A-LISTS living positive by paul montero MAN’S MAN’S WORLD
IT’S A MAN’S
I am a man. …Okay, I’m a gay 20-something who still waxes, never misses re-runs of
“The Golden Girls” and fully embraces his nature when he queens-out to Celine Dion. Still, I have my butch moments. The declaring growl of a Camaro on the road, crank- ing the volume when I hear Red Hot Chili Peppers on the radio, detecting a whiff of the right cologne-to-pheromone ratio from a passing guy…they all have the power to turn me into a salivating, scruffy cartoon-wolf caricature on the prowl who has trouble containing the sailor-mouth. But none stimulate my Y-chromosome like the taste of rare meat. What can I say? I come from a long line of Neanderthals. I know, I know…I’m not supposed to take the risk of eating undercooked meats because I’m now considered immuno-compromised or immune-suppressed…or whatever other judgemental time-out stamp I’ve been branded. I’m told that food sanitation plays a huge part in my very survival—and that pathogens happen to be all over the place. Including our skin and hair, charming as it sounds. If they weren’t already on our minds before seroconverting, they will be now for sure…whether we like it or not. Can you pass the smoked salmonella, please? And it’s not just my beloved bloody steaks and hamburgers that have been put
on embargo. Paté, shellfish, eggs Benedict (hollandaise), fresh-made mayonnaise, traditional tiramisu…I even have to take precautions with any vegetables that I haven’t thoroughly washed myself. …I’ve learned the hard way! Mild food poisoning is anything but mild if you’re the one who’s feeding the porcelain god from both ends. Talk about emasculating. Yes, I’ll admit, it’s a good idea for everyone to be wary of what enters his or her
body (heheh), but people like me share a further caveat with young children and the elderly when eating the aforementioned foods. We all have less-than-optimal immune systems. Now—before I’m driven out of town by an angry mob with torches and pitchforks—let me clarify that I’m well aware there are plenty of poz guys out there with perfectly healthy neutrophil granulocytes. And no, this isn’t a safety and sanitation lecture. But the thing is, I wasn’t even thinking of taking any antiviral medi- cation up until now, so my health isn’t as predictable as that of everyone else. So I’m forced to take action—both by my own unease and by my boyfriend’s unrelenting (but loving) reminders to be more health-minded.
WHIP IT. INTO SHAPE. Recently, after moaning and groaning in typical man-fashion, I made a deal with
myself. I could keep the risky foods I love as long as I monitored my immunity stats and started an antiviral regimen. “Who needs a liver anyway!?” I said to my boyfriend, half-jokingly. My utter lack of faith in pharmaceutical companies notwithstanding, I was pleased to put at least some of his worries to rest. Still, to maximize my health— and to spare my guy from further alleged snore sessions at night—it looks like I’ll have to start getting in shape as well. I’d better stretch my eyes! I can predict I’ll be rolling them a lot.
GET THE BALANCE RIGH…IGHT I’m not generally fond of jocks. The miniscule stretches of life I’ve spent at the gym
were in my high-school days, when I’d use the locker room as a friendly, no-names- needed playground. Now, faced with the prospect of actually exerting myself with little or no immediate payoff, I know I’d have to try extra hard to bite back the words, “This is lame.” But the plan is simple: just get rid of some hypertension and do what I can to lower the blood pressure a little—maybe strengthen the arms and charm the boyfriend with noticeable results the next time we both visit the pool! Above all, I have to keep in mind that the gym does not have to become my life. I don’t have to change who I am or what I like. Well, maybe not so many Champagne-and-chocolate nights at the Jacuzzi, but a balance of all things. A little cardio here, a little tiramisu there, a few meds here, a rare rack of lamb there…and there…and maybe another one for the road. I’m still me. A man—boldly butch but with unmistakable flashes of fem. Glutton-
ous, hedonistic…but most of all, stubborn. I refuse to let HIV dictate who I become and what I’m allowed to enjoy. But if anything constructive has resulted from be- coming HIV-positive, it’s the enhanced awareness of my health…even as I kick and scream in the process of improving it. This just in. Another word for man is “brat.”
FEEDBACK?
livingpositive@ragemonthly.com or
blog@ragemonthly.com
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RAGE monthly | AUGUST 2010
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