Frontdesk by David Waggoner
Having a great week in July at the ocean boardwalk—the one concocted at Disney’s California Adventure that is—and what do you know, but I run into an old high school buddy of mine. And his new girlfriend. Everyone knew him as the boy next door, the football jock, the guy that girls wanted more than straight A’s. And here he was, looking a little out of shape for football, but definitely in love with his girlfriend sporting some fake yellow hair in a New Wave up-do, which might look good on Gwen Stefani or Donald Duck but didn’t quite work for her.
“Gwen”—not her real name—didn’t say much until she found out that I published A&U. Yes, she had been reading the pub for the past six years as a volunteer for an AIDS organization in San Diego and wanted to tell me her gripes about the state of AIDS publishing, even though secretly I wanted to end this reunion and get back to my vacation, and, quite frankly, not think about my job for a while. Why didn’t we have the balls to speak up, she asked, about what was really wrong with AIDS in America?
When I told the Gwen Stefani look-alike about the August summer reading issue, she frowned and shrugged. Isn’t “AIDS literature” a thing of the past? I heard where she’s coming from. I am sure millions think that Angels in America and Philadelphia, both at least fifteen years-old, were the definitive texts, the final say. AIDS? We covered it—let’s move on, these people surmise while they pat themselves on the back for thinking about AIDS and feeling compassion for a couple of hours.
I assured “Gwen” that AIDS literature wasn’t dead, should be read, and might actually save a few lives. The truth, at least how I see it, is that AIDS literature needs to be an ongoing, living project because the realities of those living with HIV/AIDS are changing every day, and the struggles of those who have died still need to be honored. Didn’t she know that Andrew Holleran and Armistead Maupin helped destigmatize AIDS from the start of the pandemic? Both interviewed in this issue, Holleran and Maupin are, importantly, still committed to “writing AIDS.” And Lisa Albers, Chip Livingston, and Zdravka Evtimova are writers who are exploring the experiences of AIDS in new and provocative ways.
She was only vaguely swayed by what I was saying, so she pulled out her trump card. I just wish you featured more regular people, and fewer celebrities, “Gwen” said. Enough with Paris, Lindsay, and Britney!
While I agreed that the media has oversaturated our lives with inane trivia, I pointed out that A&U features celebrity covers for a reason: to destigmatize having HIV and to draw attention in this, a celebrity-obsessed culture. Nonprofit organizations know this very well. More people will show up at an event if you promise that Sharon Stone or J-Lo will be there. Likewise, more people will pick up A&U if they see Mo’Nique or Dustin Hoffman. It’s not that we’re inflexible on the point—this month, in fact, A&U features the models of Shortstack, a nonprofit started by teenage girls to give other girls “on the short side” a chance to model and perform community service at the same time.
She was probably right when she joked that I needed a break from AIDS. And I found myself agreeing, impatient to always be in the position of trying to convince the other guy that writing (or talking) about AIDS matters. I was at an amusement park to be amused. Summers are sacred, after all. I felt sorry for “Gwen.” And myself. Instead of publishing an August issue next year, maybe I’ll go to an actual ocean boardwalk and read my tube of sun block. But what will likely happen is that I’ll get a letter to the editor: Doesn’t AIDS lit matter? Who said you could have some time off from publishing when people are dying. It goes to show—summer is the best time to get someone’s undivided attention.
August 2007 |
