Normally, I eschew Facebook “Like” contests and changing profile pictures en masse to show solidarity under the misguided notion that the modern equivalent of jingoistic chanting does anything to influence policy. Surprisingly, then, yesterday I changed my Facebook profile picture to a simple red square with a white equality symbol, as did seemingly everyone in the LGBT community I’m friends with, to demonstrate my support for opponents of Proposition 8 in California, who just wrapped up oral arguments in favor of gay marriage before the United States Supreme Court.

Originally started by the Human Rights Campaign, an organization I typically criticize for its lack of effect when it comes to advocacy and seeming dearth of actual programs helping LGBT kids, youth, adults, and seniors, this Facebook movement has grown to reflect that there are, seemingly, more of “us,” supporters of gay marriage, than there are of “them,” the opponents of gay marriage.

“At first you resisted. Now you’re all red, red, red,” messaged a friend of mine the minute I changed my profile picture. I admitted to him that I got on the Orwellian bandwagon, but I began to think about why, in this instance, I had a visceral, immediate desire to participate.

Frankly, I have a reputation in Philadelphia as a bit of a curmudgeon, the type of writer and critic who could have witnessed Jesus Christ turn water into wine and write down later, “The red was dry, the conversation was ultra liberal, and the speaker needs a haircut.” Yet, when it came to gay marriage, I was on board without a second thought, enthusiastically taking the lead of thousands of people before me. Upon reflection, I realize it is because I, like many others, am fed up with this false equivocation in American media and politics that, somehow, idiotic arguments deserve a seat at the table alongside thoughtful commentary.

For years, American media has strenuously attempted to give proper voice to those opposed to gay rights. Much like how those opposed to civil rights for African Americans had their arguments rooted entirely in their own queasiness with blacks, foes of gay marriage and, by extension, LGBT rights, seemingly have no proper argument aside from a red-faced, flustered, “But it’s…it’s…wrong!” And, much like how factually-challenged climate change denialists are given a speaking platform with nauseating regularity on Fox News, gay rights opponents are somehow put forth as though they have any substantive grievance or sound opinion that is rooted in anything aside from their own inherent bigotry. They do not.

At issue is whether or not homosexuals like I am should be allowed to, privately but officially, wed. This issue is not about whether or not you support leather chaps and bathhouses; this issue is not about whether or not you are conflicted on allowing transgender women to attend all-girls’ colleges; this issue is not about whether or not you are queasy about the fact that 40,000 children in California are currently living in same-sex households, as Justice Anthony Kennedy rightly pointed out this week; and, certainly, this issue is not about gay sex. Rather, this issue is about whether or not I as a human being am deserving of the same rights and privileges you are as a human being.

The fact that a conservative evangelical might find the fact that I like to kiss other men gross is irrelevant to this debate; the fact that, gross or not, this goes on and I cannot change this component of my identity as a human being is the essence of whether or not I deserve to be able to have my love publicly affirmed through marriage.

Contrary to the reprehensible, and completely discredited, notions propagated by gay conversion “therapists,” I cannot change my sexuality. In fact, if I could have changed my sexuality as a 13 year old gay boy growing up in a town called Quakertown, PA, obviously not the most progressive and cosmopolitan of rural Pennsylvania areas, I would have. Making the decision to live as a heterosexual would have been much easier; I would not have had to come to grips with the fact that society was telling me I was a faggot, an effete leftover from human evolution. If I could change my sexuality and produce a child with a woman naturally, I would be able to continue to pass along my mother’s DNA and my father’s surname; and, I could touch the hand of my son or daughter and feel my own blood, developed from thousands of years of mating on part of my German ancestors, my naval officer great great grandfather, my beauty queen mother, my NY Times crossword-puzzle addicted grandfather.

As reality would have it, however, my innate sexuality prohibits me from honestly doing this. Instead, I have, for years, had to figure out how to wed my physical attraction to other men along with my principles and desires as a human being. That is, try as I might, I cannot get pregnant by a man; and, as such, I cannot physically, bring together my DNA with the DNA of the man I love to produce a new human being worthy of the same rights and dignitites as my brother’s son, my nephew. And, while I can certainly, at least in some states that don’t outright ban gay adoption, adopt a child, I cannot produce one with the person I love just as my mother or brother have done.

While this is, at best, annoying and, at worst, tragic, I, and millions of other homosexuals like I am, have figured out that family is what we make it, that friendship is key to a life of happiness and love as a gay man, and that so long as the government concedes that I am not biologically inferior but, instead, biologically different than my straight counterparts, we can peacefully coexist, society and LGBT folks.

Today, however, and for the past several decades, there are entire segments of the American population who, despite these facts, have caused me and continue to cause young LGBT folks great sadness, anguish, and pain about their innate identities. We are told routinely that we are separate, different, and, logically then, inferior to heterosexuals. We are made to feel badly about the fact that we like to kiss other men; we are made to feel dirty for wanting to express our sexual and romantic identities publicly.

Specifically, I remember being called a faggot on Walnut Street for holding the hand of the boy I was dating when I was 18. And, immediately, we stopped holding hands; after all, it was totally inappropriate of us in this straight world to try to publicly affirm our affections for one another. Similarly, I was called a faggot and then punched in the face because I, unlike the 18 year old version of myself years earlier, passionately protested this slur last year. The difference between these incidents, along with their separation in time, is the fact that no reasonable or legitimately thoughtful person thinks either incident is okay today. Ten years ago, however, a good number of folks would say things like, “Well, you should be careful, you never know who is around.”

Everyday, we hear news that more and more Americans are supporting gay marriage. And, everyday, we hear news that more and more gay Americans want to get married. And, everyday, we hear the truthful argument against gay marriage coming out more precisely; that is, they simply have an issue with us faggots and their issue has nothing to do with public affirmation or love or extending rights guaranteed by the US Constitution to American homosexuals. Rather, opponents of gay marriage rely exclusively on their own personal “ick” factor in relation to homosexuality and pretty much every sexual and gender difference that isn’t straight, missionary style, and monogamous.

This opinion does not deserve a voice in thoughtful media or commentary. It belongs in the dust heap of history along with Plessy v. Ferguson’s “separate but equal” distinction in relation to different facilities, including drinking fountains, pools, and public schools, for blacks and whites. And, just as the Supreme Court overturned Plessy v. Ferguson with Brown v. Board of Education, the Supreme Court is positioned to affirm what everyone knows but what American media still has difficulty conveying.

Gay people are equal and deserving of the same rights and dignities as straight people. So, I changed my Facebook profile picture. And, I suggest you do too.

This article first appeared on Josh’s own blog here.

Despite Mother Nature's reluctance to launch spring, fashionably speaking there are now plenty of options for at least looking the part. Retailers are now eagerly awaiting your patronage in selecting from the key looks that best suit your needs. And there are plenty of options to choose from.

This season it basically comes down to reflecting the person you truly want to be perceived as. Fear not, there is no need for deep introspection or psychoanalysis. By thoughtfully selecting the best key pieces and color options while keeping your own natural attributes, lifestyle and personality in mind your individuality and sense of style will naturally shine through. After all, this season's fundamental message is about rebirth and growth. Cheers to a season where you too can literally bloom and grow. Welcome to Spring 2013!

Your colour options range from chalky (read pastel) to vibrant shades. Various shades of red, yellow and blue figure prominently and can be teamed up or worn separately. For maximum results, keep the intensity of each colour in the same category. Utilize white, black, brown (especially camel) or navy to tone your looks down and amp up an understated edge of sophistication.

Introducing patterns and prints into your wardrobe is yet another way to add some punch to your look. Head to toe looks tend to be more playful and whimsical. A floral or sixties inspired printed top with your favorite jeans, chinos or walking shorts can suffice in creating a look that is on trend, tasteful and in keeping with wearing pieces that you wear as opposed to them wearing you. This concept can work wonders when reversed as well! Opt for flashy bottoms and solid coloured tops and PRESTO you have created a look that still works with your own comfort zone but creates a fresh approach to dressing for this season. Remember, you want your looks to represent or at least give an indication as to who you are. There are times we want to appear mysterious and there are those times we want to go for broke. This season allows us to run the gamut by playing with the wide range of colour options simply by experimenting with solids and prints and how we chose to team them up.

The typical trends (retro, sporty, romantic, androgynous and arty) now all have blurred and even overlapping boundary lines. Typecasting looks is becoming a thing of the past. Most designers have opted to explore the human condition thru modern day technology rather than attempting to make us a victim to it. Retro looks, for example, appear fresh and modern due to the influence of technology (both in construction and fabrication) that emphasize a certain demeanor rather than yet another weary trip down memory lane. Various prints  have been tweaked by digitally toying with their imagery to make retro looks more forward than simply nostalgic. Textiles have also been toyed with to create a new slant on tried and true looks that are a far cry from vintage hand-me-downs. This especially holds true in all fibers: from man made to natural.

Globally we are becoming more and more concerned about our future rather than our past and fashion is more in sync with this perspective than ever before. Old stereotypes are falling by the wayside as a result. Hence, trends may be a foundation merely to build upon as our desire to celebrate our differences rather than question them becomes more and more socially acceptable. There's also a healthy dose of humor tossed into this perspective which the warmer seasons tends to embrace more readily.

"Global fusion" in fashion takes various ethnic attributes from around the world and creates looks that manage to blend distinct styling attributes harmoniously making them appear less "costumey". Eastern and western influences now have morphed into wearable ensembles that are more and more difficult to pin point their origins. Designers once tapped into eastern influences in their efforts to create a larger demand in those countries for their labels. Ten years later, designers are now cleverly creating looks that appeal to a broader global market in their efforts to survive these turbulent and fiercely competitive times. One could look at fashion this season as yet another industry trying to strengthen its profitability by being more innovative and also, dare I say...practical.

There's also a "No Fuss" approach to dressing this season that taps into this mindset. A solid coloured polo shirt teamed up with a new looser fitting cuffed trouser could be an ensemble that will carry you thru the season in true ease. Add a pair of canvas shoes or sneakers in a patterned or solid colour and you have a great head to toe look that despite its simplicity still packs a punch. Untucked long sleeved shirts rolled up the arms to a flattering length can also create a look that keeps you from falling into fashion victim territory and again adds to your own sense of wearing what best suits you. These looks may appear simple but it's the cut and fabrication that really drives this "less is more" approach to dressing home.

Regardless of what style you chose to follow or dabble with, remember the over all message this season is about the end result of not just looking great but feeling great too. Spring maybe a little late this year but why wait to lift your spirits? Get into Spring and begin to feel and look blooming wonderful. Now might be a great time for Mother Nature to also . . "Jump start Spring"!

When I was a young child, the greatest thing about my pediatrician’s office was its being in a high-rise building with a High’s dairy store on the ground floor.  After doctor visits when I wasn’t totally crapped out and especially after those that involved shots and needles, that meant a chocolate ice cream cone for the ride home. 

As an adult--and particularly as an HIVer, though, I don’t expect anyone to offer a  pick-me-up after potentially uncomfortable health maintenance activities.  It’s up to me, not my doctors and not my partner, to know when to have routine lab work done; and I need to keep track of my vaccination history. Recent news and a thrilling development in my life have only reinforced my conviction, even if they remind me that I’ve been reckless in the past. 

Over the last several weeks the New York City Department of Health has issued a series of warnings about unusually lethal meningitis, first among HIV+ Gay men and, then, among Gay men in general.  The community reaction has been stinging in light of DOH’s previous panicky press, but the underlying message is one that HIVers need to hear: whether one lives in Canada or the U.S., national vaccination guidelines indicate the receipt of the meningococcal vaccine by all but those with very low CD4 counts.  Even though my school would require the vaccination if I was a full-time student, I have managed to ignore the broad recommendation until now. 

In fact, this isn’t the first time I have ignored vaccine recommendations.  In 1998 I was sick with hepatitis A for three months, despite the existence of a vaccine and the recommendation for sexually active gay men to get it.  Flip side: if I hadn’t come down with hep A, my HIV status would not have become known to me then; but hep A really wasn’t “worth it.”  Still, since that illness I have stayed up-to-date with all of my other routine vaccinations, save meningitis, being one of the first to get a flu shot every fall.  Several years ago that habit earned me the nickname “Omega Man,” as the only one out of over 600 employees in the office to not fall ill during two waves of the flu. 

In mid-April I will eagerly partake of a host of “non-routine” vaccinations for most inhabitants of North America. As part of my academic studies I’m going to Kenya in May and June.  Given our itinerary, shots for yellow fever, typhoid, rabies, and meningococcal disease are required, in addition to anti-malarial medications.  Even after over 30 years of brain surgery and HIV labs, I was so eager to get stuck that my appointment was set before my final travel plans.

March 13, 2013 - 11:00 pm

Things are really progressing, the tattoo is getting seen by more people and the responses are all, er, positive ;-)  I am becoming more and more comfortable wearing it and the feeling of empowerment continues to build, which is a great feeling! 

I should recap my original experience googling "biohazard tattoos," as it wasn't pretty. The Internet is both a wondrous and sometimes hideously ugly place. 

When I did the google search I was looking not only for images but various opinions as well and was struck by the ignorance and one-sided descriptions of poz people wearing biohazard tattoos. The nicest made reference to someone wearing this tat saying, "He's either a hardcore social reject or he has AIDS!" One of the meaner descriptions went much further: 

"In the gay community it has apparently become a beacon for someone with AIDS. If this is true, again, while the idea of TRUTH IN ADVERTISING is laudable, it may also be a banner of honesty that eliminates any chance of finding a partner, unless of course that partner was LOOKING to catch HIV. In my opinion, this tattoo should be done away with in favor of having the phrase INFECTIOUS WASTE tattooed directly on the forehead." - Urban Dictionary.com 

In the face of such open ugliness (though doubtful this cretin would have dared to say the above to me in person) I was less than thrilled with the idea of putting this tattoo on my body; but I also felt a burning need to stand up to such ignorance and dispel these insane points of view. 

I have no tattoos presently. I have wanted to do a very special one, with deep spiritual importance to me, for years but just haven't found the right artist to draw the design. In the case of the biohazard tattoo I know exactly what I want, even the size (the original tat was 60mm but am ordering a new set of the temps with it nearly 75mm in diameter, I am hoping it will look fuller on my chest and less like a badge) so there is not a lot of debate with the artist, simply, "I want this, how much and how long?

I refuse to ask about the pain as I know it will sting like a bitch!.  I was present when my ex got an Egyptian scarab beetle with wings of an eagle spread wide across the top of his back. The places where the bone is right beneath the skin are supposed to be intensely painful and indeed his shoulder blades and especially his spine, across which much of the detail of the beetle was done, was crazy painful for him. 

That shouldn't be an issue for my chest but I am not big on pain or permanent marks, so tattoos of any kind are quite a stretch for me.  Add the apparent stigma that comes with this particular tattoo and it gives me serious pause; hence the need to run this temporray tat experiment prior to making such a commitment. 

March 14, 2013 - 7:00 pm

Still really eager to get the opinion of other poz guys, I left work early and traveled 75 minutes across the city to finally make it to the Being Alive meeting, “The Young and the Restless” attended only by poz guys.  The apprehension of attending this meeting really ate at me during the drive over. I had way too much time on the road to think about it; tried listening to Pandora Radio but my brain just couldn't stop going over it. 

What if they hate it, what if they are scared of it or of me for being so forward? What if it proves to alienate the very people I seek to make a real connection with? Maybe it totally turns off a potential friend or even a life partner - argh damn this brain of mine. Where is the off switch? Yet I know it's just working overtime trying to protect me from feeling the pain of rejection by reviewing all the possible outcomes (my engineering mind hates surprises), unfortunately it’s only succeeding in stressing me out. At some point one just needs to throw caution to the wind, step off the deep end and start paddling for dear life; this is definitely one way to really feel you are alive. 

(Quick disclaimer, I will write only about my specific experience and some of the general comments made by those in attendance, to preserve the privacy of this meeting and out of a very deep respect for all who attend; they are a great bunch of guys and I applaud them.) 

The group was actually quite small, only a handful of guys but at some level that made it easier. We chatted a bit amongst ourselves waiting for the facilitator to arrive and I began to feel my uneasiness subside.  When the facilitator arrived he sat closest to me and asked if I could start the "check-in" process.  For the uninitiated "check-in" is where each individual is asked how they are feeling and what is going on in their lives. Cross talk or interrupting someone during their check-in is highly frowned upon, as the point of this exercise is to allow attendees a chance to be heard. 

I told everyone my name and went right into why I was attending the meeting. I explained about my experience reading the disclosure article, the anger I felt regarding the issue of disclosure but also how it ignited an internal conflict which no longer allowed me to feel comfortable hiding in plain sight. Coupled with being newly single and faced with having to deliver the bad news to prospective boyfriends, I need a way to once again show solidarity to the community as well as make it easier to disclose. 

Then I showed the tattoo. Only half the attendees were certain what it meant, some had remembered seeing it before while others had no idea.  Some of the guys are newly poz and are just coming to grips with all that entails so a biohazard tat disclosing their status is the last thing on their minds. 

Once I explained that it indicated I was poz they were all quite cool with it. One guy said he would never do it because it would be a daily reminder of all the bad choices he had made that lead to him being poz. This really touched me and I told him I have felt the very same way for many years. 

I was 42 when I got diagnosed and frankly I was bitterly angry to have contracted HIV so late in life when my future seemed set, but leave it to my own shortsightedness and the universe to throw a monkey wrench into my seemingly perfect world. You would think that sometime in the last six and a half years I would have resolved this anger. However, being in a relationship with my partner who was originally neg and later poz, I was able to avoid ever really addressing it. So until just a month ago I would have been "Hell to the NO!" and thought anyone suggesting such a tattoo to 'memorialize' my infection was clearly unhinged or totally out of touch with just how angry I was both at myself and my crappy luck that I got infected. 

I related most of the above to the group but added that I was beginning to see things very differently. Moving to acceptance and showing open solidarity to my poz brothers and sisters were now my goals, to let go of my anger and finally own the disease that had owned me, my future and my happiness for so many years! 

Some guys expressed how the disease is more a mind fuck than a true threat.  For me the idea of accepting it appears to be the only real way to address this issue and achieve some peace of mind. 

None of the guys had any negative comments or expressed horror with regards to me wearing it so my first reveal to an all-poz crowd was a great experience.  The group continued on with check-ins and later discussed various topics, warmly supporting each other through the issues we face being poz. I know that it's damn scary -  at least it was for me - and you may not think you need to attend such a group but if you have never been to an HIV support group you are seriously missing out!  Please do the legwork, find a group that works best for you and get up the courage to attend.   

Over the 90 minutes we went from anger to laughter to near tears and back to laughter again. It was a very heart warming and unexpected cathartic experience which I highly recommend, regardless of your situation! 

To be continued . . 

Read Michael Burtch's article (My Relationship Status) - and comments - here.

I'm a gay man of a certain age. My experience with HIV in my community goes back to the beginning, even if my awareness of my own infection does not. I was there as we learned from the first reports that something was going very wrong and that – given apparent indifference on the part of many, but not all, authorities – the community had to do something about it. I have watched friends die. This long history has shaped my relationship to HIV and my attitudes about it. 

Having been diagnosed at a very advanced stage of my HIV infection in 1997, I will never be sure about when I might have been infected, but I'm pretty sure I know how, not having had a blood transfusion or injecting drugs. “Who” was a question I studiously avoided because, like others of my generation, I embrace the concept of shared responsibility and I believe that my energy is always better spent taking care of my health rather than seeking to assign blame outside of myself. 

Another reason that I have (mostly) avoided trying to identify the who and when of my infection is to avoid the distinction between the "generation which didn't know better" and those "who should have been able to avoid HIV infection", a horrible distinction that fingerpoints at a younger generation when they, like we, were just being human and pursuing our amorous interests. No human can fault another for having an occasional lapse in judgment or action that might have led to exposure to a risk of transmission. I've never met anyone who sought it out or who sought to transmit intentionally; I look on it as a hazard of our time. 

I am also an aging poz guy living with all the benefits of developments in treatment, and that is shaping some of my perceptions of HIV and my relationship to it, but these are layers added on top of my previous baggage. When I was diagnosed at 37, I didn't think I would ever be 53, as I will be later this year. I'm still banking on not making it past 65, as I have no retirement plans beyond poverty and loneliness (c'mon lottery ticket!). 

I have excellent access to health care, and that is surely the reason for my relatively good health. I am preoccupied by the fact that others don't have this access – including people living with HIV who have a more tenuous relationship with "the system," but also many of my HIV-negative friends who are part of this community that is disproportionately living with this disease. I hope that we can all decry that lack of access, and do something about it, without blaming me for taking up too much of it. Without it, I will probably die, but without it I fear that others will find themselves in my place, living with HIV. 

I've had a few of those serodiscordant situations that we seem to be talking about more these days. Of course, we now like to call them serodifferent, because we don't want to sow the seeds of discord with our terminology, but I think we all understand what it means whatever the term used. I like to think that I have lived up to my own expectations of myself in each of them, that I have avoided transmitting HIV and that I have treated my partners with the respect that I expect for myself. 

I remember a time early on, before I knew of my own infection, when I met one of my favourite bartenders outside the bar after hours (there was always a bit of a crowd milling about after the bar closed in those days). This unattainable object of my desire struck up a conversation with me and, as he seemed to be expressing some interest in taking me home with him, added the information that he had HIV. My reaction was similar to that of others in my community from my generation, at least at that time: I told him that wasn't a deal-breaker for me, that there were plenty of ways for us to enjoy ourselves without having to worry about HIV transmission. The relief that washed across his face bespoke the ravages of past negative reactions, and I felt bad for him about that. After we got to his place, he had more revelations for me, and we took more precautions to make sure that I didn't get anything else either. And we both (well, I can only speak for myself) had an excellent time. 

I spoke of another of my experiences here. A time when I knew my status and didn't disclose until asked (after the fact), but ensured for my own mental peace that I did nothing that would have possibly transmitted the virus I never wanted to someone else, even someone I knew only fleetingly. I know I didn't disclose because I feared the response would be overblown and negative, and the reaction when I responded honestly to the question asked late confirmed that for me. If I am at all disappointed in myself, it would be in not affirming my status at the outset, but in my defence that is often unrealistic in the face of expected hostility. I would note for those readers about to accuse me of being a criminal that I then satisfied all the criteria as set out by the recent Supreme Court decision to NOT be criminally responsible, so please keep your insults to yourselves. 

I had another experience that put me in the position of my bartender friend once. We were still in the bar and the "run for the exit" lights had not yet been lit, but the guy to whom I disclosed my status was straightforward and realistic in his response. We went to my place and we were able to negotiate what we both felt safe about doing. He could express his fears, even the irrational ones, and I could respect his choices and not be slighted by them. Again, we (there I go again!) had an enjoyable time. 

Let me add another one. A guy I met on the street who came to my place, who disclosed his status to me upon hearing where I worked (always a good sign that knowing I worked for an AIDS organization made him feel comfortable enough to disclose his status to me). His disclosure led to mine, and he proposed an activity (not the one you're thinking of) that ran up against my own hardwired behavioural restrictions that are part of my HIV baggage. I couldn't bring myself to do it, we discussed it (not discussion group style, but the quick exchange of words) and we adapted ourselves. I knew that what he was asking of me was not particularly risky and, considering our seroconcordance, not at all risky, but I couldn't go there and he wasn't going to take that personally. 

Somewhere in all these tales and thoughts I would like to find a lesson, for me and for others. If we could all be counted on to treat each other with respect as human beings, we might be able to end this epidemic. I should be able to disclose my status and not be faced with automatic rejection and fear. I should also be able to work with the fears and limits of my potential partners. For some, this might mean not having sex at all, or having a different kind of sex than either of us set out to have. But we should still be able to be respectful in how we express ourselves.

Or maybe we should just call me Pollyanna.