I watch a unhealthy number and variety of movies. Weekends are my movie territory and it helps that there is a Blockbuster along the street and a large multi-screen not far across town. The main staple of my movie feasts tends to be those gripping, and sometimes real-life based or historical, dramas and thrillers – essentially thinking movies to place the context of the human condition into perspective. I also, with a smirkful confession, watch rubbish too – it helps me wind down. There’s nothing like an implausible Bond movie or action flick or hyped summer “blockbuster” to help forget about the working week – maybe these are a guilty pleasure. The only thing I hold an utter aversion to is American comedy (apologies to those Americans who are reading this) but there is something about this genre which means it largely cannot ever compare with British or European comedy, especially black comedy, due to a totally devoid lack of irony, entendre and deprecation which doesn’t feature in the culture.

However, I digress. This week I decided to watch a movie I would not otherwise normally have chosen. I paid my fee and rented Contagion. A “virus” movie, akin to others that have gone before it – Outbreak, 28 days later and a whole host of zombie and infection movies of varying watchability. The differentiator is supposed to be that Contagion focuses on the scientific and epidemiological aspects of a pandemic and at the very least nobody rises from the dead and bites anyone. Now, even before my life began the forever-ever dance with HIV, I just tended to avoid these movies, many were simply horror fests that would bore you to tears and were about as scary as attending a Christian book club and others were largely ill-informed so that they surely should be stocked on the fantasy genre aisle. What is largely common with all of these movies though is that they continue to portray a world of divisiveness between those who are infected and those who are not and this has never sat well with me on a number of levels for a number of reasons.

Contagion in itself has been largely praised for its epidemiological realism and that you can’t really argue with, although the exploration of the science is limited. However, this is still a movie which contains lines such as “She touched my cup” in reference to a co-worker who has died from an encephalitic virus of unknown origin to a husband screaming “Did he give this to us?” in relation to the discovery that his wife’s lover is also “infected” - a sexual connotation to the spread of disease is always an emotive one, as we know well. In fact there were so many stigmatic similarities to the virus in this movie, eventually named MEV-1 (can you see the rhyme?), that you could be forgiven for thinking that the past 30 years of the HIV pandemic had been condensed into a time frame of about 140 days and played out in a two hour Hollywood movie but with a great big void in the middle of the story. Actually some of the social interaction scenes are reminiscent of Philadelphia which incidentally is about to turn 20 years old.

At first glance, with my virally enhanced head on, the question raised by all of this is “is it all simply dire cliché”? or in fact, do I need to give makers of the film credit for the fact that it is actually art imitating life – we know that many of these utterances and reactions were real and many continue to be. But then we would move into the realm of life imitating art – how many of the movies continue to propagate the myths, fears and uncertainties surrounding disease and illness and an anthropological view of the world which is so distorted to the point that it becomes believed and therefore real?

But, if this is really art imitating life, there is missing from Contagion a great swathe of human endurance and realism which I cannot accept does not feature. We never see the collective outrage of the infected and the affected, we never see the care and sacrifice of loved ones, and we never see the overcoming of super-human challenges in the pursuit of hope when presented with absurd adversity – stealing your neighbour’s shotgun to protect your daughter from the infected unfortunately does not count. Instead we see a rapid, co-ordinated and slick Governmental response, a scientific unrealism which allows a vaccine to be created, produced and distributed in less than six months and health agencies winning the day and patting themselves on the back. And the rest of the world? Aside from the 26 million who die, they all live happily ever after. Of course, not forgetting poor Gwyneth Paltrow who loses her head, or at least part of it, for the second time since it was mailed home in se7en.  

There are many positive aspects to this film, but unfortunately they cannot outweigh the feeling that there is a whole lot more missing to the real-life version of this story and that the real story is inside that void.

Go see it and draw your own conclusion.

I’ve never really been one for procrastination – I opt for the just don’t do it mentality if there is something which I think I can’t achieve or do. Thinking about it only makes it harder. That said, compiling my own list has made me think about each of these things and with some of them I’m definitely going in the opposite direction – rather than avoiding them, I will be taking them head on…..

Change jobs/careers – Work in Progress

This I did at the end of last year. Well that said I gave up my fancy corporate career and went solo. A few months in so far so good but the ultimate goal is to create a meaningful business, no mean feat. We will see how it pans out. I can always return to a successful career but who would want to when they can create their own future?

Move to a new city – Work in Progress

I’ve technically done this as well but I don’t like it. There, I said it. I DO NOT LIKE IT. Having lived in my last place for the best part of six years I now miss the old familiarity of that historic city. The new one? Well it’s just a little bit too pretentious for my liking so we will have to see. I am considering moving back – is this a backwards move though?

Deliver a speech that moves people

I can orate with the best of them (orate = high-brow word for talking shit standing up in front of people) but I do think I could move people, change a perspective and create some change with the right material. Why? For my ego? For something else? No. Simply because there are so many subjects people need to be moved on.

Holiday more

I have a friend who is a lawyer. His work is well paid and therefore he’s mostly never in the country and is the type who goes to countries which you’ve never heard of. He has invited me away on numerous occasions, all of which I have avoided. The fact that I loathe hot climates and beaches has nothing really to with this as his trips aren’t really like this but I’ve always put them off. I have therefore just booked two weekends abroad this year with him. I have refundable tickets just in case!

Allow some of the paths of my life to cross

I walk a number of paths in my life. Each run parallel to each other and never intersect or meet with each other. Maybe I should allow this to happen, what is the worst that could happen? Oh yes, a wreck.

Let some people go

For a variety of reasons, in different situations.

 Start my novel

I have named the central protagonist. The rest of it can’t be that hard!

Sleep more

Yawn.

Learn a practical skill

Just for kicks.

Return to academics

There is only one thing left. PhD – you know, the moniker for Particularly Hard Degree. Who am I kidding?

Cook more

Note to self: This does not mean re-heat.

Let someone else drive

This isn’t even a metaphor. Seriously.

Stop smoking

Pffft.

Develop the body of Adonis

Double pffft.

Have a love affair that could be written by E M Forster

I’ve no breath left to pffft with.

With the rise of new media and the shift from Web 2.0 to Web 3.0 threatening to overtake us all, who knew that the themes of personalisation, usability, standardisation, participation and mashups which are becoming part of our daily lives have long been established in HIV treatment – yes, that’s right. We have a disease but there’s a pill for that.

Now, without being complacent as to the precariousness of the treatment situation which continues to face us and the fact we are still without a cure, there is a whole rainbow of drugs which we all require to prop us at some stage. This rainbow of pills now in existence at the head of our disease is reminiscent of the rainbow flag which flew at the head of the drive to get us here in the first place. We continue to face the daily worldwide challenges of access, affordability and resistance in treatment. However, I remain thankful even with all their faults for this smorgasbord of therapy which supports us daily.

So, what do we have?

• For the aesthetically demanding we have round-shaped, diamond-shaped, teardrop-shaped and retro-capsule-shaped pills. Hell there’s even a liquid one that comes refrigerated and bottled, handy for storage next to a cool bottle of Bolly.
• For the dieters out there, there’s a with-food or without-food, a two-hours-before-food or a two-hours-after-food. An only-with-certain-foods and not-with-other-foods and there’s a liquid only patriot if that’s the way you prefer to roll.
• Weights and sizes are variable at 20, 30, 40mg and up to 150mg or 200mg. There’s even a monster weighing in at 1100mg for size queens everywhere (specialist throat skills required).
• If you like to keep it regular there’s a standard once per day or twice per day but if you’re really looking for intensity there’s the six a day variety just to keep you on your toes, although not really something to boast about with work colleagues.

But is it this simple? Is it as simple as bursting open the seal of your packet or bottle and skipping through life? Well not quite but we carry on. We carry on in the hope that it will not be forgotten that although we have these colourful and playful little pills in our lives, we have no cure and we manage complexity in dosing regimens and side effects on a daily basis. The day will come when there is only a need for a once per lifetime pill or shot that will make all of the others disappear. That time is not yet.

Anyway, I’m not even going to do the names - I need to stop now, my head is spinning and the alarm is about to go for my date with a once-daily, triple-combo super-sized mashup. I think they made it pink to be funny.

A useful and Antiretroviral Drug Chart is available from NAM at http://www.aidsmap.com/resources/Antiretroviral-drugs-chart/page/1412453/

ARV drug interactions can be checked here: http://www.hiv-druginteractions.org/

 

At the beginning of the HIV epidemic, this new retrovirus was grossly underestimated leading to years of lost time, false hope and untimely death. Government inertia, slow to break down and even harder to prevent from coming back than any deadly virus, challenged every community affected by HIV to its core and beyond. This weak little virus which was famously to be fully curable and vaccinated against within two years of its official discovery (remember Margaret Heckler - below right) but stayed strong far beyond the initial estimates of its demise and showed a strength greater than any elected representation. This weak little virus evolved at a rate faster than science could attempt to control it and this weak little virus is still winning a war it has been fighting against the most developed species on the planet for 30 years. It continues to win.

Constantly replicating, hiding and never repeating the same “mistake” twice it has evaded every single attempt to destroy it. This is not a mistake; this is evolution. It is our nature that when something is not understood, it must be a mistake. When something is rampant it is viewed with distain. When something is feared, it is forgotten. Only when something is respected do we call it evolution.

When there is no respect for the things which make us fearful or which we do not understand or which we cannot control, we degrade them. This is a defining feature of our own human arrogance. We choose to degrade as it is safer to adopt a defence of non-confrontation than it is to understand and to learn. The unaffected retreat, boundaries are devised and there are winners and losers. When will we once again challenge ourselves beyond the limitations of our own understanding?

No sailor crosses an ocean without respecting the waters surrounding their boat. No sailor challenges a tide without understanding what needs to be done. Lest we forget, a group of men understood this better than any.

These men, weak in death and fatigue. These weak men who found strength in each other, strength in discovery and strength in their own dark humour turned out to be the strongest of them all. They rallied, they raged and they turned corners. They carried each other, they fought and they laughed in unity and crystal-clear sanity in a world turned insane. They looked fear in the face; they did not care.

These men who provided an unacceptable face of challenge which brought about more understanding than any public health campaign delivering only fear, stigma, discrimination and shame lived fearlessly and selflessly. These men were shameless, not for the shame of their lives cast by others but shameless in their innocent desire to win and their need for the world to evolve. These were the young gay men brought to their knees with weakness of whose strength the rest of the world should have been in awe.

These men - castigated, driven from their homes, jobs and loved ones but still together they could joke and share and live. Still they would hold together in a sea of support from one and other, unbroken bounds which continued long after they were no longer here. With humour and abandon the vigils, marches, fundraisers, parties and even funerals were delivered in humorous battle against a fractious and consuming foe. These weak men changed the tide of the ocean on which they sailed. These men were as strong as their foe.

We will never win while we continue to contain this weak little virus but never challenge its might. We must once again turn the tide. And we will never win unless we harness the power of the “weak” who had the strength to change, adapt and evolve.

Our friends brought us better healthcare, better drugs, rights, understanding and a better life. For this we remember to always face HIV head on, not to stop challenging the status quo and to never be consumed by inertia so that one day we may laugh with our friends again.

 Laughter that is hearty, warm and innocent – it is within us all.

I attended a funeral recently. I am of an age where I have had the luxury of not needing to attend a great many funerals in my short life – this is deemed a good thing, but I am still intrigued by these mysterious occasions and they continue to fascinate me. Catholic, Protestant, Jewish or non-denominational – whatever the faith (or not) I don’t discriminate, they all follow traditions which are socially understood within their respective communities and there is no instruction manual of what is acceptable and what is not, it is just known to those on the inside. Maybe I’m just weird or have a fetish for pomp and ceremony.

This particular recent event (and I call it such in the truest sense of the word) was an occasion to mark the life of an old friend of my Father’s. No occasion is better marked by an Irish immigrant community, of the “old faith”, than the loss of one of their own – first, second, third and even fourth generation all gathering alike in epic displays of grief.

There is one tradition, however, within this community for which I have a membership card somewhere that still utterly fascinates me. It is not the drink (for it flows freely with little excuse), it is not the music (always rousing and uplifting with a dash of tear jerking for good measure), its not the fighting (a game of fisticuffs is likely a mourning event chaser) – it’s the damn clothes. The oldest traditions die hardest. I imagine somewhere like Italy is similar, only with better cut garments.

As a gay man, I pride myself on my understated classical elegance – that’s my description anyway. Look – it’s just easier for me to buy basic colours in decent cuts, everything matches and therefore I do not have to think about it. I don’t tend to do “trendy” and I regularly wonder at times if I am actually a gay man. My own get-up, inspired by Bond, was as simple as highly polished brogues, suit with light pin stripe (NOT banker style), crisp white shirt previously unworn (decent sized collar), wool tie (looks better than it sounds) and Trench coat.

However, nothing raises an eyebrow faster and with a higher arch at these type of funerals (by those on the outside) than a widow in her wedding dress (say nothing); a congregation containing a pair of leather thigh high boots, of the Louboutin variety, ideally worn by immediate family; faux fur, fox fur, mink fur; hair extensions as long as three quarter length coats, with the coats never being removed until after the first drink and certainly never during the service; tote bags, clutch bags, under shoulder bags; high heels, Cuban hells, no heels and on and on and on.

There is only one rule. It’s as simple as this – it has to be new and it has to out-do everyone else. The pressure rises the closer you are to the deceased. If you can’t afford new, get a loan. If you can’t get a loan, sell something. If you can’t finance it, don’t turn up. Never borrow it. This is the unspoken tradition and of course this is what the deceased “would have wanted”. I’m not sure, in my case, whether my septuagenarian Father would know or care what is in vogue at any time of his life, but this is “what they want”. Wedding parties are regularly less well dressed. Woe betide anyone who dares to enter a wake in anything less than finery as nothing is scorned more than a mourning party infiltrated by bargain basement chic.

Therefore, I write this article with a mind to add a codicil to my own last will and testament – a bit like a rider to ensure I maintain the old style; it is to state as follows:

Some Minimum Requirements for Funeral Service: 

- A minimum of three sets of false eyelashes. Must be present and worn on one set of eyes, preferably on someone over 50.

- Non-waterproof mascara. Nothing demonstrates your grief harder.

- Dental implants (look better the darker you glasses are). Veneers are permitted on non-family. Gold is gauche – everyone has their standards.

- A street drunk in a suit bought from a charity shop clearly donated by a man significantly larger than the wearer (just to keep everything “real”).

- A donation plate with a special clip for paper money. Coinage not accepted.

- Gloved hands.

- More wild flowers than a summer meadow.

- Gritted smiles. Suspicion, envy and jealousy.

- Experimental hairdos. Colour may be used.

- Fainting.

- And last but not least, someone must be trotting down the aisle behind my box in a pair of those god damn Louboutin leather thigh-highs. I do wonder whether my Mother has the legs……..

I must also remember to copy this list and pass it to the health professional who advised me to place me affairs in order when I was diagnosed with HIV. She works with us gays daily – this is what she meant, of that I am certain.

NotDownNotOut is a late twenties (sigh, not for much longer) Brit who was found by HIV in 2010. He currently works in the corporate sector by day and is starting to write by night. An HIV diagnosis swiftly followed by an adult Aspergers diagnosis, made his head spin but determined to make sense of it all; he decided to try and make the room around him spin as well.

Regularly blogging on his experiences of HIV care in the UK, NotDownNotOut looks forward to the day when he has no more questions for the world or himself and can stop trying to take it all apart only to put it back together again just to find out how it works.

Secretly he knows this day will never come but we can all dream.