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This site is a member of WebRing. To browse visit here. Sunday, June 06, 2004 Not sure how I feel about this As I went out the door Saturday morning for a day of work in West Virginia, NBC was saying that former President Reagan wasn't expected to live much longer. The first thing I heard when I turned on the television in the motel room that evening was that he had died. I've been trying ever since then to reconcile the regret one automatically feels at the death of a famous person with the frustration, indignation and, finally, anger that I felt toward him during his time in office. Reagan's presidency will forever be, for me, the years during which one after another of my gay male friends died. The years during which my closest friend, who happened also to be the mother of a gay man, struggled with conflicting feelings about her son and AIDS, and finally come to embrace him and fight for the well-being of his dying lover. The years I spent on an AIDS hotline talking to frantic boys and men, and sometimes their wives or girlfriends, assuring them that they were unlikely to have been infected, IF what they were telling me was the whole truth (and knowing, sometimes, that it was not). Years that I spent urging them to get tested, and telling them where they could safely be tested without worrying that their families and employers would be notified of the results. Years of hearing some voices over and over again—boys and men who had no one else to talk to but an anonymous person on a telephone hotline. Years of worrying about the younger ones who still lived at home with their unknowing, and uncaring, parents. 1987, especially, the year of the March in Washington DC, the year of the Quilt. Walking the paths of the quilt looking for Alan, and Joel, and Steven, and weeping when I found them. For the rest of his shortcomings, I can easily forgive Ronald Reagan. He was a loving husband. He could make you smile. I can even forgive his unwise choice of associates; they were smarter and more cynical than he, and they used his well-intentioned principles in the same way that they are now using George W. Bush's total lack of scruples. Reagan even stood up to them at times; he did the right thing with the Soviet Union, after all. But I'm having a hard time cutting him any slack on AIDS. Those weren't numbers, those people who died. They were fathers, sons, brothers, lovers, husbands, and increasingly, as the years went by and our president still turned his back, they were the wives and girlfriends of those men, not all of whom were gay. They were people who had done nothing more wrong than need a blood transfusion, children who were subsequently kicked out of their schools, doctors and nurses and EMT's who had treated sick people and become infected themselves. And yes, a lot of them were IV drug users who spread AIDS far faster than they would otherwise have done because the government couldn't stomach the idea of providing them with a little bleach to sterilize used needles, or—God forbid—trading used needles for new, uninfected ones. I'd like to think Reagan just didn't realize what a blow AIDS would be to America and the world. He didn't, of course. He had more important things to deal with than the "gay disease." And so it consumed the best and brightest of an entire generation, and is now one of the primary killers of adults across a whole continent. Everyone has jumped on the bandwagon this weekend to speak their piece about Ronald Reagan, to say what a wonderful person and president he was. The voice I still hear is the 14-year-old boy who called the hotline, so terrified he could hardly speak, to ask if he could get AIDS from kissing his 14-year-old (and equally virginal) boyfriend just once, and if there was somewhere he could go if his parents found out. I'm afraid it's going to be a long time before his voice stops drowning out the others. posted by Liz @ 10:00 PM | The template is set to display 10 posts. To see all the posts for this month, click on the month name in the Archive section RSS Feed PERSONAL Send email toliz at life-as-a-spectator-sport.com Home I'm a mother, grandmother, a computer professional, Democrat, Christian. I welcome politely worded comments and email, my spam filter throws the rest away, so don't bother to flame me WHY 'LIFE AS A SPECTATOR SPORT' "If you're lucky not to live in the gutters of a slum, but still can't afford to take vacations in the Alps, you're part of that enormous middle class who lives life through the medium of the television, further separated from "real" life by air conditioner, by automobile, by dishwasher, microwave and ice-in-the-door refrigerator, by automatic washer and dryer, and all the other appliances and conveniences that make it possible for America to live life at second hand. I'm not sure why Americans decided that televised drama was better than the real thing, that cardboard microwave food containers were an adequate substitute for real dishes, and their contents for real food, or that cooking, dishwashing and face-to-face conversation wasn't worth the effort and time it required. Someone fed this nation a plastic crate of out-of-season tomatoes and told us it was life and we took them at their word, and we're so much the poorer for it that it's hard to know where to start to list the shortcomings." I wrote this a couple of years ago, but I have to admit it's much less amusing than I thought it would be to see the artifical construct falling apart. THE NON-ELECTRIC HOME Cleaning, 1 Cleaning, 2 Cleaning, 3 KNITTING BLOGS Extravayarnza Knitting Heretic Mind of Winter Pie Knits Persistent Illusion See Eunny Knit The Keyboard Biologist Taleweaver's Ramblings TECHnitting Wendy Knits FINISHED PROJECTS -------FINISHED IN 2006------- Peruvian Cap Tutti-Frutti Socks Shelley's Socks Carol's Socks -------FINISHED IN 2007------- Chain Link Socks Baby Surprise Jacket Valerie & Friend Baby Bonnet Rainbow Baby Socks Girls Pixie Hood Mitred Square Heart Red & White Socks Coffee Cup Pot Holder Nubbins Dishcloth Garterlac Dishcloth Suede Booties Kate's Socks Norwegian Sweet Baby Cap Half Thumbless Mittens Red Mittens for Akkol -------FINISHED IN 2008------- SELF-RELIANCE AND THE FUTURE -- Blogs and websites -- Causubon's Book Club Orlov Food Storage Made Easy From the Wilderness In the Wake Listening to Katrina Survival Topics The Modern Homestead The Oil Drum Notes from a Hillside Farm -- Mailing Lists -- 12vdc Power Living on the Land Rainwater Refrigeration Alternatives Old Ways of Living POLITICAL BLOGS and SITES The political sites have moved BOOKS I'M READING How to Grow More Vegetables, etc. Small Scale Grain Raising ARCHIVES February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 August 2008 July 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 September 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 Feedjit Live Blog Stats
As I went out the door Saturday morning for a day of work in West Virginia, NBC was saying that former President Reagan wasn't expected to live much longer. The first thing I heard when I turned on the television in the motel room that evening was that he had died. I've been trying ever since then to reconcile the regret one automatically feels at the death of a famous person with the frustration, indignation and, finally, anger that I felt toward him during his time in office. Reagan's presidency will forever be, for me, the years during which one after another of my gay male friends died. The years during which my closest friend, who happened also to be the mother of a gay man, struggled with conflicting feelings about her son and AIDS, and finally come to embrace him and fight for the well-being of his dying lover. The years I spent on an AIDS hotline talking to frantic boys and men, and sometimes their wives or girlfriends, assuring them that they were unlikely to have been infected, IF what they were telling me was the whole truth (and knowing, sometimes, that it was not). Years that I spent urging them to get tested, and telling them where they could safely be tested without worrying that their families and employers would be notified of the results. Years of hearing some voices over and over again—boys and men who had no one else to talk to but an anonymous person on a telephone hotline. Years of worrying about the younger ones who still lived at home with their unknowing, and uncaring, parents. 1987, especially, the year of the March in Washington DC, the year of the Quilt. Walking the paths of the quilt looking for Alan, and Joel, and Steven, and weeping when I found them. For the rest of his shortcomings, I can easily forgive Ronald Reagan. He was a loving husband. He could make you smile. I can even forgive his unwise choice of associates; they were smarter and more cynical than he, and they used his well-intentioned principles in the same way that they are now using George W. Bush's total lack of scruples. Reagan even stood up to them at times; he did the right thing with the Soviet Union, after all. But I'm having a hard time cutting him any slack on AIDS. Those weren't numbers, those people who died. They were fathers, sons, brothers, lovers, husbands, and increasingly, as the years went by and our president still turned his back, they were the wives and girlfriends of those men, not all of whom were gay. They were people who had done nothing more wrong than need a blood transfusion, children who were subsequently kicked out of their schools, doctors and nurses and EMT's who had treated sick people and become infected themselves. And yes, a lot of them were IV drug users who spread AIDS far faster than they would otherwise have done because the government couldn't stomach the idea of providing them with a little bleach to sterilize used needles, or—God forbid—trading used needles for new, uninfected ones. I'd like to think Reagan just didn't realize what a blow AIDS would be to America and the world. He didn't, of course. He had more important things to deal with than the "gay disease." And so it consumed the best and brightest of an entire generation, and is now one of the primary killers of adults across a whole continent. Everyone has jumped on the bandwagon this weekend to speak their piece about Ronald Reagan, to say what a wonderful person and president he was. The voice I still hear is the 14-year-old boy who called the hotline, so terrified he could hardly speak, to ask if he could get AIDS from kissing his 14-year-old (and equally virginal) boyfriend just once, and if there was somewhere he could go if his parents found out. I'm afraid it's going to be a long time before his voice stops drowning out the others.
The template is set to display 10 posts. To see all the posts for this month, click on the month name in the Archive section
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PERSONAL
WHY 'LIFE AS A SPECTATOR SPORT'
"If you're lucky not to live in the gutters of a slum, but still can't afford to take vacations in the Alps, you're part of that enormous middle class who lives life through the medium of the television, further separated from "real" life by air conditioner, by automobile, by dishwasher, microwave and ice-in-the-door refrigerator, by automatic washer and dryer, and all the other appliances and conveniences that make it possible for America to live life at second hand. I'm not sure why Americans decided that televised drama was better than the real thing, that cardboard microwave food containers were an adequate substitute for real dishes, and their contents for real food, or that cooking, dishwashing and face-to-face conversation wasn't worth the effort and time it required. Someone fed this nation a plastic crate of out-of-season tomatoes and told us it was life and we took them at their word, and we're so much the poorer for it that it's hard to know where to start to list the shortcomings." I wrote this a couple of years ago, but I have to admit it's much less amusing than I thought it would be to see the artifical construct falling apart.
THE NON-ELECTRIC HOME
Cleaning, 1 Cleaning, 2 Cleaning, 3
KNITTING BLOGS
Extravayarnza Knitting Heretic Mind of Winter Pie Knits Persistent Illusion See Eunny Knit The Keyboard Biologist Taleweaver's Ramblings TECHnitting Wendy Knits
FINISHED PROJECTS
SELF-RELIANCE AND THE FUTURE
POLITICAL BLOGS and SITES
BOOKS I'M READING
How to Grow More Vegetables, etc. Small Scale Grain Raising
ARCHIVES
February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 August 2008 July 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 September 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002
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