A Holocaust of the Lower Intestine

I would like to state, for the record, that there is nothing i hate more then diarrhea. No ailment is more abhorrent to me. No affliction, no disease. I'd rather have a face full of zits on prom night. I'd rather projectile vomit at a state dinner. On a scale of one to ten, one being manage-ably annoying (Heidi Klum for instance) and ten being Soul Crushing Brutality (Everybody Loves Raymond!), then diarrhea = Hitler. That's right, i hate diarrhea with the same white hot burning intensity i usually reserve for genocidal landscape painters. Needless to say, the past week of my life, spent chained to my bathroom as i have been, will be remembered in the little personal history of Brenden Shucart as a lower intestinal holocaust.

It was bad. So bad in fact that Saturday night my auto-pilot kicked in and called my friend kevin to take me to the hospital. I have a truly top notch auto-pilot. Honed by years of black out drinking and other forms of over-consumption, it has an almost supernatural ability to get me home and into my bed unscathed. Even from other countries (yes. my auto-pilot has saved me from mexico). And though my nights of frat quality binge drinking are well behind me my auto-pilot remains, a synaptic guardian angel guiding me home when the party is over (if only for me. thank you Auto-Pilot, thank you for everything).

This past Saturday Auto saved me ass again. A perfect storm of dehydration, malnutrition, and high fever had me talking to dead relatives in my bedroom. And my little auto-pilot took maters into its little ninja hands long enough to call out to my friend kevin for help. I know why it picked kevin too, he gets shit done. He's like raw will dipped in caffeine. Explosive and unstoppable. He hoped in a cab scooped me up and whisked me to the emergency room in less then a half an hour (i'm told. I don't really remember anything between the dead relatives and the ER). So if not for him i might be all Rose Kennedy right now. Thank you kevin.

Fuck you Diarreha.

'scared and embarrassed and feeling alone'

Recently I started following a blog, Under the Bridge, written by Jason V. I know Jason, but not well. We move in the same circles, go to many of the same parties, he is a warm and funny fixture on the periphery of my life.

I've been ignoring the internets for a few days now, needing a break from the constant stream of celebrity gossip and geo-political disasters. When i read Jason's blog last night i came across this entry and i sat on my bed and cried.

A few years back when I initially learned of my HIV diagnosis I was afraid of running into someone that might recognize me. Would he or she tell other people about me? What would we say to each other? Should I make eye contact? Do I say hello? I was nervous and unsure.

This morning it happened in reverse: I saw someone that I knew and who by my account probably just learned that he was HIV positive. He's very well known in the gay boy social scene and when he saw sitting there texting away on my Iphone and I looked up and we made eye contact, I felt that same fear swell in him as it used to in me, and I instinctively wanted to leap up and out of my chair to hug him. But I didn't.

When he saw me he just pivoted in the opposite direction and began to wipe furiously at his eyes while I crumpled inside for him. There is such a stigma to being HIV positive in this country that it makes me so angry to see beautiful souls like his scared and embarrassed and feeling alone, most likely feeling confused and angry and all sorts of everything all at once...very much how I felt when I learned of my diagnosis.

I know how ISOLATING those three little letters can be. I know how heartbreaking it is to be rejected by a guy you really like because he can't handle your Status.

Thank you so very much Jason. Thank you for your honesty. Thank you for your bravery. Thank you for your compassion.

You made me feel less alone.

The Roar of the Crowd

We always wanted to be Rock Stars; smoke machines, names in lights, the roar of the crowd like an ocean pounding against the stage... why should we let our lack of talent get in the way of that dream?

Tonight at Chilidog (@ the Tripple Crown: 1760 Market St.)

Doors open at 9

Show starts at 12