew what I was going through. Now, bear in mind, I was diagnosed in the early 90s, before Protease Inhibitors and other meds came out that have helped expand the life expectancy of people living with AIDS, but it wasn’t quite like it was in the very early days when nobody really knew what was going on. However much I tried, I it was very hard to find someone I could relate with. I tried being open and honest about my status, however that seemed to make a lot of people run away screaming. I tried going to support groups, but found very little support. (Most were nothing more than moderated complain and moan sessions.) I talked with doctors and psychologists … but … for the most part, I was left to figure things out on my own.

Having worked in more recent years around HIV/AIDS Education and case management type services, I’ve noticed things have gotten a wee bit better … although in my humble opinion, it could still get quite a bit better.

Whatever the reason, people with HIV/AIDS get much different reactions from people (in general) than people do with cancer.

It does make me wonder, though … What about other illnesses? Do people with, say MS have the same kind of network as people with cancer do? How about slightly more common diseases like Asthma or Diabetes? Parkinson’s? How about Mental Illnesses like depression or bipolar disorder? PTSD? … Any other diseases …

Quite frankly, I don’t know.

And I wonder what that means.

My Life On The “C” List… (Part One)

Before I was diagnosed with Cancer, I was completely unaware of The Club. Unlike any other club, they don’t have meetings and minutes … there’s no website … no contact person whatsoever. They won’t call you on the phone to ask you for money … or, for any other reason for that matter. There are no dues or fees to pay. No secret passwords or handshakes to learn. Its members include people from all walks of life, all nationalities, all religions, all races… Among its members, you will find politicians, celebrities, and the social elite … as well as the common folks, too, from housewives to business owners, or even the transient or homeless. There is no official membership list for the Cancer Club … but if there was one, I’d call it the “C” List.

But, the thing is … The Club is one of the most powerful clubs that ever existed. (ok, well maybe not. Kind of all depends…)

The only way to join the club is to get diagnosed with Cancer. And once that happens, your name is on the list…

You’ll see evidence of the club whenever two members come into contact with each other. You will see a twinkle in their eyes, a knowing smile, maybe a pat on the back. You’ll notice something in the way they talk to each other.

Once you become aware of just how powerful this club is … you’ll start to see evidence of it everywhere. You’ll see people finding each other at the bus stop on your way to work … you’ll see it in the coffee houses … you’ll even see it on television. You’ll see it whenever someone finds out the person they’re talking to has cancer.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, it seemed as if every member of the club wanted to talk to me. I had family members who wanted to call me on the phone and talk … internet friends who wanted to chat … even complete strangers who sent me e-mails. At first, I was grateful. Here I was going through a rough time, and people wanted to check in with me and see how things were going. And they knew what I was going through, more or less, because they had been through something very similar.

But, therein also lies the problem…

They also wanted to tell me their cancer stories, including all the horrible stuff they went though. Sure, I get it … cancer treatment is rough, and in their own way they were trying to prepare me for what lies ahead once I start treatment. However, one can only sit through so many stories like … how much pain they were in after the radiation therapy … or how long they spent puking after chemotherapy … or how they looked at themselves in the mirror and noticed their eyebrows had fallen out … or … well, you get the picture. Several times now, I’ve gotten to the point where I start thinking that if I hear one more horror story about cancer, I’m going to scream!

Really, I don’t want to sound ungrateful … because I really do appreciate what they’re trying to do … and yes, the more stories I hear, the more I realize I’m not exactly alone with this … and I do think that makes a big difference … but, if I hear one more horror story, I think I just might go Stephen King on you… (not really, I think)

The only thing I don’t understand yet … and maybe I’ve been missing the point here … are the endings to the stories. You see, all the cancer stories I’ve heard so far pretty much follow the same plot-lines. The stories begin with someone finding out they have cancer and freaking out a little bit … then they start learning about their disease … then they start treatment, and at the same time, go through a living hell … and then the stories end with pretty much the same statement. “It’s definitely worth it.”

Ok, maybe I’ve watched too many movies and am waiting for that moment … the one in every film … where the orchestral music starts playing loudly … the main character stares off into the distance … and he has that big revelation so that the movie can continue with the next scene. Yeah, I know … that doesn’t happen in real life (except, maybe, to schizophrenics, which is an entirely different thing all together). But, I still just can’t see how we got from horror to “it’ll all be worth it.”

Yes, there are days when I am so scared … or, in so much pain … I’m so frustrated … that I have started to question this whole “worth it” thing. And I haven’t even started my treatment yet. The only thing everybody seems to be in agreement on is that it will get worse before it gets better.

Maybe there’s some unseen benefit from being on The “C” List that I just haven’t discovered yet. And I’m starting to think that’s a real possibility.

A Medical Nightmare …

A month ago, I went in for what I thought, at the time, was going to be simple, routine surgery to have some warts removed. The doctor who would perform the surgery said that all they were going to do would be to numb the area, cut and cauterize and I’d be out of there within two hours.

The morning of the surgery, I wasn’t all that worried. Sure, I get a little nervous whenever undergoing any kind of medical procedure, but I’d had warts removed before and didn’t think it was going to be a big deal. So, I tried to relax as much as possible as they took me into the little room to take off my clothes and put on those lovely hospital gowns that make it hard not to moon people… I was fairly relaxed while I waited for the surgical team to come and get me. I was in a little pain from the wart problem – but I knew that the surgery would make everything better.

Eventually, they took me into the operating room where they gave me a shot in my arm that would relax me before they helped me sit up so they could transfer me to the operating table. Then, they gave me a shot in my back to numb the area they’d be working on. And then it all went blank.

I woke up in the recovery room, slightly disoriented. Then I discovered I couldn’t move my legs. I tried to calm myself, telling myself that I just had surgery on my butt and maybe that was normal. Then, I noticed the clock on the wall. Confusion came back when I saw it was several hours later than I thought it would be. I asked the recovery room nurses what had happened, but they didn’t know anything. All they could (would?) tell me was that the surgery went alright … and as soon as I could feel my legs and go pee, I’d be able to go home.

Looking back at it now, I think I always realized something was wrong. Before the surgery, I just figured that came more from my nerves than anything else. But now … I kind of wished I had listened to that voice a bit earlier.

Once I had met the two criteria for them to release me, they allowed my roommate to come in and start the procedure to let me go home. While we were waiting for paperwork, he told me the surgeon had come out to see him after the procedure and told him that things were a little worse than they had thought. Hiding behind one of the larger warts was a fairly nasty abscess. They took a sample for biopsy and wouldn’t know any results for couple of weeks.

Those two weeks were hell.

Having worked around HIV Education for most of my adult life, I knew all about HPV, the Human Papilloma Virus. The big thing about HPV is that even though most HPV outbreaks are benign, several types of Cancer are directly related with HPV.

So, needless to say … I knew cancer was a possibility. I never thought it was a probability though.

When the biopsy results came back two weeks later as Cancer, it felt like the world had dropped out from under my feet. Over those two weeks, I had kind of convinced myself that everything was fine. The abscessed ulcer was just a normal ulcer … caused by all the stress I’d been living with … nothing to worry about.

Then to find out I have cancer … Yikes!

As I write this … it’s been a little over two weeks since I found out I have cancer. In many ways I am still trying to figure things out. In a way, I am still panicking… But, I should get though this… I hope…

The thing that sucks the most (well, other than having cancer) is waiting. I was told over the phone and had to wait almost a week before I could meet with the oncologist to know anything (other than what I learned from Google) about what kind of cancer I have … But, the oncologist couldn’t tell me much because he wanted to run a PET Scan and see samples from the biopsy. So, we have to wait for that. Once he gets all the information he needs, I’ll finally get to find out just how bad the cancer is … and what the treatment options are. So, yeah … waiting sucks.

While I wait … I’m trying not to dwell too much on it. I’m trying to keep my mind and body as occupied as they’ll let me. I’m still in some pain, so I have to sit and relax a bit more than usual … which only gives me more time to sit … and hope I don’t freak out too badly.

Nah … I think I’ll be ok.

Killing All The Right People

On October 5, 1987, CBS first aired an episode of Designing Women titled Killing All The Right People. In this episode, the Women are asked to design the funeral for a friend who they learn has AIDS, only to have to confront the stereotypes and prejudices of people in the process.

The episode was written by the series creator Linda Bloodworth-Thomason, after losing her own mother to this disease, and was inspired by something she overheard someone say – “The good thing about AIDS is that it’s killing all the right people.”

I had all but forgotten about this episode until recently when, thanks to Netflix, I found myself starting to watch the series’ second season.  When the episode was over, I had two conflicting thoughts: first, that in many ways, we’ve come a long way since it was aired in 1987; and second, that in many ways, things haven’t really changed all that much.

Medically speaking, back in 1987, nobody really knew all that much about HIV. Doctors and researchers barely knew anything beyond the bare basics. In terms of treatment, there were few options available. It wasn’t until Saquinavir (the first Protease Inhibitor) was FDA Approved and released in 1995 (12 years after this episode was aired) that there was any hope in treatment. There was still, however, a long way to go.

Today, (or as of May, 2010 – in case you’re reading this at any time in the future) there are nearly thirty medications approved for the treatment of HIV/AIDS, with many more on the horizon.

And yet, in spite of all the advancements made since this episode was first aired in 1987, in many ways things haven’t really changed all that much – especially when it comes to the two major things this episode dealt with: stereotypes and prejudice.

One of the sub-plots in this episode dealt with Mary Jo debating the distribution of condoms in high schools. Those opposed to this said that making condoms available was, in effect, encouraging kids to have sex. Mary Jo, on the other hand, gave a heartfelt speech about her friend who was dying from complications of AIDS, pointing out that making condoms available wasn’t so much about sex as it was preventing a horrible, incurable disease.

During all this, the question is asked – which do you fear worse: learning your child has had sex? Or, dealing with that child’s death?

It’s the exact same argument that I still hear about today – most recently involving the HPV (Human Pappilloma Virus) Vaccine debate. In case you didn’t know, HPV is one of the leading causes of cervical cancer in women (and anal cancer in men) and is transmitted sexually. Yet, one of the biggest reasons for not wanting the vaccine made available is because they say it will promote young people having sex.

The notion that HIV/AIDS is a “gay disease” is also briefly mentioned in the episode, something I still hear fairly often today.

But, the one that bothers me the most is the attitude that people with HIV have something wrong with them.

I’ve heard that “Good, decent people just don’t get AIDS” more times than I can count. It’s really nothing more than a more polite-sounding way of saying that only bad people get HIV. After all, it’s just those immoral gays and drug users that get it.

Sigh.

But what really irks me is when gays say the same kind of thing…

…about other gay people.

Log into just about any gay-related dating, personals, or social networking sites and do a search for keywords like “HIV” or “POZ” or “DDF UB2” and you just might be surprised at how many hits you get.

You aren’t likely to see many people who are publically admitting they have HIV. What you see instead are people proudly boasting how they do not have HIV (or, at least they didn’t get it several months before their last HIV test, which for all you know could have been ten years ago).

And why do so many of them seem so proud of not having HIV? Well, because you’ve got something wrong with you if you do have it … I guess.

In my opinion, the worst of the offenders are the ones who use “DDF UB2”, which stands for “Drug/Disease Free (You be too)”. Now, everyone who is HIV+ is not only “diseased” but now also lumped into the same category as coke-heads, meth-addicts, alcoholics, and all those other groups they seem to think are scum of the earth.

It would be one thing if they were to say, “I am scared of getting HIV so I don’t want to be around/with someone who has the virus.” It would suck to hear that, but you’re owning up to your problem and that’s your business. And who am I to tell you how you should live your life.

But, belittling someone else because they have HIV … I don’t get it.

So, what are the consequences of this? Let’s think for a second…

If people are sending out that message that people with HIV have something wrong with them, or that they matter less then those who don’t have HIV, or even that the general consensus appears to be that anyone with HIV isn’t going to meet anybody … they’re just going to keep it a secret. They’re not going to tell anybody about their HIV status. Heck, they might even try to convince you that they don’t have HIV. They’re going to do whatever it is they can do to deny it.

Because, after all, if you’re HIV+ there is something wrong with you… (URGH!)

As an HIV testing/prevention counselor, I learned that if two people think they have the same HIV status, they’re going to lower their guard … and the chances of them engaging in riskier behavior goes up …

Think about it…

How far have we gone since the day “Killing All The Right People” aired?

“You know…” I do?

When I was much (much) younger, I had a few slightly annoying habits. One of them, which I swear was very short lived, was that I said the word “like” a bit too much, and it drove people crazy. If I said the word when it was appropriate (such as in the sentence, “I would like some Chocolate, please.”) that was alright. But, like, when I, like, used the word when it was, like, totally inappropriate … well, people didn’t like appreciate that very much.

Thankfully, after I quickly got tired of everyone (teachers, parents, neighbors, etc…) correcting my speech, I stopped saying that word.

This evening, I started watching American Idol, which I normally don’t do because I just don’t get into those singing-competition shows. They’re just not my cup of tea. If, say, the person getting voted off every week had a large vat of mud poured on them just before they left the show … or, if they found a way to incorporate a car chase or something that blows up – then I might watch. (Might)

Normally I don’t run out of the room as quickly as I can (I would have changed the channel had my roommate not been such a big fan of the show) but tonight I did … for two reasons. It was partly because I didn’t want to be subjected to Justin “Baby-Baby-Baby-Baby-Oh-Baby-Baby-Baby-Baby-oh-Baby” Bieber (I prefer songs with more than one word in them) … but the main reason was that listening to the Top Three contestants talk was starting to sound like fingernails down the chalk bard … at least to me.

Here’s what was said … as best as I can remember it:

Ryan Seacrest: What is it like to be in the Top Three?

Contestant: Well, you know …

(Ryan Seacrest stares blankly because he doesn’t know what it is like)

Contestant: It is, you know, so much, you know, fun. I am, you know, having the time of my life, you know. It, you know, is so exciting, you know. I, you know, went back, you know, to my home town, you know, and they, you know, threw me a parade, you know, and there were all these, you know, people screaming my name, you know. And, I was, you know, blown away, you know, because, you know, it, you know, was so, you know, cool.

(Ryan Seacrest stares blankly because he has no idea what The Contestant just said.)

All three of the Top Three contestants spoke like that.

I realize that a lot of young people today say “you know” in a very similar way that kids said the word “like” when I was much (much) younger. But, isn’t it starting to get a little out of hand?

Here we have the top three contestants on a very popular show, and they all sound like uneducated buffoons because they can’t say utter four words without saying “you know”.

I am not saying that everyone on television needs to speak prim and proper English that would make Mrs. Whozit, third grade English Teacher proud – but, can we at least form sentences that are a tad bit easier to understand?

The “Half Age Plus 7” Rule

Recently, I ran across this article from The RagBag covering a topic that I had just never heard about before: The “Half Your Age Plus 7” Rule for determining whether or not the age difference between you and your partner is socially acceptable or not.

The first thing that struck me as odd about this whole thing is that, according to the above graphic, you are only allowed to live 70 years, while your partner is allowed to live to the ripe old age of 130. I hardly believe this is fair, even if nobody over the age of 127 is allowed to be in relationships.

Now, according to this guide, a 20 year old could not date a 35 year old because it would not be, to use the guide’s terms, “socially acceptable.” However, a 20 year old could date a 17 year old – even though in most US States that person could be arrested for Statutory Rape.

So, I guess the “rule” isn’t perfect, eh?

Personally, I don’t think it’s a big deal if anyone wants to date someone outside the whole “half age plus seven” rule. Today, it seems like lasting relationships are fairly rare … so if two people find love outside the rule – who am I to say if it is acceptable or not.

The Problem With Online Personals

If I made a list of all the things I think most people will never be able to understand, it would contain things like Quantum Physics, the Chicago Public Transit System, and of course Lady Gaga’s Costume Designer. However, the top of that list could easily be those websites where people post personal ads.

It seems like every time I do just about anything on the internet without being bombarded by countless ads for services. There’s all the email spam that asks questions like, “Are you feeling lonely tonight?” or “Would you like to meet singles in your area?” Then there’s all those ads that appear on sites like Google and Facebook that show a picture of some attractive person and a message that says he or she is waiting for you, and all you need to do to meet them is to create your free account.

One of the problems is that there are so many out there to chose from that (a) they all have to compete with each other by placing so many ads that the internet is about to burst like an overfilled balloon, and (b) if you are interested in these kinds of sites, you’ll have absolutely no idea where to begin.

If you start to look at these sites, you’ll notice they come in two varieties. The first kind try to attract as many people as possible and appear to be based on the theory that if you get enough people to use the service, chances are sooner or later someone will find someone they like. On the flip side, it also means that they have a lot more people you won’t like, either.

The other kind are more specialty sites that attract a much smaller potential client base that are more geared to specific groups of people, such as people with fetishes or the children of teenage lesbian Nazi hookers who were raped by UFO aliens, because let’s face it – there are just certain things some people don’t want to say about themselves on those larger sites.

Don’t get me wrong, some of those sites aren’t all that bad. And if they allow people to find love … then more power to them, you know?

Once you log into any website with personal ads, you’ll discover they’re all pretty much the same. You aren’t going to be able to do anything until you first set up your free account. So you spend ten minutes to a year filling out their form, typing your name and email address, uploading a photo, then after you think that photo isn’t all that flattering, you upload another photo of yourself, you delete the first photo … then comes the questionnaire portion where it asks you more questions than your psychologist does … some of these questions will be useful, such as “Do you prefer blond or brunette hair?” while other questions like, “If you were a flavor of ice cream, which flavor would you be and why?” only get asked because they ran out of questions to ask and happened to be watching The Dating Game on the Game Show Network at the time.

Finally you reach the end of the process, but you still can’t do anything on the site. After blindly clicking several links, you finally discover they sent you a verification email which you need to respond to before it’ll let you onto the site. In your email, you find the verification instructions, which usually involves clicking a link and typing some bizarre combination of letters into a box or solving a mathematical problem that would have confused Albert Einstein. Once that is done – you’re finally able to browse the site.

Once you start to get familiar with the site, you will discover that there are some features you will not be able to use unless you hand over your credit card information and the secret formula for Coke-A-Cola. Once you hand those over, you’re well on your way to having your second revelation:

None of the features you just paid for will help you find a date for Saturday night. In fact, most of them are there just to make you depressed or feel more lonely than you used to be.

You see, at lot of these features seem pretty cool at first, but quickly turn the opposite direction once you start to think about it. Take, for instance, a feature like the one where it will tell you how many people visited your profile. You click the link and discover that on your first day, fifty people viewed your profile. That’s pretty cool, eh? Well, yeah, until you realize that not a single one of them except for the one hundred and fifty year old Jack Benny look-a-like actually sent you a message.

Another feature I don’t think I will ever understand the reason for are the smiles (or winks, waves, gropes, etc… depending on what the site wants to call it). They are kind of like the “Poke” thing on Facebook which appears to be some form of online tag related game (except there is no running around). The rules of the game appear to be somewhat simple. Person A “pokes” Person B. Person B has two options. They can either “poke” Person A back (tag, you’re it) or they can declare Person A the ultimate “Poke” winner by refusing to play the game all together.

Perhaps Betty White was right. Facebook does often seem like a complete waste of time.

When it comes to a personals website, this feature might sound like a good idea, at first. After all, it gives the user a way to break the ice. But, once you start to think about it for awhile, you realize it’s just a way to say “I like you, but I don’t like you enough to actually say ‘Hello!’.”

The absolute worst feature of these websites are the fact that they will allow anybody to use them. Once again – this sounds good at first … until you realize that the vast majority of users have the personality of a turtle, the likability of a used car salesman, and the most recent picture they have of themselves was taken sometime before the Civil War.

In all seriously, I don’t want you to think that everything you read on a personals site is a flat out lie. Sure … Some of it is … but there is a lot of exaggeration too – especially when it comes to certain information such as age, weight, or the number of times they have been mistaken for a porn star or supermodel.

But there are also a small number of people out there who actually do fit the criteria you are looking for … and that is why we keep logging in for more.

Boyfriend vs. Brad Pitt

The other day, I ran across a blog post I thought was interesting. It started off by stating that if you looked over at your boyfriend and would rather see Brad Pitt, you’re not alone. Personally, if I looked at my boyfriend (ok, if I had a boyfriend) and saw Brad Pitt sitting there, I’d probably start freaking out. Then, I’d start looking around for Angelina Joile ‘cause let’s face it, I’ve seen Gone in 60 Seconds and those two Tomb Raider movies and that woman could totally beat my ass in a fight with one hand tied behind her back.

Seriously, though…

The above noted blog post referenced a study done by The Good Surgeon Guide, which appears to be a organization in the UK that helps people locate plastic surgeons. Many of this study’s findings do deal with opinions about plastic surgery, so it kind of makes me wonder about the validity of the findings. It also makes some fairly vague statements, like how 83% find celebrity more attractive than their boyfriend. (Ok, which celebrities? Are we talking Brad Pitt here, or Nick Nolte, or who?)

One of the general impressions I got when reading about the study was that many of the women polled thought their boyfriends could look better, dress better, or at least could improve their appearance somehow. (Not that they all thought their boyfriends looked bad or were embarrassed by how they looked.)

When I read about that, I flashed back to when I first started dating, even if that was around twenty years ago. I even remember one of those videos they used to make us watch in Health Class – it featured some guy getting ready for a date. They start off by talking about proper hygiene, and the importance of making a good impression. The poor guy in the film spends perhaps a little too much time in picking out the right shirt and tie, spends a few minutes with a rag to buff his shoes, and doing whatever he can do to look his best. Then, before he heads out, the narrator starts talking about proper date etiquette (be nice to your date, show them the proper amount of attention, and of course don’t forget to hold the door open for them) and the golden rule appeared to be that it was important to make a good impression.

Is it still like that today? Not really.

I am not trying to say that wearing jeans on a first date (or any other date for that matter) is a bad thing. Or that even such things bother me. What bothers me, if that is the right word, is that the whole dating scene has changed, and I don’t think I understand it.

When I am on a date, in some ways I expect to be impressed. After all, if I don’t like what I see, then chances are I’ll take a cab home after dinner and skip the movie all together. Not that I have ever walked out in the middle of a date … ever. Except for that one time. But, that wasn’t because he was wearing jeans, tee shirt, and cowboy hat to the opera – that was because of the belching contest he got into during the intermission with a ten year old.

What bothers me, if that’s the right word, is how the old way of trying to impress someone on a date appears to have been replaced by the philosophy along the lines of, “this is who I am, take it or leave it.”

It’s almost as if the focus has changed somehow from, “I like you and want to be with you” to “if you want to spend time with me, you have to take me as I am.”

Or, maybe it is like what this study says … that some men just don’t care as much about their appearances as they used to …

Or, is it a case that we idolize our celebrities more than we used to? It would have been nice had they been less vague about the results of this study. For example – what is it about the “celebrity” these women liked more than their boyfriends or spouses? Was it just a case of “my husband doesn’t do anything but sit around the house every Saturday and drink beer while watching football, which doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as Brad Pitt’s latest trip to Africa where he helped build a school for orphans. Or, are they trying to say that Brad Pitt looks better in his couple-thousand-dollar Prada suit than their boyfriend who has to wear the hundred dollar generic suit he got at Target? Or, the ten dollar Value Village suit? Or, those jeans he’s been wearing for ten years…

Still … I do have to find that men today don’t tend to look as good (or, perhaps I should say the word “classy”) as they used to. Since when did men stop caring all that much about their appearance? How many of them spend hours upon hours at the gym to look their best, only to don flip-flops, tank-tops, and that hair style that looks like they just rolled out of bed that seems to be so popular today – isn’t that a bit counterproductive?

Maybe some things I will just never understand.

(P.S. … Dear Brad Pitt. If you are reading this, I sincerely hope you didn’t mind me using you as an example, and I hope you’ll take it as a compliment. I did not mean to imply that you were gay, and I hope nobody would think I even tried to imply that. Had I have wanted to imply that, I would have probably used that fashion magazine photo of you in a dress (you know the one) rather than the one I did use, of you in a good looking dress shirt. I was merely using you as an example … the same example lemondrop.com used. Finally, in my own defense, I once looked up from my date and saw a celebrity (in this case, Nia Vardolis, and she was sitting at the table next to mine) and I did freak out. But, that was only after I tried to engage her in conversation, thinking she was someone I had done quite a bit of volunteer work with. I immediately realized my mistake and apologized before I realized why she looked so familiar. I do hope you don’t start to worry about sitting next to me at some restaurant and me freaking out. I will try not to do that if I find myself in that situation. Oh, and please tell your charming wife that while I really do think she’d win in a fight against me, I think she’s a brilliant and talented actress. Thank you, Brad. I mean Mr. Pitt. Sir.)