Christmas 2000

I had a request that I post this photo since it was hard to see clearly in the newsletter. It took me a little while to find the file, but here it is. This is the last Christmas we had with Mom (center)-- she died on January 26th, 2001, exactly one month after this photo was taken. It's the last photo I have of her, as far as I know.

I beg your pardon...?

They MEAN it, too. People, albeit drunker than I am right now, have been killed and/or maimed!

(Note: I posted this from my cell phone on my way home last night after a night out drinking and moviegoing with Darla.)

My First "Moblog" Post

I set up my Blogger account to accept mobile submissions, so if I see anything out in the world that I find interesting, I'll post it on the spot... All you people out there "doing crack" (a.k.a. Plumbers Butt) better watch out.

I took this photo sitting at Starbucks-- look closely...

My Precious

My little Emerald is such a sweet natured girl. She appeared at my apartment door when she was just a few weeks old. I heard a crying sound in the hall and thought it was a baby crying. I opened the door to find her looking up at me. There was no question in that moment that she would be staying. That was 16+ years ago.

She is starting to become frail, and spends the majority of her time on the top of the cable box warming her aching body, but she makes a point of coming to see me for at least a few minutes every night when I go to bed.

I hate seeing her get so old. She's saved me many times with her sweet attention.

Measuring Your Life in Christmases

For the past several years I have spent most Thanksgivings and many other holidays with my friend Rachel and her family in Mt. Kisco, NY (Westchester County). I have been invited for Christmas numerous times but have always declined. I just couldn't fathom the idea of trying to fit into another family's rituals and traditions. Not that I never felt welcomed-- quite the opposite. But Christmas was always such a special time for Mom, and it hasn't been right since she died. Up to that point, I could count on one hand the number of times I had been away from Mom and Dad for the holidays.

Seven years ago was the first Christmas after Grandma died, and I knew that was going to be a hard one for Mom, so I made a point of being home. It was a sad year.

Six years ago, Mom had not been well, and she asked that Matt and I both make sure to be there-- I think she knew it might be her last. On Christmas morning, after we went through our traditional Christmas morning rituals (the number of gifts we all always had was borderline obscene), Mom sat us down on the floor and she went through her hope chest, explaining the significance of everything to us, and passing along mementos of her life: Grandmas's wedding night nightgown, baby booties, childhood toys, photos, artwork, family bibles, books, grandpa's wallet and railroader emblems. It was hard to sit and participate in this, but it was something she clearly needed to do. She died 1 month later.

Five years ago was the first Christmas after (and close to a year since) Mom died. That year it was all about being there to make the void feel less intense for each other. We tried to do everything the way Mom used to, but it was "off."

I think I've been home once since then, for our first family Christmas with Lynne, a.k.a. "Cousi-Mom" (that's another posting...) in the family. It was nice, but somewhere in there I realized that Christmas seemed to have lost a lot of its meaning for me since Mom was gone and my ex and I had split up. I have often found myself saying that maybe next year I will have Christmas back-- will have a reason to want to do it up again.

This year I found myself a little closer, but I didn't want to get caught up in the rat race. In what can only be described as a serendipitous turn of events, the whole family (Dad and Cousi-Mom, Grandma, Matt, and I) all decided to forego gifts this year and instead pool our money to give to a needy family. It felt right, and really eased the pressure.

Then when my annual invitation came from Rachel and her family, I think I surprised everyone, including myself, by accepting. When I am with them, I often finding myelf remarking how much they remind me of my own family. I think Mom and Rachel's mom Lynne would have really gotten along well, and Rachel's dad Peter reminds me of Dad, in humor if not in poilitics. The sibling dynamic consists of a lot of playful teasing, but their love for each other is never in question. A recurring playful line was "You ruined Christmas"-- ironic in that it highlights the pressure on families to make everything perfect when none of us are, yet the simple fact that everyone was together makes it perfect in every way-- and that can't be ruined.

The afternoon was spent playing games-- Pictionary in particular. In an interesting twist, their family makes up their own phrases to draw instead of using the cards. In another point of remarkable similarity to my family, the phrases tended to revolve around bodily functions-- imagine the laughter in watching your sisters draw anal leakage, diarrhea, booger eater, and the like.

Then it happened.

Earlier in the week I had jabbed myself in the thumb with a screwdriver. It didn't seem like a big deal, but on Sunday afternoon, while the closest thing to a happy, traditional family Christmas I had had in 8 years was taking form, my arm started to feel tingly and sore, and my thumb started throbbing. When I pulled up my sleave to look, I could see streaks of red shooting up my arm. I could actually follow the veins in my arm up from my hand as far up as my elbow. I figured that wasn't good.

After a traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner of 7 types of fish, I pulled Rachel aside and told her that I was going to need her to take me to the hospital after all the evenings festivities were over. She wanted to do it then, but I knew that even in the best of circumstances, there is no such thing as a quick trip to the ER.

During the exchanging of gifts, lots of laughter was shared with we all opened our bags of coal with messages like, "Jerk!" and "Sorry your family are such jerks!" and my favorite, given to me "Maybe next year, Dorothy!" And there were tears when Rachel's grandmother saw the beautifully framed "old" photos of herself and her late husband that Rachel's sister Christina gave to Lynn. It was perfect, and so moving. As Truvy says in Steel Magnolias, "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."

Rachel and her brother Richard drove me to the hospital after all the gifts were opened and things were winding down. She was intrigued by the the huge fish tank in the waiting room. I said, "Rachel, back away from the fish tank-- It's Chrismas Eve, and you're Italian. You're scaring the fish!" I thought it was funny at the time...

I was called in by the triage nurse, and she proceeded to scold me for not coming in immediately when I noticed the red streaking up my arm. I told her I didn't want to ruin Christmas... Again, I thought I was pretty funny, even though I was serious. I had a fever and my BP was up (I'm convinced it was because she was mean to me) and they rushed me back so I could (wait for it... wait for it...) WAIT! I lay there and waited and observed an exercise in ineffeciency that really worked my nerves.

It wouldn't have been so bad, except I was in Curtain 6 (curtain meaning: no privacy). Not that I needed any embarrasing procedures, but I was privy to WAY too much information about the old guy in Curtain 5-- "he's breaking a lot of wind, but hasn't had a good crap in 3 days" -- and his annoying loud obnoxious Italian New York ice-chewing son who was strutting the halls flirting with everything with two boobs. (I felt slightly bad when he offered me some gingerale later- I guess I looked sick.) When the doctor came down to examine the old guy, they decided to do a rectal. I mercifully couldn't see anyting, but I could hear as "Mrs. Old Guy" assured her husband that if he felt anyone feeling around "back there" it was just the doctor doing a rectal. And I knew when it happend, because the doctor announced that the patient was not, in actuality, impacted. What a relief!

Meanwhile, on the other side in Curtain 7, a teenaged girl who was being ruled out for meningitis (great night I picked to be in the ER) was complaining about her pain. Nurse Rached (from triage) finally told the mother that she had had the max pain meds and that the only way she could get any relief was if she would let her (wait for it... wait for it...) do a rectal. Good GAWD! I didn't realize there was actually medical benefit to it! Was this some sort of sick revenge on the part of the hospital staff that were forced to work the overnight Christmas Eve-Christmas Morning shift?! Were all patients going to be getting rectals? By this point, I had had my blood drawn by the nice Jamaican phlebotomist, gotten my tetanus shot, and had my line started connecting me to the IV antobiotics, so there was no escape. I waited... and wondered.

After being virtually ignored for 3 hours, I guess they needed the bed so I was suddenly handed a few prescriptions, rushed out the door, and headed home to the Hertel house (with my virtue intact, incidentally.)

Christmas morning was nice. Brunch at Rachel's aunt and uncle's house, then back for more food and drink and boardgames. I won Trivial Pursuit 80s Edition, thanks to a few lucky "sports" questions that dealt more with Hubba Bubba and Ms. Pac Man.

Rachel dropped me at home, and I watched "The Polar Express" (loved it) before crashing into bed.

All things considered, I had a wonderful Christmas.

I thought about Mom every single minute! But spending these two days with the Hertels, a family that reminds me so much of my own, also made me think about Dad and Matt and Grandma and Lynne too. It was nice.

And, despite spending the night in the ER, I truly enjoyed Christmas for the first since before Grandma B and Mom died.

Heart Melting Moments in the Life of a Would-be Cynic

TJ Time: the Sacred Monday Night Ritual Growing Up

Monday nights were sacred.
"Little House on the Prairie"
Pizza (Chef Boyardee crust mix and a can of sauce in a box) and a big bottle of Coke (never Pepsi)
Lights out - - TV on
Matt or I in the official position as the "giver of the foot rub" to Mom (Rose Milk lotion, always)

About 7 minutes before the end of the episode came "Tear Jerker" time, when all would be resolved and made right in the little town of Walnut Grove (or Winoka during that exciting season when they moved to the "big city").

TJ time meant Mom would cry, and bedtime was minutes away.

LHOP is as prolific to Matt and me as "I Love Lucy."

Years later, Mom and I used to get on the phone with each other when it was about to start and see who could name the episode the fastest. One or the other of us would usually be able to name it based on the name of the episode, if not the opening shots.

I still stop if I am flipping channels and come across it, and have been going through it sequentially via Netflix.

In an interesting twist of fate, we ended up meeting and becoming good friends with a real-life bit player from episode #78, "Meet Me at the Fair." Hal Hundley played the pickle judge presiding over the fierce competition including entrants Ma Ingalls and Mrs. Oleson (Ma won).

This makes Hal our six-degrees-of-separation link to Michael Landon and Half-Pint and the rest! :) I found this article about him, with a photo.

... Five, Six, Seven, Eight!

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Good, that connects with

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"A Chorus Line" was my first Broadway show back in 1983, and I became obsessed with it. After seeing it at the Shubert Theatre in NYC on a chorus trip, I saw touring companies, community theatre productions, and dinner theatre. I knew the music inside and out-- it was almost like a soundtrack to my life in the mid 1980s.

I knew I wanted to see this new revival, but I taken by surprise by the raw emotional response I had to it.

I would have been interested to see them update some of the orchestrations, and bring the setting to modern times, but the safe decision to recreate the original production ensured a solid production.

It took me back to 1983, when I was CONVINCED that my life would be spent in the theatre. It was bittersweet, because, as I have said on this blog already, my biggest regret in my life is that I lost that drive and confidence somewhere along the way.

I could go to the theatre every night, but could I take that constant reminder...?

Marfan Syndrome Public Service Announcement-- 1 OF 2

Marfan Syndrome Public Service Announcement -- 2 OF 2

If you're wondering what I do in my work, here's an example of a project I'm pretty proud of. I produced this PSA last year (I think my formal title would have probably been "Executive Producer" since there was a professional video producer that handled most of the technical logistics). Working with Anthony Rapp was a thrill-- he was so great to do it for us.


Here's the link to the PSA on YouTube, in case the above embedded version disappears again.

There were three versions of the PSA: The 45 second version also included footage and information about the Jonathan Larson Performing Arts Foundation and was played ON THE BIG SCREEN before the feature during the first 3 weeks "RENT" was in theatres in Lowes Cinemas. The 30 second version has been airing regularly on NBC affiliates around the country for the past 14 months. The 60 second version was included on the "RENT" DVD when it was released last winter, and was played at a special benefit performance that Aretha Franklin did for the NMF.

It's a Small [cyber] World

When I first started blogging, I was intrigued by a randome comment that someone posted in response to my story about Mom and her transplant, (archived from Nov 06). It surprised me that some randome person out in "cyberland" actually stumbled into my little corner of the web and was moved enough by my posting to contact me. I expect comments from people I KNOW, but it was my first anonymous "fan."

Then today I was searching around Google and came across the New York Organ Donor Network newsletter that an abbreviated version of my story was featured in a few years ago. Click here to see it... Go to page 12. It has a nice picture from our last Christmas with Mom 6 years ago.

Daily Dose of Daryl

Daryl Cagle's Professional Cartoonist's Index has SO MANY great cartoons. I'll keep posting some of my favorites.

Do it again, Mommy, do it again!

I came across this cartoon online today at http://cagle.msnbc.com/politicalcartoons/.

(click on the image to see it full size)

When Matthew and I were little, Mom would recite the Jabberwocky to us as a bedtime story. Actually, she was a theatre major in college, so she didn't merely recite it-- she performed it! I can still hear the inflection in her voice as she told the dramatic tale. When she finished, we would beg "Do it again, Mommy! Do it again!" How we didn't manage to get completely messed up by this, I'm not quite sure, but it is SUCH a great memory! Keep in mind, it was around 1972 or so, and Mom and Dad were still pretty much hippies-- and we know what that means... Mom was also a huge fan of Donovan (we played his greatest hits at her memorial service). Here's his musical version of Jabberwocky from the "HMS Donovan" album.

JABBERWOCKY
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Here's some great and fun information about Jabberwocky.

Do this! I promise it will make you smile!

Click here for something truly enjoyable!

You can send people to http://www.elfyourself.com to to it yourselves! I guarantee a laugh. It actually made me almost get into the holiday spirit a little today! Thanks, Rick, for sharing it with me!

Person of the Year, 2006

I have arrived!

According to Time Magazine, I have been named "Person of the Year, 2006." You can read about it here.

Apparently, but joining this whole blogging revolution, it put me on the short-list to receive this [not so] exclusive honor.

I'm ready for my close-up!

P.S. By reading this, you win too!

HAPPY F***ING HOLIDAYS!

Another gem from Dad:

For My Democratic Friends:

"Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, our best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. We also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the of the generally accepted calendar year 2007, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than anyother country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere . And without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishes.By accepting these greetings you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for herselfor himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within t he usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher."

For My Republican Friends:

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

I found this amusing, although it reminded me of the a**hole that got offended the other day when I said "Happy Holidays" to him. Apparently, by not saying "Merry Christmas," I had inadvertently joined the supposed "War on Christmas" or some such nonesense... Puh-LEASE, people! I don't assume your religion, so wishing you "Happy Holidays" is a way of wishing you the joy of the season regardless of how you choose to observe it! Take it that way, for "chrissake" and SEASON'S F-ING GREETINGS!

I truly despise this man...

Show me an argument opposing gay marriage that does not ultimately circle back to the bible and/or people not agreeing with the "lifestyle choice" and I will listen with genuine interest and empathy.

In the mean time, get over it!

Numb and Number

At least that's how it feels.

I've been distracted lately anyway-- today I got news that has me completely unable to focus:

My college roommate and longtime friend David has melanoma that has spread to his brain. He started radiation yesterday to treat numerous tumors.

I'm numb.

Cause and Effect

I'm












because you're

Nostalgia, Random Memory of Being a Total Geek in Junior High School

I was going through my drawers [insert tasteless comment here-- go ahead, I GAVE this one to you...] and I found my old Rubik's Cube. Good GOD!

#1- Yes, I used to be able to solve it in under 2 minutes- Far from the world record, but not bad.

#2- Yes, I kept it-- don't ask me why.

#3- I have become obsessed with teaching myself how to solve it from memory again...

#4- Yes, I definitely have Too Much Time on My Hands.

Another random memory...

Life is made up of moments that need to be given our attention
Been thinking about one of those a lot lately:

High school trip to Mexico, 1986
Touring around, seeing the sights
Spied a group of homeless people, passivly and humbly begging
First reaction, take a photo to show Mom how sad the poverty was--how the poor people looked there
Second reaction, asked young woman if she would mind if I took her picture
Shocked when she said no
The look on her face pierced my heart-- can see it still, reminding me of how careless I was. It shamed her for me to ask
It was a profound moment I will never forget--so quick and thoughtless, but so much impact on me
Wish I could take it back
But I learned something important in that moment
Pride - Dignity - Humility - Arrogance - Compassion
I didn't get it then -- I try to now.

Ashes Among the Aspens, Please....

One of my happiest memories is a family camping trip when I was about 10 or 11 years old. The original plan was to drive the trailer ("Post's Hole," named after the couple we acquired it from) to Aspen, but we stumbled across an isolated meadow with a stream flowing through it, nestled in a mountain valley near Cottonwood Pass.

There were no other people around, giving us what seemed like the whole world to ourselves. The storybook view was made perfect by the beaver that had built its dam there and seemed to welcome our unexpected intrusion. We ended up staying there for the entire trip rather than continue on to Aspen. We hiked up into the aspen and spruce groves, played near the stream, made s'mores, sat by the fire-- all the usual camping fun.

I fell in love with aspen trees that weekend. Ever since, I have found an amazing sense of peace among the aspen groves, and when the time comes, I want to have my ashes scattered somewhere deep in the Colorado Aspens.

I found these images on a random website I came across while googling for pics of aspens... While they're not actually the place we camped, they are from the Cottonwood Pass area, and they look pretty damn close.

The bottom line...

TOTALLY random thought.....

I am in love with this house that I drive by every day on my way to work... It reminds me of one of those charming Thomas Kincaid paintings (like the one below).







It makes me want to be rich-- or a "kept man," either one...

Ouch! Score one for Pop!

I was chatting with Pop earlier-- a typical bantering back and forth ensued between the more-moderate-than-he-thinks liberal and probably-less-radical-than-I-accuse republican/libertarian:

Jon: Did you see the website www.idealist.org/? It's a good clearinghouse of job postings and volunteer opportunities for the non-profit sector.

Pop: Sounds like it's run by a bunch of democrats.

Jon: Yeah, they're the ones that try to change the world for the better.

Pop: If it was run by Republicans, it would be called www.realist.com.

Jon: No, if it were run by Republicans, it would be called www.assh*le.com.

Pop: That sounds like a gay sex website.

Jon: Don't go there. Hey, I wonder if there really is a website called assh*le.com-- let me try to bring it up.

Pop: Don't be surprised if you see a picture of yourself on there.

o-u-c-h!!!!!

Score-- Pop: 1 Jon: 0

Seriously, it was funny. I'm glad we can joke about these things. It's the only way we will find common ground in some areas.

(Incidentally, assh*le.com and realist.com are actual websites. Assh*le is pretty much what you might expect-- a-hem-- and realist is real estate listing service... I disabled the links so no one would go there by mistake... LOL)

Crack Pot

A friend sent me this today--THANKS SUZANNE! I had seen it before, but thought it would be a nice posting...

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole, which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been created to do.

After 2 years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream:

"I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my Side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house."

The old woman smiled, "Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house."

Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You've just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.

SO, to all of my crackpot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path!

Car-ma!

If there is any justice in this world, the person who did this to my car will sprout an embarrasing cold sore on his wedding day!

I was stopped in a left turn lane, and some jack-off hit me. He stopped for half a second before tearing off into traffic. I wasn't able to get the license plate, although I WAS able to see the scared look on the face of the 7-8 year old child in the back seat of the car.

The lesson this S.O.B. taught to his kid is that it is ok to run away from your problems, to NOT take responsibility for your actions, and disregard basic human decency.

Two years ago, another jack-ass BACKED UP at an intersection after deciding at the last second that he didn't have time to beat the light. He crunched my front end and took off. That time my car was totalled.

Almost 6 years ago, my Dad and I were run over by a big red Dodge Dakota pick-up truck while crossing the street in a crosswalk near my house. The bastard took off, leaving Dad lying in the street and me in the gutter screaming in a panic. (We both miraculously walked away from that, although the driver couldn't have known that.)

How do these people live with themselves??? I believe in something like karma-- or CARma, so they will get theirs!

"What does that stand for?"

World AIDS day was Friday, and I was a little disappointed that it was such a NON-ISSUE to most of the world. If I'm totally honest with myself, I have to admit that I haven't been as "up" on the issue as I was when it was my job... But I feel good about my efforts to share with my own circle that it is an important day.

In addition to my posting and emails I sent to everyone in my contact lists, I wore the red ribbon I got for my donation at "The Color Purple" all weekend-- to a surprising response. None, actually. I wanted peopel to comment on it-- to acknowledge it's meaning. Not only did that not happen, I actually had 3 people --THREE!!!-- ask me what it meant!

Unbelievable...

WORLD AIDS DAY

How many people realize that today is World AIDS day?

How many people even remember what a crisis HIV/AIDS was 10-15-20 years ago?

How many people even realize that AIDS is STILL one of the most devastating crises facing the world today?

How many people remember when nobody talked about AIDS because it didn't affect "people like them?"

How many people remember coming of age in a time where, in addition to facing stigma for his/her sexual orientation, they had to worry if their physical expression of love (or a mutual celebration of sexual attraction) came with the threat of life threatening illness and discrimination?

How many people remember when finding out that a person had HIV meant that s/he would probably be dead in 18 months? A time before toxic drug cocktails starting keeping our friends alive longer at cost of devastating their bodies in other ways?

I say NOT NEARLY ENOUGH!!! And as importantly, that those times are not just memories. They are RIGHT NOW! It's not over!

But nobody talks about HIV/AIDS anymore. Teenagers -- people in general-- no longer have a sense of urgency about protecting themselves.


Many people in this country have the opportunity to take advantage of effective treatments, but most of the people in the world who are affected by HIV/AIDS do not have this luxury.

It's a huge problem, and there is no simple answer. We can't rely on big business or the government to solve these problems (many argue that it's not their job to), so please support foundations such as the William J. Clinton Foundation, which is just one of many groups doing great work to make a difference.

I stopped working in HIV/AIDS 6 years ago because I had a terrible experience at an AIDS Service organization-- I won't name them, because they have threatened to sue anyone that bad-mouths them publicly, but I WILL say that they are located about 40ish miles outside NYC in a suburb very hard hit by the HIV/AIDS crisis. Hell, I'll say they are EAST of NYC and NOT in Connecticut, so pull out a map and figure it out. They SUCKED, and senior management there should be ashamed of themselves for being so self-serving and such an embarrassment to a field that I was, up to that point, proud to work in.

This particular organization was on the far end of the spectrum from The Boulder County AIDS Project (BCAP) , where I first started volunteering in the early 1990s, and was hired on staff a few years later. It is the job that I have continued to compare all others to, and I can't say enough about how well-respected they are in the Boulder community, and among AIDS service organizations around the country. They "get it," and they make a difference.

I only stopped working in the field because I couldn't find the "right" job after leaving LIA--- oops, I almost said their name-- after leaving my last job. I landed here at the National Marfan Foundation, and felt like I have a chance to do good here, so here I am, and I am happy here. But I still support HIV/AIDS related organizations when I can. One of my favorite organizations is Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS because it links my love of theatre to my passion for HIV/AIDS education.


You can get some basic stats from Until There's a Cure-- this link is to their "vital statistics" page. You might know this organization as the group that sells silver cuff-style bracelets with a raised AIDS ribbon on the side-- you can get them in The Body Shop and other retailers. More information on the bracelets can be found here. I used to have one of the silver bracelets, but I gave it to my friend Stella several years ago. Her son Jerry was my first friend (that I knew of, of course) who contracted HIV, and his death a few years later devastated me. I credit him for my becoming interested in non-profit work, so in a way, I owe my career to him. Here's his picture, and his AIDS Memorial Quilt (from the Names Project Foundation) panel is the bottom right one in the image at the top of this post (incidentally, the one next to his, Don Holloway, was a colleague I did HIV/AIDS volunteer work with in 1989 as well). I miss Jerry every day!


So today, World AIDS Day, 2006, please take a moment to remember. Remember people who we have lost before their full potential could be revealed. Remember those who are living with HIV/AIDS every day, fighting on to keep living, showing the power of hope and determination. And remember those who still need to be educated about HIV/AIDS to protect themselves and slow the horrendous course of this pandemic. Please... PLEASE REMEMBER!

If you wish, you can go here to light a "virtual candle" commemorating the day.

I'm beautiful, and I'm here!

Good GOD I love the theatre!

Last night, my dear friend Darla and I went to see The Color Purple on Broadway. Loved the movie, loved the book, and wasn't sure what to expect from a musical version. After an enjoyable, but not overwhelmingly spectacular first act (mostly weakened by a disjointed feeling in the script, NOT the performances), Act 2 was OUTSTANDING. Watching Celie be beaten down by life throughout Act 1 was necessary, but it was watching her transformation through act two that was magic on stage!

The first act ended with Shug giving Celie all the letters from Nettie. Act 2 opened with a spectacular scene in which Celie, through reading Nettie's letters, was transported to Africa. They created a parallel between Sofia's encounter with the white Mayor's wife and the political unrest in Africa to move the story along. It was exciting to see how they pulled off what Speilberg did so well on film!

Sofia (Felicia P. Fields) stole the show. Her song "Hell No!" was an anthem to women standing up to even the thought of a man raising his fist to her. After the show, the cast did a curtain speech to collect money for their annual fundraiser for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS and she was in the lobby collecting money. What a vivacious and gorgeous woman! Here's a picture of her taking the donation that Darla and I made.

I was reduced to a heaving, wimpering, cry-baby with Celie's big moment in Act 2 when, after all she had been through, and all the wrongs she had endured, she was able to stand up and sing--

"I am thankful for knowing who I really am.

I'm beautiful, yep, I'm beautiful,

And I'm here!"

I could go to the theatre 7 days a week if I had the money to suport the habbit!