I hadn't talked to my cousin David in close to fifteen years.  This phone call was a flashback to when we were both living in Manhattan in the 1980’s and our frequent dinners eating cheap Chinese, talking non-stop and laughing with our mouths full of food. 

We had an unusual way of deciding who would pay for dinner. He was a commercial photographer and we'd meet at his studio in Manhattan’s Photography District, near the famous Flatiron Building.  

We’d hang out on a corner of Broadway for five minutes and have a contest. Whoever spotted the most cars filled with Hasidic Jews heading downtown to Brooklyn would get a free meal.  No doubt this sounds odd if you don’t know Manhattan, but there are lots of Hasidim especially in that part of the city and because of their close-knit community – both at work and back home – cars filled with bearded men in black hats were not quite but almost as common as taxicabs. 

On the phone we spoke for nearly an hour, catching up on the last fifteen years. Work, his kids, my writing, our parents, the old days, the recession - and then he asked about my health and I told him how good it was.  

"Do you know how lucky you are," he said, repeating it twice. I readily agreed, knowing that he too had many other friends who died hard deaths. We acknowledged the unfathomable randomness of life.  We discussed my great fortune and other friends, those who had it all only to be struck dead, without warning – Jake while windsurfing, Stan a vicious type of brain tumor, others from car wrecks, kidney disease and other maladies.  

I don’t always feel lucky so the reminder was a gift, one that I’ll take as I head back to New York for my 30^th college reunion in June.   

I’m excited to go. I’m looking forward to it, but wish I had more on my resume. Among the friends I’m excited to see for the first time in decades are a U.S. Congressman, a lawyer who is one of the leading activists in the fight for marriage equality, successful artists and professors too.  

And me, a writer who spends too much time not writing, with declining freelance revenues that have led me to anxiously scour Craigslist looking for more catering work, gladly serving and bartending even though I’m making the same hourly wage I made when I catered between jobs in the late 1990's.  

Swiss Chard Beggar’s Purse, Maam? 

I like the work if not the pay, but passing kobe beef sliders, swiss chard beggar's purses or pouring cocktails isn’t a bad way to make things happen. I’m proud of my resilience, my ability to put things together to pay the rent even while I am occasionally embarrassed by seeing people I know who are surprised to see me holding a tray of champagne at a wedding reception.   

After all I’m the guy who drove a taxicab in New York City after graduating from college with honours. The guy who never worried much about earning money for the future, a creative sort, who didn’t fit in the box.  

Sometimes I can’t sleep and lie awake worrying about everything from the NY Mets bullpen to what will happen when I’m too old to work. I wish I’d done things differently, made more money and saved it, bought a house, wore suits to work, could take vacations every year. Was my lack of concern about money because my upper middle class upbringing left me deluded that things always work out or because I thought I’d be dead before I reached 40? 

Would whoever threw up in my bed clean it up? 

A month ago I lost my black necktie, the one I need for catering and was enraged at my carelessness. It would cost me another $7.99 at Ross Dress for Less to get a new one; that’s half an hour’s pay. I berated myself for the stupidity. My fury got worse. The only one Ross had in stock cost $16.99, $18.48 with tax. Determined not to spend that much I spent two hours scouring half a dozen thrift shops looking for a bargain before I returned to buy it.  I found the missing tie the following week.   

I frequently joke that I have my retirement plan almost in order. It has four parts, and three are taken care of. The three pieces in order are a hot plate, a space heater and an inflatable aero-bed. The only thing missing is a friend with a garage I can live in that has an electrical outlet that can support all three appliances without blowing a fuse. I'll be the old guy sweeping the sidewalk in front of their Victorian, whom the neighbors bring leftovers too and kindly listen to my stories about the old days, before getting away relieved. 

In college, early in my freshman year, I earned the nickname "Ralph". If you don’t know the slang, to ralph is to vomit. By October I had twice thrown up and blacked out.  When I was told I was the one who puked in the shower I thought it wasn't true because the guys in the dorm figured I was wimpy and would clean it up without much debate. The second time I woke up on a Saturday morning smelling of vomit, furious about the fact that someone threw up in my bed. 

When my roommate said it was me I didn't believe him.  After all I wasn’t a big drinker, had never listened to Neil Young before college and wasn't a sloppy drunk. 

Of course I was the culprit.  But lucky for me, my stomach couldn’t handle too much booze and despite the roster of world-class drunks on both sides of my gene pool I was spared the family affliction of alcoholism.  

Though spared the fate of becoming a drunk, the nickname lasted all four years of college. There were people who thought that was my name, including Fran, one of the nicest of the sweet ladies who worked in the dining hall. 

On graduation day she was beaming as she gave me a hug. 

“Ralph you were one of the nicest kids I ever met.  I hope life treats you well.” 

It has. Even if I’m passing trays of champagne and sleeping on an inflatable mattress in someone’s garage when I'm old it has treated me very, very well.  

Oh yeah and if you need to borrow a black necktie, let me know.  I’ve got an extra.

When I first started using a neti pot back in the 1990s.  to rinse my sinuses (what professionals refer to as ‘nasal irrigation”) friends just shook their head.  Bill Clinton was President ending the long era of conservative fear mongering and free-marketeering. Or so we thought.  Neti pots weren’t available at Walgreen’s or Wal-Mart. 

These days things have certainly changed. Not only has that conservative abberation become a permanent part of the body politic, but neti pots are sold at Walgreens and Wal-Mart and lots of my friends are raving about their new favorite snack: kale chips.  But that’s another story. 

Spring is here and I’m feeling it.  Not in my loins (that usually happens after I file my taxes April 15) but in my nostrils.  For almost as long as I’ve been using a neti pot, the allergy that plagued me has had an off again, on again romance with that headstrong mistress, the OTC drug Claritin-D.  Don’t tell my neti pot, its supposed to be all I need. 

Plus the neti is honest, unassuming and modest. Claritin is a braggart, with subway and TV ads featuring sexy and happy people picnicing or dancing in a field of blooming flowers.  But wait, they look happy, full of energy and vim, absent any sneezy and wheezy side effects of April showers and spring flowers. It’s because they’re CLARITIN CLEAR. Yeah believe that and I got this bridge that I think you’re gonna love.  Cash down and we can finance the rest.

Seems that either my herbal and homeopathic regimens didn’t work or maybe it was my inability to stay away from the lure of the water pipe that’s causing havoc in my nostrils.  I’ve given up half and half in my coffee and most of the ice cream I eat these days is dairy-free, made with coconut milk or soy. 

My battle with allergies and asthma was what got me into taking supplements, avoiding dairy and wheat and eating healthier less processed foods.  But even giving up dairy and using the neti pot doesn’t always work. 

I’m a flexitarian at heart.  Tofu today, hamburger tomorrow.  No rigid agenda here.  So if you’ve got problems with allergies and you’re on this site, you’re clearly used to figuring out ways to take care of yourself.

But if you’ve never thought of flushing your your nostrils like you clean a dirty sink read on. 

ALL EMPLOYEES MUST WASH SINUSES

Nasal irrigation is a great old-fashioned technique that once the “uggh, hell no” reflexive reaction subsides, makes common sense. It is a little annoying at first but baby it works wonders. Nasal rinsing your sneezy little snifflers can do wonders.

Rinsing with a saline or an herbal solution flushes out trapped mucous that clog the nasal lining and stimulates the cleansing power of the mucous membranes. Daily washing for two to three months can greatly reduce chronic sinus infections, allergy related congestion and other nasty, nasal nuisances. 

Now in case you're ready to rush into the bathroom and put your nostrils under the faucet, don’t. This self-treatment is safe and effective, but no matter how clean you’re drinking water is, be sure to use distilled water only. 

And of course, chronic problems do require the care of a health professional.

While there is disagreement, some research has indicated that prolonged nasal irrigation may alter the immunological balance of the nasal mucousa and increase sinus infections. Again the scientific evidence is very mixed.  I suggest that you do your own research.  Talking to your Doctor might help too, but remember asking MDs about alternative therapies is sometimes like asking a Northern California seal about where to find a good Italian restaurant in San Francisco. They may know the area, but there expertise may be limited.

TIME FOR A NEW HOME APPLIANCE; SORRY THEY DON’T COME IN CHROME

Two "appliances" can make washing your nostrils easier than washing that man right out of your hair.

Glass nasal douches (or irrigators), rubber sinus bulbs and neti, or nasal pots are now commonly available.  Regardless of your choice of "weapon," the guidelines are the same.  For chronic sinus problems wash twice daily. As stated before, use clean, distilled water.

A nasal irrigator (or douche) washes water down one nostril right into your mouth. Spit it out and you're done. Pretty simple. A nasal pot is what I prefer, though I’m versatile. Bend over, tilt your head to the side, pour water into one nostril and wait until it comes out of the other one. If using a nasal bulb, the same bend and tilt rules apply. The bulb allows greater pressure but be gentle and don't squeeze too hard

Dissolve one teaspoon of salt per cup of water for your rinsing.  Use warm, tepid water.  If you experience a sharp stinging with even the smaller amount of salt, rinse with plain water and over time add salt.

I'M GONNA WASH THAT MUCOUS RIGHT OUTTA MY NOSE

If your sinuses are backed up more than the freeway during rush hour, good old H2O may not flow through the sinuses. Keep up the rinsing and as the accumulated mucous dissolves, water will begin to flow more freely. 

Again, this might feel uncomfortable but pain is not part of the protocol. If so, talk to a health practicioner. This isn’t about force its merely about gravity.  One other important point is that if you are experiencing an ear infection or feel strange sensations in your ear while rinsing (a sign of a probable ear infection) don't irrigate, but instead talk to your Doctor.  (Do I sound like your mother?)

When I first tried I ended up muttering to myself "this sucks," gasping and hacking after that salty mix went right down my throat. After a few tries it got better and now I rinse regularly.

And remember that the ridicule of your loved ones or roommates as you flush salt water down your nose is something to be proud of.  You're a free thinker. But don't forget: wash out the sink when you're finished.

Remember you might be so congested that the water won't flow through your nose.  So be patient,  keep washing and the results will appear.

PARSLEY, SAGE, ROSEMARY AND TEA TREE

Joani Keim Loughran, author of many books on the healing power of aromatherapy, recommends a variation on the nasal theme. Mix equal parts of baking soda and pure sea salt and store in a cool dry place. Add 1 teaspoon of this solution to one cup of water and flush.  She recommends one cup of solution for each nostril, and rinsing up to three times a day during periods of infection.

Additionally Loughran recommends adding herbs to your nasal wash.  Use one drop of either tea tree oil or rosemary verbenone.

If you can't find rosemary verbenone, red thyme oil is also a good choice. Loughran, however, prefers the verbenone variety of rosemary because it is gentler and just as effective. Regardless of your choice, it's important to remember that essential oil is strong and your mucous membranes are sensitive so only use one drop.  More isn't better in this case, it is worse.

IF YOU WON'T WASH IT STEAM IT

If you're still not convinced about washing your sinuses, try this simple remedy - some steam up your nose. The addition of some eucalyptus, red thyme or rosemary verbenone can also aid your battle against snotty sinus woes. Keep your eyes closed when breathing in that steam folks, and feel those sinuses breath a sigh of relief. Of course common sense requires that you keep a proper distance away from the steam, in order to avoid burns.

Some parts of this column first appeared in a column written for the now defunct website Fidget Wellness. 

Question:What does your body and the New York City sewer system have in common?

A) Lots of rats running around the place living the good life.

B) Chewing gum, candy wrappers and all the stuff from storm drains strewn all over.

C) Bacteria, bacteria and more bacteria.

D) Zombies plotting their strategy take over the land of the living

Unless you are unusual, worry not about the zombies folks, the correct answer is bacteria and lots of it.  No don’t step away from the computer and drink some toilet bowl cleaner, this is good news.

Your body is host to billions and billions of bacteria, what doctors call intestinal flora. As the Definitive Guide to Alternative Medicine  poetically puts it, think about your body as a rainforest, (minus the parrots and monkeys, let's hope) a delicate ecosystem where these kinds of bacteria live and thrive in magical balance.  

TAKE CARE WHEN TAKING ANTIBIOTICS

Magical, that is, until the presence of external forces throws the bacterial balance off kilter. Food poisoning will tip the bacterial apple cart but the most common threat to this gentle ecosystem  are antibiotics, though steroids and oral contraceptives also do their damage to those good bacteria too.

Now don't get me wrong. Antibiotics represent a miracle in health  care. Many infections, diseasesand illnesses (at least for those of us in developed nations) no longer pose the mortal danger of years past because of them.

Yet overuse of antibiotics has created a situation where mutant viruses resist antibiotic treatment, and even relatively simple ailments require antibiotic treatment thousands of times stronger than was needed 30 or 40 years ago. So if your doctor writes antibiotic prescriptions faster than Manhattan meter maids write parking tickets, ask questions.  

PROBIOTICS ARE A GUT'S BEST FRIEND

While some of my friends consider me a paranoid pill popper I take probiotics daily. Probiotic supplements contain a variety of several of the most common and healthy bacteria in your gut and support your good old and sometimes overworked immune system. While many like myself believe supplements are the best way to replenish the intestinal flora and keep it healthy, yogurt and other fermented foods are also beneficial.

If you’re not going to take a supplement as part of your daily regimen when antibiotics are necessary make sure to take a probiotic supplement.  Be sure to read the directions on the label as many brands are best taken on an empty stomach to allow those healthy bugs the chance to reach your gut without stomach acids killing them off en route to their final destination in your GI tract.

As mentioned, cultured yogurt is also a great way to keep the bad guys from taking over the intestinal neighborhood. But some of the best known brands, like Activia, are loaded with sugar and far more expensive than many natural brands found in health food stores and the natural section of your supermarket. 

BALANCING ACT

When antibiotics or other factors disturb the intestinal bacteria an unhealthy balance is created allowing opportunistic bacteria and yeasts – the bad guys in the jungle – to take over the proverbial rainforest and flourish while the good bacteria disappears. 

This problem affects both men and women but the most commonly understood form of it is vaginal yeast infections. In some HIV-positive individuals thrush, an overgrowth of yeast in the mouth, is also found. 

In addition to prescription and over the counter antifungals there are a wide variety of herbal and homeopathic remedies available too.  Many herabl products contain combinations of garlic, pau d’arco (a Brazilian herb), black walnut and other immune supporting nutrients.  Homeopathic formulae are available in oral and topical forms as are all-natural suppositories for yeast infections.

Of course diet can upset the bacterial balance too. Eating too many simple carbohydrates, lots of sugar and fermented foods like beer and yeast-risen breads can exacerbate imbalances.

Of course anyone reading this doesn’t need someone wagging their online finger like an overbearing Mom, but don’t forget that eating whole grains, fresh fruit and vegetables will support your body’s ability to deal with all kinds of stress (perhaps with the exception of online dating) immunological and otherwise.  

And what the heck, since I’m acting like your mother, don’t forget that regular supplementation with a good multiple vitamin, vitamins C and other nutrients can keep your body strong even during those times when the bad guys are running amok in the jungle.

Check out nutritionist Lark Lands' website for more information on why supplementation is especially important for people with HIV.  As she notes both HIV infection and the impact of long-term treatment create a variety of nutrient deficiencies. Supplementation can in Lands' view, increase the body’s immune response, improve the efficacy of RX treatment and minimize the side-effects of these drugs. 

The above article is not intended as a substitute for medical advice and is for informational purposes only.  The author has provided web links as added resources for information but does not endorse products and/or services  found on these pages.   

Some of the writing in this column was first published by this author in the now defunct website Fidget.com.

Why are there so many people who have eaten one single bad vegetarian meal made with tofu, and from that moment onconcluded "I hate tofu," or "vegetarian food sucks?" Doesn't matter if it was their mother's hippie boyfriend that cooked the meal back in 1979, or some other soul who can't boil water. The imprint seems to last forver.

Hell, I have even heard some counter-culture progressives that view tofu with such passionate, irrational disdain that their culinary xenophobia would make those fascistsof the 1930’s and 40’s proud.

Yet if these same people were served a lousy meal of spaghetti and meatballs would they conclude that spaghetti and meatballs suck, give up Italian food forever and gasp in digust anytime they saw someone eating a plate of pasta?  OF COURSE NOT.

Instead they’d say something like "boy oh boy, that restaurant serves crap that would makes my high school cafeteria food taste good," or "man, I'm glad my Mom cooked better than that otherwise my growth would have been stunted from eating nothing but Cheerios.”

Time For a Heart to Heart Talk About Tofu

So if you are one of these stubborn mules BUT ready to throw off the shackles of culinary prejudice, welcome aboard.  Soyfoods offer a huge range of benefits for anyone with or without HIV. 

And as more and more long-term survivors of HIV infection face increasing rates of cardiac disease, osteoporosis and other ailments once limited to geriatric populations the benefits of adding soy to the diet are incremenatally greater

If you’re not wure where to start you can try those so-called meat substitutes—tofu dogs, tofu burgers, tofu deli meats—or seasoned tofu products that don’t look like meat but are easy to use right out of the container, mixed into a casserole or added to a stir fry. 

I Came I Saw I Conquered My Fear of Tofu

Lest you think my taste buds have been softened by years as a vegetarian, I'm a committed carnivore.  I love a juicy steak, medium rare, make an amazing leg of lamb,  and every time I go to Katz' Deli in New York City I eat a knockwurst along with a couple hot dogs and at least half a pastrami sandwich.  If the other half doesn’t get eaten I take it to go.  

Yet I’m a flexitarian too and have been eating and occasionally cooking with tofu over the years.  Once upon a time, if I didn't get the stiry fry quite right I’d be tempted to toss ketchup on those white cubes of tofu.  Nowadays my results are suprisingly good. 

If you know your way around that room in your home that has a stove and a refrigerator, read on and turn your tofu terror into a joyful psalm for the soybean.

This recipe below will alter your relationship with tofu.  And if you fall in love with a vegan it will be an invaluable tool in making the romance rock.  It’s from my friend Warren Jones, a great guy, a dedicated vegan and one hell of a cook! All that being said, I still had my doubts when he told me about his tofu ricotta and how to make a vegan or vegetarian lasagna. Tofu over the cheesy, real deal?

Well, after making one single lasagna with Warren's magical dairy free tofu ricotta not one, not two, but three happy diners asked me, "What did you put in the ricotta?"

Warren's Famous Tofu Ricotta

Ingredients:

One pound firm tofu

5-6 tablespoons olive oil

1/3 cup pine nuts

1/2 bunch fresh basil

4-5 cloves fresh garlic

salt to taste

The amount of tofu needed will depend upon the size of the lasagna. Use the above proportions and make as much as you like. For best results, try to achieve a consistency similar to ricotta, so add the oil slowly and increase or decrease the amount as needed.

Enjoy!

Lately I’ve been reminded of what someone told me years ago.  The only thing worse than being single is dating.  Sure that seems way too cynical, especially for good old grateful-to-be-alive me.  And while I’m hoping that a New Year and some new dates will inspire optimism, in the meantime I’ve got a new appreciation for that famous line in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall touting the benefits of self-pleasure.  ”Don't knock masturbation! It's sex with someone I love.” 

Of course since I live in San Francisco my complaints about dating deserve some scrutiny, if not disdain.  Could it be I’m like a rich guy whining about how the lousy gas mileage on his yacht is costing him a fortune?  Yet while our proverbial Richie Rich’s bank account is packed, my little black book is empty, maybe overdrawn, especially for someone living on the North Left Coast of America.  

So what’s getting in my way?  Laziness?  Medical marijuana?  My new sofa?   Smoking medical marijuana on my new sofa?  A bad attitude?  All of the above?   

Attitude adjustment.  Certainly that’s one area that as they used to say in elementary school report cards Needs Improvement.  As does the motley assortment of poorly lit pictures I have on a few personal ad sites. 

Of course life’s roller coaster too might be at cause.  After all life has its way of creating reduced expectations.  That is if you’re lucky to live long enough and be part of an economic class where expectations and aspiration is allowed. 

When I left a great office job in 2006 to work freelance I never expected that I would once again be passing appetizers in 2012.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like working as a cater waiter and am grateful for the work. But I thought that I was supposed to be sipping the champagne not passing it.  

After all wasn’t freelancing at the heart of that so-called new economy?  Yet that myth lived only as long as the economy did. 

An End to Taking Things for Granted 

Even without the collapse freelancing had its risks, especially as the labor force in Bangalore got more expert.  But so what?  Sure I’m desperately hoping I can get three gigs out of my black slacks and white shirt before I need to take them to the cleaners, but passing the canapés isn’t that painful especially when compared to what others run down by the recession are dealing with. 

Economic hard times has had its way of making me grateful for things I used to take for granted. Take health insurance.  Not counting the pending improvements from ObamaCare in 2007 I lost 30 pounds over four months while suffering from severe stomach distress.  I went to the emergency room but was told I needed to see a specialist, something I couldn’t afford.  Six months later and with help from some friends I was diagnosed with a mild form of colitis that a prescriptions steroid cured in just over one week. 

In most of America I’d be uninsurable but being lucky enough to live in San Francisco I am part of the city’s health plan (it’s not insurance because if I get hit by a bus out of town I have no medical coverage) that makes life drastically different than others I know who pay upwards of $1,500 a month for coverage, if they are lucky enough to be able to get it.  

And there is nothing more humbling then when calling your home clinic to make an appointment when the phone menu option includes “Press 3 if you’ve just been released from prison.” 

So I can deal with life’s up and downs.  I’m no diva except when it comes to coffee.  I’m high maintenance and travel with my own French Press. 

Yet scarcity in my dating world is vastly different.  In other areas hardship makes me appreciate things more.  Yet an empty horizon on the dating game leaves me unsettled, unhappy and unable to muster any energy to kiss all those proverbial frogs before I might find a prince.    

Dating reminds me of a recent wrestling match I had with some pistachios.  The ones you kept putting back into the bag, the ones that never opened up and seem to taunt “Screw you buddy, you’ll never have me.”  

But when it comes to food, I’m persistent in getting my way.  The promise seems worth the struggle so I pried and I pried.  Finally I succeeded and opened the first of many unopened shells only to accidentally launch the nut halfway across the room.  I feared I’d lost it forever, wasted all that time and effort for nothing in return. 

But all was not lost.  By good grace, good luck or good eyesight, I found it under the radiator.  I laughed giddily while popping it into my mouth, but victory was sour. That pistachio was no nut.  It was merely an imposter, a cruel poser, merely a dust bunny the size of a nut. Ppphhssspphhh ugggh.  Yuck, double, triple, quadruple yuck times four.  

Yet when eating’s involved, I keep up the fight.  After rinsing my mouth I steadied my nerve and wrestled the remaining pistachios to submission. Those nuts were mine. Rich with salty goodness, they were exquisite – the harder the work, the sweeter the reward. 

But substitute the chase of culinary delights for carnal  ones, and I’m a quitter, tapping out early in the first round.  Call me Eeyore not Ishmael.  I’m as dour as that donkey in Winnie the Pooh. Eeyore, I understand your pessimisim and gloom, Eeyore you are me and I am you.   

So what gives? 

Recently, with the help of two friends – absinthe and weed – things came into focus.  Of course I won’t bet a meager cater waiter paycheck on their exact role in this revelation but I do believe that the outer-body/outer-mind experience made seeing the daylight much more possible.  

The morning after my excess I consumed two large glasses of water, three ibuprofen and a large French press of extra strong coffee  - and my focus was clear.  And suddenly the mystery of why dating, even here in San Francisco, seemed as hard as finding sunken treasure in the Pacific was revealed. 

Rejection.  Wanting to look good.  Not wanting to look bad. It’s as simple as the first time I went to a school dance and stood on one side of the gym with all the other boys staring at those girls by the bleachers.  

Yet the New Year calls for a new attitude. After all do I really want to end up doing the Sunday NY Times Crossword puzzle all by myself for the rest of my life? 

But what about those scariest of folks, those drug and disease free ones who are seeking the same? Give them a break. Don’t disdain them and don’t take it personally. Dating is scary. People are especially clumsy when expressing their needs on the internet.  Their fears, like mine are mostly irrational and inherently human.  

And one more thing, there are plenty of fish in the ocean. Some might look like me, others like you or your mother or father or that guy who got away. Whoever they are, whatever they do, we’re all in the same game.  One with no guarantees. 

So I’d rather play than watch. Doesn’t  matter if I can’t always tell the dust bunnies from the pistachios, it’s better to play than watch, no matter how cozy the new sofa is or how much I love Double Purple Gorilla from the cannabis club. 

Walk into my apartment and hanging near the door, is a framed piece of junk mail I received shortly after my 50th birthday. 

“Free Pre-Paid Cremation!  Details Inside” bid the elegant printing on a little envelope that reminded me of the letters I used to receive from grandma when I was in college. 

While I love bargains I had no interest in buying a niche from The Neptune Society no matter how much money I’d save on the ashes to ashes part of my final demise. Yet I was thrilled I’d made it far enough in life to get the offer. Despite the wrath and randomness of life’s viral wheel of fortune I’m a survivor, at peace with my infection, grateful for getting older, while knocking on wood along the way. 

What’s more other benefits of aging are evident, suggesting that most noxious of grown-up expressions – youth is wasted on the young – has far more merit than I ever expected. Perhaps the biggest surprise is that middle-aged me is looking to meet, date and fall (in love, in the sack or somewhere in between) with someone a lot like me. Though, if he was better with money and baking pies, that would be nice too. 

In case you’re thinking Dorian Gray, wrong-o! Substitute Whitney Houston for Oscar Wilde and you’re closer.  While both the song and the expression make the hair on my back stand up, the truth is that learning to love your self has a lot to do with my newfound ease.  

More specifically my litany of fearful anxieties –internal monologues or mumbled out loud – have vacated the cranial premises. Whether negotiating with a client or navigating the path from the sofa to the bedroom, its gotten quiet upstairs. My anxieties – too hairy, too chatty, too cuddly, too infected, too old, too interested, too breathy – have been replaced with a new confidence, near cockiness that never existed in my first 50 years. 

Was this shift just evidence of the grace of getting older? Somehow that seemed too easy. Instead I wondered if being infected, if never having the luxury or arrogance to take getting older for granted made me more peaceful, assertive and even more appealing? 

Of course living with HIV doesn’t make you better looking. Neither does, getting older. But maybe living with life’s uncertainties, it’s grace and gravitas, has made me more soulful, more adept in the bedroom or skillful in sautéing a roast? 

I’m not a big believer in causality. Life is usually more grey than black or white. I’ll probably never know why those salmon burgers from Trader Joe’s I’d always loved started tasting more like rancid cat food or why my hatred for Angelina Jolie disappeared or why I think anyone who gets to date me is lucky.   

Maybe I’m just benefitting from the new vogue for hairy guys or my good friend Scott who taught me about moisturizing after spending hours in the sun.  Whatever the cause I’m just thankful I’ve gotten this far and enjoying the ride.