Volume 1 Book 2 Part 3 of
Living In The Bonus Round
by Steve Schalchlin.

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Tuesday, October 1, 1996
Rusty's Surf Ranch, A Drunk At The Bar, and Pigeons.

The show tonight at Rusty's Surf Ranch hysterically fun. We packed the joint all the way to the back and I could see people standing in the doorway trying to peer through the mass of people. I also had the opportunity to meet Billy Valentine at long last. (Billy is the rocker I met through here who sent me an essay about his life which prompted me to write a song called One New Hell.) By the way, he stopped taking all his AIDS meds because of how sick they were making him. I'm just lucky that I found combination I could easily tolerate. It's very frightening, these drugs. He had to choose between a completely intolerable existence that might lengthen his life or a less painful existence that might be a lot shorter. What a choice, huh?

The other thing I loved today was seeing Don Kirkpatrick again. Don's a regular reader of this site and he flew in from El Paso, Texas just to see the show at Rusty's. He was also reponsible for getting Billy V. here. They got in early in the afternoon and we went over to the Hollywood Roosevelt where they were staying, picked them up, and went down early to the Santa Monica Pier. We went into an arcade and had little metal souvenirs made with our names, etc. (I made one that said, "Living in the Bonus Round -- 10/1/96.")

It was a warm afternoon but there was a very cool breeze coming in off the ocean as the sun was beginning to set. And we smelled food cooking. So we went to the end of the pier to "Mariasol," a Mexican food restaurant and had dinner. One weird thing: there were pidgeons walking around the restaurant on the floor. Since pigeons are notoriously dirty animals, Billy and I looked at each other and wondered if we should be in that place. Birds in general are not good for people with compromised immune systems to begin with. However, we decided to hang in there. After all, we are over the ocean and the windows are open. It was just strange.

We ventured back up the pier and found Rusty's. I sat and schmoozed the Matt Kramer, who books the club and eventually people began trickling in as 'actual size,' a very good local pop band opened up the night. It made me nervous a little because they are a great band with solid songwriting and singing. (I'm supposed to follow them??)

Finally, though, it was time for us to go on. We had a little trouble with electricity -- there were few working outlets in the stage area -- but eventually Hal Cohen, who hosts the night, introduced me. The room was now filled to capacity and the mix of types of people was quite marvelous. Older folks, younger folks, songwriters, "civilians," etc. I saw several of my favorite songwriters in attendance: Matthew Lee, Michael Kline, Robert Morgan Freeman, and well, you get the idea. I felt very privileged that they all came out.

I started with Connected explaining that it was the first song I wrote after two years of near incapacitation and being in hospitals. At that point, a well-saturated man at the bar yelled, "FROM WHAT??" I'm not sure if I answered him immediately but he got the message once I began singing. It's funny, but it really touched him because he was not rowdy during the song at all. The next number was Save Me A Seat, a song about my own memorial service. I'm not sure if he made a comment then, but when I mention my online diary, he shouted out the word, "diarrhea." I laughed and said he was right, there's a lot of diarrhea in my diary.

Next came Somebody's Friend with David Robyn's band and three girl singers from Heaven Bound Sound, followed by At Least I Know What's Killing Me done like a very trashy rockabilly song. It was the most fun of all the songs for me because I love to rock out even though I'm not really a natural rocker (I don't think).

Eventually I brought up Chip Esten to sing Going It Alone. He started out by thanking me for letting him sing my favorite song. I did a little harmony on the end and it was very beautiful. Next I brought up Heaven Bound Sound, the choir with Alan Satchwell. We did a sensational near-a cappella version of The Preacher and the Nurse and they sounded fantastic. It brought down the house. Then I brought the great Jim Brochu up along with Chip again and we did Friendly Fire. Jim and Chip recreated the doctor/soldier scenes from the show and Jeff, the drummer from from David Robyn's Band, gave us some snare in the background.

Finally, we ended with When You Care, which is a slow Gospelly sounding hymn. It was really, really beautiful.

What got me, though, was David Robyn. He has a new song and when he sang it, he told everyone he wrote it about me. It's called Learn How To Fall. It was all I could do to keep my composure. He then called me up to join him on stage for a few songs and he presented me with a framed copy of the lyrics, autographed "To My Friend, Steve." Later on, the band and I debuted One New Hell and Billy heard it for the first time. I then introduced him from the stage.

The last thing I did was have a drawing and gave away five copies of Living in the Bonus Round. (And Billy won one of them!)

Well, dear reader, I didn't mean to write so much. I'm sure it's boring to read all these details, but I wanted to have a record of the evening so I wouldn't forget. We had a little birthday celebration, I got to sing, I heard a song sung about me, many of my friends were there, and the club owner was happy that we filled the place. What could be better?

After the show, I was so high on life and music, I'm still floating on air as I write these words. I still wonder what I did to deserve a life this great. Must have been something wonderful because if I could change lives with anyone else on this planet, I wouldn't. Not for a million billion bucks.

This is my birthday wish list. I will update the diary on Monday. But this week I'm taking a few days off from the diary to just hang out, play music, write letters and veg! Thanks for all your happy birthday cards and e-mails!!

Monday, October 7, 1996
A Dream & A Long Weekend.

5:30 a.m.

I dreamed again last night. I dreamed I was back in college and it was nearly time to vote for the school President & Vice President and I was running. I was also graduating (I told you it was a dream). I was running with another chap, and just before the vote was to be taken, I asked him which of us was running for Pres. and which of us for Vice Pres. He told me that it was *I* was who running for Vice President.

I was shattered and I begged him to let me run for President. I told him that at my age, I never thought I'd actually graduate and that he should let me be President. In my dream I even coaxed some phony tears to talk him into it. He said no. As the dream progressed, all the students turned out to be elementary school kids and the graduation parade, through an old barn, was full of kites and little kiddie cars.

Thank you, patient reader, for allowing me some time off from the diary to just muse about the palace here and take some time to get some perspective on my life. I did some very nice things over the past Birthday Weekend: I sang last night at the Songwriters Campfire at Genghis Cohen Cantina and listened to Nik Venet tell me that "a very famous poet in Europe" thought my songs were astonishing and brave; I had a phone call from a old friend who has decided to put himself back into school just for the hell of it, because he likes school (probably where my dream came from); I ate homemade chocolate cake that Jimmy made from scratch, with pudding in between the layers; I felt anguish when Tracey, my friend who's responsible for bringing me to Virginia, suddenly lost a beloved uncle to cancer; I watched with wonder as my guestbook filled up with astonishing new entries;

...hold the fort. I just looked at the guestbook and it looks like the past week's worth of entries -- entries I valued highly -- are not there. Ask me if I'm pissed. Luckily, I was keeping my own back-up and printing them out, but the very last few are gone. Presumably forever. And they were some of the best. This is heartbreaking. I've just found a new guestbook server and I'm going to switch over to them very soon, I think. Damn.

Continuing: I also got a very funny e-mail from my prepubescent niece back in Texas; and, best of all, for me, my weight hit an all-time Bonus Round high of 171 pounds.

All this new health coming upon me, after nearly three years of being constantly, doggedly sick has turned me into a man unleashed. I'm so happy right now it's nearly embarrassing. Last night at the Campfire -- which is not at a camp nor does it feature fire -- I reminded them that through my intermittent appearances, they had seen during an earlier recovery this year, then back sick, close to death again, and now they were seeing me at the absolute pinnacle of health (and getting stronger?).

Hey! I just remembered! We got a call from Matt Kramer, who books Rusty's Surf Ranch on the Santa Monica Pier where we did our show last week. He loved it and wants us back in December. Isn't it funny how club managers love sold out houses packed with people who love music? You have to know that selling out a club in Los Angeles is no small feat. There are way too many entertainment choices here to take something like that lightly.

I finalized my plans for the CD I'm recording. The challenge has been to know exactly what it is I can, and want, to do. I can't do a "original cast album" of songs from The Last Session because we haven't cast it yet. I can't do a full-blown pop album because I don't have that kind of budget. I've decided to call it something like, "Living in the Bonus Round -- Glorified Demos of Songs from The Last Session." How does that sound? A bit idiotic, no doubt, but it says what it is. It'll have five or so fully professional recordings of songs from the show, plus some bonus tracks of the original piano/vocal demos recorded last year during the writing phase. Could be a fabulous collectors's item and Christmas gift! (Almost as good as The Clapper, no doubt.) I plan on having it fully recorded by the end of the month and ready for purchase sometime in November.

I should do laundry today and clean the kitchen and be a responsible partner in life, but I'll probably just waste the day trying to write music or hanging out with friends or something. I'll let you know as the day progresses. I had a lovely weekend and I thank you for all the birthday wishes.

Let's see if we can make it last for at least another year. I think I would really like that.

Later That Night -- A Game Show and Mr. Hit

Tonight we went to another "Hollywood" event. Our friend, Bonnie Dore, a producer, invited us to an industry showing of a new TV game show. There were no cameras or anything; just a bunch of people in a room pretending to be on TV. I guess she had invited lots of money people hoping to raise funds to produce a pilot or something.

The show was called, "EveryBody Sings!" (the family game show for the 90's!) and it involved two families competing against each other with a host named Jimmy Chapel, who used to be a cruise director. The show took place in Studio City, near us, on Ventura Blvd. at a night club/dinner place called "Pasion." (It's Spanish and there's a accent mark over the 'o' in 'pasion' so it's pronounced 'pass-ee-OWN'). I saw from the fliers left on the seats that they usually have a tango show and dinner there most nights of the week.

Bonnie is this cute, sweet bundle of energy with hair a little like Tipper Gore, except more fashionable, and her husband, Sandy is a lawyer. Sandy greeted us at the door and we signed releases that said we knew the money prizes we might win as audience members would not really be given away. The celeb in the audience was Kathy Lee Crosby who was wearing a skin tight black and white leopard outfit. We also saw some women who looked like Eve Arden and Meryl Streep, but Eve's dead and it wasn't Meryl.

The good part was the food and drinks were free, but since they were sitting out on trays, I passed. It's the AIDS thing again. I just don't touch food that's been sitting out. Even if it was well prepared, it doesn't take long for bacteria and stuff to start growing again, plus I don't know who touched it last. I had the same problem yesterday when I went to Randy Tobin's barbeque, except their stuff had the additional problem of flies (it being outdoors).

(I don't know if this makes me look too picky or anything, but if it does -- well, too bad. AIDS does that to you, ya know.) So, I sat contentedly watching karaoke on TV while they were getting ready, and drank bottled water while Jimmy had a Heineken.

One of the contestant families was so "TV perfect," Bonnie couldn't have found a more perfect family if she'd gone to central casting and ordered one. A dad who probably used to be cute but wasn't anymore, a mom with a great figure and hair that did a perfect "That Girl" flip, a young teenage boy with braces and a younger girl. They smiled and jumped and were very, very happy. The other family consisted of all women (and included two middle aged sisters and a cousin).

In the show, they would play a record (from the 50s, 60s, 70s, or 80s) all the way up to a certain point and then stop it. The family would be required to finish the song by singing the very next phrase. Very simple. Very fun, actually. I told Bonnie before we agreed to go and be in the audience that I pretty much hate game shows, so I'm a tough audience. I especially "hate" smiling hosts and eager families mugging for the camera. I think what I liked about the show was hearing all the old records and music. Jimmy and I both liked it.

(I laughed when the first record they played was a Huey Lewis song, since I hang out at the publishing company he started -- Bob-A-*LEW* Music.) Also, during the show, each family also had to do one karaoke version of a song of their choice to compete for a cruise. (One family did "Sea Cruise," of course.)

Now, all this was fun and all but the best story I'll tell you about did not happen tonight. But it did involved another "celeb" who was there. I won't name him, however, because the story is rather -- um -- well, you judge for yourself. This celeb is a songwriter who has wrote dozens of huge hit songs back in the late 50s, early 60s. Today he is barely functional in public. Here's why:

Back when I was at the National Academy of Songwriters, there was a young eager songwriter (working as a volunteer in the office) who loved meeting famous songwriters. His goal was to try to get them to co-write songs with him. One day Mr. Hit (the celeb I referred to earlier) told the Young Writer (Y.W.) that he, Mr. Hit would collaborate with him on a song. Y.W. was so thrilled: to write with Mr. Hit was a dream come true and I really happy for him because I knew how much it meant to him. Also at this time, the big Salute to the American Songwriter concert was coming up. He had been in town long enough to know that each collaboration with someone well known (and artistically respected) can lead to another.

Now, Y.W., though not that young in years--he was in his late 20s--had no experience at all with the world. I'd say he stayed close to his home and family throughout his 20s and had never ventured over the fence in his life until he moved to L.A. to be a songwriter. I'm sure he was still a virgin. I'm sure he had never been on a date or drank a beer or, horrors, ever even seen drugs or other El Lay mainstays.

He went over to Mr. Hit's house all excited. As soon as he got in the door, Mr. Hit cursed him and told him he lied and that he didn't want to write with him; that he was just using that as a ruse to get him over to his house. Mr. Hit demanded to be able to give a speech at the Salute denouncing Clinton and his tax hike. Then he pulled out a piece of paper and began reading this long, incoherent rambling speech. Well, Y.W. was shattered, of course. But he was also wondering if Mr. Hit wasn't a bit nuts. Then it happened.

Mr. Hit dragged Y.W. over to a mountain of cocaine and insisted that Y.W. join in and share it with him. Now, Y.W. was totally freaking out. He knew this sort of thing went on in Hollywood now and again, but here he was facing a hero who was holding a gold straw out to him. He just bolted and ran from the house. Then he called me, breathless and frantic.

I wasn't trying to be cruel or anything, but I started laughing out loud when he told me the story because Y.W. was the kind of person who would leave a room if anyone even uttered a cuss word. He was purity personified -- not religious, mind you -- just a good boy who listened to his mama. Finally, I felt compassion because I knew how hurt he was and we had a good talk. I told him that L.A. had all kinds of surprises in it and that he should just be prepared for anything. I assured him that if he just held to his principles and worked hard enough, he would be okay.

NARRATOR: Y.W. has contacted me since I originally wrote this description of his encounter with Mr. Hit and he would like to refute a few of my "facts." He says he was NEVER as naive as I've painted him (although he wouldn't tell me if he had lost virginity yet), that under no circumstances did he approach Mr. Hit as a tool to meet others (he is correct -- he LOVED Mr. Hit's music and I didn't mean to make that implication), and that Mr. Hit did NOT offer him the cocaine but he himself was Hoovering up this big bowlful (clearly Mr. Hit wanted to keep it all for himself). I'll let you decide which one of us is telling the truth. LOL

(And just to be perfectly clear, I meant no offense to Y.W. in portraying him as a naif. I call 'em as I see 'em -- the point of this story was that Mr. Hit had taken it into his own hands to denigrate and humiliate this young, very sweet kid. These are the kinds of stories that normally only come up in Joan Collins novels except Mr. Hit would have been a hugely stacked blonde woman in a negligee and Y.W. would have looked like Brad Pitt.)

Y.W. is doing fine these days, by the way. He has now written with many of his heroes and has had some very close calls at getting his songs "cut" by big singers, including one he's waiting to hear about as I write this. As for Mr. Hit, when he's in public, he stares off at the horizon a lot. In his seat, he just kind of hunched over and stayed in some dreamland. His wife pats him and leads him around faithfully and beautifully. I've tried to have conversations with Mr. Hit but it's like talking to the wall. As many times as we've met, he has no idea if he's ever seen me before.

So, "EveryBody Sings!" was fun, the night was fun and I even got home in time to make a banana split and take my 8:00 meds.

Tuesday, October 8, 1996
Working on Songs. Marie Cain.

Today was one of those weird Hollywood days that doesn't come along that often. Here in the Valley where I live, the temp was expecting to top 105. But something told me told me to wear long pants (I'm beginning to fit into pants that used to hang off of me like laundry on a line, with all this new weight gain). I jumped into the car early and got stuck into a massive traffic jam on the 405 heading down to Redondo Beach, where David Robyn lives. When I got there, the sky was overcast and it was almost cold! And it's only about 30 miles away.

I haven't been able to put it into words but the last week has brought me many mixed emotions. Today, though, things began to clear up in my head, thank God. I've been feeling slightly lost and "disconnected." I think it was the fact that there seems to be so much ahead of me and I'm still not adjusted to the thought that I'm going to live. My friend, Marty, and I were talking about it at dinner. There's a part of me that absolutely and completely said, "Goodbye," this past April when I was so sick and so skinny. I feel like I had made my peace with God and that I had no worries or thought for tomorrow. Now, life looms ahead of me in all its goodness and badness. Marie Cain, who I also saw last night, said, "Yeah. Now it means you're going to have to pay your bills!" She has a friend who literally had sold everything and taken a mortgage out on his house, etc. in order to make his "final days" more comfortable. Now, suddenly, he's up to his armpits in debt and, thanks to protease inhibitors he also thinks going to live.

I'm still trying to get my mind straightened out. I still feel a little bit lost. Maybe it's the normal existential angst everyone goes through and I had been living without it for so long, I forget what it felt like. Today, though, it seemed to let up as I began to make plans for the next few months. Also, I'm realizing that I need to begin to make a living. Up to now, I've been too sick to work and have been disabled. But making this transition back into the work force is scary and the rules are not clear. Last year, I tried going to work regularly in an office and it just about killed me. I hadn't realized the stress of a 9 to 5. And even though my health is great right now, I am still aware of my limitations. I still have AIDS and it creeps up on me at odd times.

So, anyway, David and I worked on his songs (I'm his creative consultant) and then ate some Greek food together (I love gyros). Then I popped up to Santa Monica to see Christine Kellogg to work on songs. But, first we went out to a Mexican food restaurant; so I had two lunches yesterday! (We barely made it, timing-wise. I have to not eat for two hours before taking my Crixivan at 3 p.m.). After lunch (the second one) with Christine and Pat, her wonderful husband who is a Director of Photography for many bigtime music videos, we worked on a song we've been writing for three months or more called, "Adventurer." I told her it might be good for my "new band," Civilization.

Later tonight, Marty took me out for a birthday dinner at a fancy new place in West Hollywood owned by Christine Applegate from the TV show, "Married With Children." It has an unpronouncable, unspellable name that seems to be Italian. But the food was good and we ate on the roof! They serve delicacies like ostrich meat (which they were out of last night). Then we went down to hear the fabulous Marie Cain, who wrote the lyrics to Friendly Fire, which is in The Last Session.

Marie has also written a musical called, "The King and Me," which is about a woman's experience during Elvis Week in Memphis. It's very funny. She did a few songs from that show and then asked me to come up and do some songs. The piano is in the front near the street in the window. It's funny to watch someone sing and play while people on the street stop and watch from behind (the singer). Also, there was a old homeless woman who was standing just outside the door having a marvelous time.

I just remembered: on the way to pick up Marty, I began writing a new song. It's about something that you've been reading about here on the website. I won't tell you what it is yet, because it might not pan out, but I love it when a song begins to overwhelm me and write itself. I love it because it means it's going to speak to me itself without me forcing it. This is how most of the songs from the show were written.

Finally, late night, I heard from Shawn Decker, my 21 year old straight buddy with AIDS. He wants to interview me on his homepage. Should be interesting. OH! And anyone in the Detroit area, I'm going to be on the radio there (by phone) on a show called "Your Health Alternatives" hosted by Tony Trupiano. I'll get all the info today and post it here tomorrow.

Wednesday, October 9, 1996
A Good Solid Day of Work.

FLASH!! FRIDAY MORNING RADIO INTERVIEW IN DETROIT.
WPON 1460 AM Live at 8 A.M. EST

I looked at the last few days of diary and realized that I've been doing a lot of sitting around and whining. It's okay. I'll allow myself "whine time" if that's what I need but then it's time to move on. So, today, after doing my morning work on the website and answering your lovely e-mails to me, I did what any red-blooded American male should do when he feels a bit lost:

I did the laundry. Yep, four full washing machine loads. (I took care of the getting them down to the laundry room and taking them carefully out of the dryers so they wouldn't get wrinkled. Jimmy took care of putting them away. It was just too lovely for words.)

Then I took a nap about 1 p.m. When I woke up, my mind was reeling with things to do, so I began doing some lyric writing first. There's a whole new project spinning around in my head, as I hinted yesterday. I don't want to talk too much about it, yet, because it hasn't yet fully formed itself. It's one of those things where you simply go on instinct and follow along. I don't mean to be coy, it's just that I'm not yet sure where it's going or where it's going to end up.

Then I got a call for Bill White Acre. Bill is one of the greatest guitarists I've ever known and he is one of the artists here on the local L.A. scene that I used to feature in my Acoustic Underground shows and he has a new record deal and a new CD out. He and I reconnected at a barbeque on Sunday. Bill has an impeccable ear and he wanted to give me feedback on the CD I'm wanting to record. It's his opinion that, while all the production work on the songs from the show is fun, they sound the best when it's just Steve and the piano. In fact, most people tell me this.

I don't think it's that I'm such a great performer or singer, you understand. It's just that that the songs are mine and I bring an honesty and intensity to them that no one else can really bring. I've mentioned to you the big "Salute to the American Songwriter" concerts and the "Songwriters in the Round" shows I used to produce. They featured songwriters doing their biggest hits (which were generally recorded by others). You know, instead of Bette Midler doing "From a Distance," we featured Julie Gold, who actually wrote "From a Distance." I love Bette Midler and dream of the day she'll record Going It Alone, but Julie's version was magnificent. There was just something she brought to it that Bette never could because it was *her* song, you understand.

Anyway, I decided to schedule another marathon recording like the one's I did last year when I was first writing the songs. (Back then, I'd finagle an hour out of Randy Tobin or Jim Latham and do seven or eight songs in an hour). On Monday next week, I'm going over to Theta Sound and I'm doing as many songs from the show as I can in one sitting. Live at the piano. Just me and the keys. Later this month, when Lynn Keller returns, we'll do one more band recording. What I'm thinking of doing for this CD is to putting BOTH versions of certain songs on it. I won't cost me a cent extra and you'll get to hear both the raw version AND the big orchestrated version (if there is one).

New subject: Work Time. Jimmy and I have a problem we've been trying to solve. I can't work on music while he's in the house. He can't really work on the script with me around, although he denies it and pretends otherwise. It's one of the reasons I enjoy getting out in the car and going to Christine's or to NAS or to David Robyn's. That's fine for him but it doesn't help me a lot. I need time at the piano, uninterrupted and alone.

Today, we almost fell into something useful. I worked at the computer in the morning while he stayed in the bedroom doing phone work, etc. Then we both did some cleaning up the house/laundry, etc. Then in the afternoon, I went into the bedroom and shut the door while he stayed out where the computer is and worked on the script. At that time, I took a nap and then did the work I spoke of earlier upon awakening, including some lyric writing and phone calls to line up studio time, etc. and coordinate with Barry Fasman, who is also helping to produce this CD.

At one point, I wanted to put some music down to the new lyric, so I padded into the living room (where the piano is and also where Jim was working) and I began to play softly. We didn't speak. I just needed to hear the piano and do some creative work there. It didn't seem to bother Jimmy at all. He just kept on typing and I just sat there playing. It was really quite nice.

Two writers in the family can get very crowded if you cannot allow each other space and time. It has never been easy for us, but it seemed to work out very well. He, by the way, is focused on trimming TLS down to a special 75 minute one act version for the showcase in New York. And this is a good little piece of information for any of you who are reading this who have aspirations to write for theatre. In NY, they get showcases constantly and the one thing you don't want anyone to do is to walk out at intermission.

People who go to showcases, like producers and everyone else involved in theatre don't need to see the whole show. They just need to see enough to give them a strong sense of where it's going and where it ends up. To respect their time by giving them a shorter version is like a gift. They appreciate it and it makes the showcase more effective. Once we go into production, though, they prefer a two act show. (Why? So the theatre can sell drinks at intermission, of course!).

That's not why we put an intermission in our show. Jimmy just felt it was better in two acts, to give the audience a chance to take a breathe and then go back in. Also, there's the "have to go to the bathroom" factor to consider, too, ya know!

Tonight, we saw Charles Esten, who played Buddy in our show here, on Star Trek: Voyager. He played a young stud who was from the wrong side of the tracks on an alien planet. Here, they repeat Voyager on Sundays. If they do that where you are, you should watch his episode. He was really good.

All in all, I feel much better today and more focused. Now I'm clear on what I have to do before we take off for Virginia and New York. I'm getting very, very excited. The plan is to finish the recording by the end of October, play it for people and get feedback, then master it and manufacture it by Dec. 15, just in time for you, dear reader, to buy a couple of hundred for all your friends! (Something I know you've just been dying to do...)

Thursday, October 10, 1996
A Incredible Letter. Jim Takes Center Stage.

The first thing I did was call my daddy and wish him a happy birthday. He's 67 years old. Once Jim got on the line, though, my folks talked to him. I think they like him more than they like me. My dad told us that he had seen Jimmy on MSNBC yesterday being interviewed about facial hair. He told the interviewer he thought he (Jim) looked like Sean Connery.

Jim also had one of those great heart stopping moments in the grocery store today. He has this little habit of going first to the loose candy display and filling up a little bag. While shopping, he -- uh -- eats a couple. Well, there he was right in front of the cat food when, suddenly, over the PA system comes this announcement: "SECURITY! SHOPLIFTER IN AISLE 8 IN FRONT OF THE CAT FOOD!"

And there's Jim with a huge jelly candy in his mouth. He nearly has a heart attack. Two huge guys dressed like shoppers then race towards him. His heart is now pounding like a jackhammer. But they race past him to catch some kid who's taken some cap guns or something.

When I saw him after he came home, he was as a ghost and he could barely tell the story without having another heart attack. By the end of the day, of course, it became his favorite story. I think by now the kid has become a bank robber with loaded machine guns and Jimmy personally saved three lives in the melee.

Today, I got a letter from the man I told you about last week; the man who synthesized Crixivan, the drug that has caused such a turn-around in my life. His name is Bruce Dorsey. Here's a new letter he sent me:

Subject: Your birthday
OFFICE MEMO --- Time:4:58 PM
Date:10/10/96

Steve
I was forwarded a note you wrote "Steve has a birthday" by Linda Distlerath, a fellow employee in public affairs. She was reading through the Crix-list [an e-mail exchange group for people taking Crixivan...Steve] and spotted it. She's going to pass it along to Ed Scolnick, president of Merck Research Labs (my boss's boss's boss's boss). She's always excited to hear about people doing well on Crixivan and thought Ed would too.

I have followed your life story via the diary and I have to say it is facinating. Not so much the nitty gitty of everyday life, but living with the constant shadow of AIDS hanging over you -- and your persistent struggle is inspiring. I've been caught up with the science of AIDS and focusing on the drug discovery process. I have not been exposed to the community of people struggling with AIDS (except through newspaper public TV specials) and I have to thank you for the inside glimpse you given to me and everyone else.

I have read through your songs from The Last Session and the story synopsis. I'm not a musical critic but I looks to me like you will accomplish great things. I received a invitation from Don Kirkpatrick to attend the showcase performance in NYC. My wife and I happily accepted (I hope you don't mind) and I'll get to see for myself your musical. We've very excited to see the show!
Keep up the good health.

Bruce

I find it extraordinaty that he is learning about the effects of the medications by reading my online diary. To see his work in action bringing new life to someone who is depending upon his work to stay alive. Very dramatic. And he's coming to New York to the reading!! Now, is this a 20/20 story or what?? And don't you think Merck would want to sponsor my college tour? Think of the educational opportunities! (I could wear Merck sneakers and play a Merck piano on the tour!)

(Steve sells out...)

Today, I mostly just caught up on some work and took it easy. Wrote a little, did some copying and stuff, too.

We had an impromptu gathering of friends from The Last Session over tonight for dinner and chit chat: Ronda, Kim, Linda and Gary. Jimmy made a big baked pasta dish with tomato sauce and sausages and meatballs. And he made homemade chocolate pudding with whipped cream. We watched videos of Jim all night long after that. (He had control of the remote...).

And Ronda told a dirty joke. Naturally I won't repeat it here.

Friday, October 11, 1996
On The Radio & A Little Talk With Judy.

This morning at 4:50 a.m. on the dot, I got a call from a lady who asked me to hold because I was about to go on the air. Then I heard Tony Trupiano's voice talking on the air. It wasn't long before my name was mentioned and, boom, I was on the air in Detroit! I had sent Tony, who is a friend of mine, pages from the recent diary and he was able to question me and get stories out of me without any trouble at all. (As if it were hard to get me to talk!) The half hour blew by so fast, I barely knew I was on.

I had one of those conversations yesterday morning that I forgot to tell you about. I was up at the office with a big bag of chicken and hummus. The others in the office had left except for Judy, the British assistant, and me. We started talking about life and AIDS and stuff. She had just read Bill's Story, which totally broke her heart. We talked about Gabi and about Shawn. And we talked about how little people still know about AIDS and living with it.

Then she remembered how many times this past year they'd see me drag myself up to the office looking like a walking skeleton. "We didn't know if you'd be alive the next day!" Hey, I knew I looked bad, but didn't know I looked that bad back then! (I just considered my sunken face and eyes to be -- um -- craggy. I just refused to ever give up, I guess. Even when I was sick from the drugs or the diarrhea, I'd go to the office and just sit there if I couldn't do anything else. Then I'd go home. Man, that reminds me of two years ago right after my second trip the hospital:

Two Octobers ago, I used to drive out to Malibu everyday to help Dennis and John with officework. Usually, though, it was all I could do to just get there and fall asleep on their couch. If I was feeling particularly bad or weak, I'd sleep for a few hours and then just go home. When I was strong enough to sit up, I'd do filing. They put a box in my lap so I didn't have to get up and I'd file the papers in the box in the right order. Sometimes I'd fall asleep with the box in my lap. But I was determined to be doing something every single day rather than lying in bed waiting to die, which was very tempting, by the way. The effort to shower and shave and drive was enormous. Enormous.

I can barely remember those days. I had just gotten out of UCLA Medical Center (after two weeks there) and I was giving myself three shots a day in the stomach to stop the diarrhea which had almost killed me. People sometimes call me all kinds of heroic names for having done this, but I was a scared bunny simply fighting for each breath. Fighting for each day, begging God to just give me a little more time. And this was long before I'd written one word of The Last Session.

Okay. Enough Memory Lane. Today, Jimmy and I went to see Gena Davis' movie where she plays a housewife who used to be an assassin for the CIA. We thought it would be really stupid, but it was actually quite spectacular. The end sequence is worth the price of admission and there's lots of laughs.

I spent the afternoon writing, playing the piano a bit, and chatting in the IRC [which I cannot seem to make work this morning as I write this]. I've been in #christian and #gaychristian on the undernet. Just letting people know I exist and hoping to make a new friend or two. I try to be respectful, since many Christians see me as some kind of enemy -- and I never fail to run into those who think I'm just about the devil incarnate. Well, if I'm going to be the devil, I'd rather be in caramel sauce with fudge. ("Carnate tastes terrible.")

Saturday, October 12, 1996
Weekend Mailbox.

I've been reveling in some incredible mail.

First, from my little niece, Elizabeth. She's 11ish or 12ish or something:

HI, Hi, hI, hi, H I, H i, h I, hi, and HELLO!!! How are you doing today? I saw your Web Page!!! Pretty cool!!! How do you get one? How's the weather? Down here it's getting kinda chilly!!! But right now the sun is shining like there's no tomorrow... well now that I think of it there might not be a tomorrow.... Tomorrow Tomorrow I luv ya Tomorrow... What's wrong with today?

I think Little Anne was a procrastinator!!! I mean how did she know there would be a tomorrow? What if she died today? That would mean she wouldn't luv "ya" tomorrow...and whom, may I ask was ya? Well I guess that's enough about Little Annie... even if her singing did stink and her hair was ugly as sin...she needs to meet my hairdresser.

I decided this child needs her own homepage. This is from Kerry, stuck in a small redneck town in the South and feeling rather isolated. He just began reading this diary. Since he is a relatively recent arrival and not from this small town, he's still having some culture shock. He wrote appreciating the gentle hand I take with "religious bigots":

I thought life sucked. Not for legitimate reasons, but just because we'd been forced to move away from friends and family so that the other half could have his job. I now live in a place that could only be described as the epitome of the right. So I thought life was pretty much a dead end of just existing until old age. Then I kept hearing of your site. People never said what it was about, just that it was the "best" they'd ever read. So mouse in hand and Willa's list to guide, I came there.

WHOA...wait a minute, I found a man who faced death with matter of fact vision while squeezing every bit of life out of life. A man who wasn't railing at the injustices, but patiently and articulately explaining to the close-minded hoards with success. Then a man who for only the price of HUGE needles, and unlimiting rounds of taking drugs, got a second chance and soared.

Sheepishly I looked at my own life and had to laugh. What's a few rednecks?

So it's not just seeing how the disease led you through the awful path, but that despite it, you had the time to be patient, to write music and to see the best in life. A lesson for everyone, not just those that may have nasty little attitudes towards AIDS and homosexuality. Worse, those that feel that God is a sword. So although I may send every non-thinking dolt I run across to this site, I'll also be sending the folks who feel slighted by life, and most importantly anyone who thinks their life might be better. After all the most important thing is life and I know too many of us forget that basic fact. Your words explain that better than anything I've ever heard or read.

Seriously though it was your handling of the religious right that I learned a lot from. I get entirely too soap boxy and no one is in the least bit improved. You're making a difference.

The straight folks I know that are solidly supporting their Gay and Lesbian counterparts are the ones with friends and family members. You diary gives that feel of knowing someone and that's where hearts and minds will be changed. I cannot imagine the stone cold heart it would take to read your diary and not absolutely rejoice in the news of your t-cells and viral counts as they head in the right directions (I literally jumped up and down and clapped, waking the household). Your effect and words to those who would scramble to find reasons to continue their beliefs are kind and they get through. Yes, the "Last Session" must get out there. I had visions of entire rooms full of rednecks becoming supporters to PFLAG.

That became my favorite mental image of the week -- right after the one of him waking the household when he read about my t-cell count going up. In fact, if Christians actually lived their own principles, they would be on the front lines of making sure gay people were treated with respect and with equal legal rights. But the TV Evangelist Politically motivated so-called leadership has blinded them by enforcing their own ingrained homophobia (not a difficult task) with hate-filled propaganda videos and fund raisers. Oop, I'm preaching. Sorry, Corky.

I suppose there must be worse horrors than to be gay in a small town in the south but none come to mind. In Jacksonville, Texas, the first gay person I met was an undertaker who smoked liked a chimney and had a closet full of nothing but black suits. He lived a few miles down the road in a different small town. Everytime I went there, I thought gangs of rednecks were circling the house on their Harleys, watching the house. I was finally "run out" of Jacksonville when, one fine day, all my "friends" got me in a circle and "accused" me of being homosexual. Of course, half of them had sneaked into my budoir at one time or another and asked for "favors" when the women population of Jacksonville was unavailable.

I let them play their little game with me. And then the next day, I packed my tiny little car with whatever it would hold and I drove out of town, winding up in Dallas. Now, you straight folks reading this, if there had been a different atmosphere in this small town -- if there had been a "who cares" attitude about being gay, if I had been able to live my life openly, I would never have run off to the big city and gotten into the kind of trouble I eventually got into. I could have stayed in my own community surrounded by family and friends. But that's not what happened.

Kerry also asked me about my writing process. Here is kinda what I sent him in response:

Here's how I write songs.

A piano and an empty room.
Lyrics I wrote yesterday at dawn.
I read the lyrics until my pulse starts to race.
I put my fingers into the ivory and find a virgin spot.
When it connects, the music flows as if it were already written, and I can barely breathe. My head spins.

This is also how I perform, I think. I never seem to play the songs exactly the same way twice. I do a consistent performance, but I don't repeat myself exactly every time. It just depends upon how I feel when I'm playing. I do try to keep the head spinning down to a minimum. After all, it scares the children.

Music can be a heady, sensual experience. And it's sin free!!! That's right, it has no calories and it does not get jealous. But before writing, it's a good idea to think of something you really want to say. Unless you feel compelled to tell a story, it will not be compelling, no matter how you dress it up. A pig in a bikini will still wallow in the mud.

And speaking of pigs, Kerry also turned me on to a little pig page he created and which he thought I would like after reading how to pronounce my name. He also recommended meeting Bacon, a pot-bellied pig who is the apple of his owner's eye. Pot-bellied pigs became a trendy pet choice some time ago, but when -- well, let's be blunt -- when cityfolk try to raise pigs, it doesn't usually work out that well, and it's the pigs who suffer.

Okay. I'll veer off into pigs for a second. In Buna, Texas, where I spent my high school years, there was a family that lived out on the highway that cuts across to Houston, I think. Well, anyway, as many small farmers often do in dirt-poor southeast Texas, they raised a few pigs. Sometimes, though, they'd fall in love with a little piglet and this animal would become the house pet; treated like a pet dog, loved by the kids. It would never, under any circumstances be buthered for its meat.

Uh, well. That's the whole story.

Sunday, October 13, 1996
Lucy, Jim and Steve.

You never have asked me about Lucille Ball, you know. Today, I was at the computer having fun and Jimmy was watching "I Love Lucy." There's something about having her voice in the house that just feels like home. Probably because she was omnipresent with "I Love Lucy" when I was growing up. But even more because I was lucky enough to actually spend time with her at her home before she died. We even went out to a couple of big events as her escorts, landing on Entertainment Tonight because of it.

In person, she was very loving. The second you walked in the door, she'd be all over you asking if you need lemonade. She'd ask you four or five times until you finally acknowledged that you needed it. Then she'd run to the kitchen and make it, presenting it like a mom giving you "a little something to tide you over." After we all got comfortable, (Jim and Lucy in the corner at the backgammon table, me on the couch in the lanai, looking out onto the big back yard, reading magazines or a book), I'd just sit and listen to the two of them play and laugh and tell secrets and chatter away.

Lucy had this most incredible mind. I don't know if you've ever been around someone you could call "great" or not, but there was something to her that I've not seen in but a very few people in my lifetime. It was an intelligence you could almost feel. She never missed anything going on around her. She was legendary for being able to walk onto a set and know which person was going to be a goof-off before anyone said a word.

Lucy always invited me to join them in a three-way backgammon (taking turns tournament style if I recall), I'd more often than not, say no. I like backgammon and being with her was like being with electricity, but there was something soothing and incredible about just being in the room reading while she and Jim played and laughed and told old stories. She just loved him. He had her constantly laughing and it's my opinion that he helped extend her life because of it. Gary, her husband, was a nice guy but he was a golf fanatic and was out on the links everyday.

Lucy had a few friends, but not that many. Some were really old. Most had jobs. When we met and Jim told her he loved backgammon, she invited him over every single day to spend the afternoon playing backgammon. I also think she "wore people out" with her own relentless energy. She liked being active and she liked being entertained with witty conversation, something that is increasingly a lost art.

Jim was the perfect one to fill the bill. He's not like most people you meet. He's startlingly intelligent (for a clown who's favorite show is "America's Funniest Home Videos") and was even on Jeopardy once, as I mentioned once before. But he was raised among adults in New York. His father worked for Allen & Co., the big investment firm. One of his first friends he met as a boy was Ethel Merman. And as a post-adolescent, he actually used to go visit and "play" over at Joan Crawford's apartment in New York. He and Joan met on a cruise. Jimmy was 13. Make him tell the story.

The point is that he really comes from a different world that is fast fading. One in which polite conversation and intellectual stimulation was the norm, not the exception. I marvel at his ability to just tell a story, sing at parties, imitate Ethel Merman (something he believes himself to be famous for, by the way--because he is). He and Stan Freeman, the great Gershwin/Jazz pianist, do this number together with Jimmy as Ethel singing lullabyes and quiet songs. Volume at 11.

Jim has been complaining that I don't mention him very much in this diary. I suppose it's a matter of privacy. He's not too keen on getting famous. Well, it's a show biz side effect and he's going to have to get used to it. Especially being married to me. Besides, how many writers of a musical that hasn't even had a full professional run are famous? None. We have a long way to go. Schalchlin is not a household name.

Speaking of me, my weight is up again. 172 as of yesterday, which is over 35 pounds gained since my low in May/June. Skin looks good. Eyes look normal. Legs are looking fine... Just a little pot belly from the massive and fast weight gain. I began doing some pushups yesterday and I am WAY WAY out of shape. In my online Crixivan discussion group, I'm reading many, many, notes from people complaining about their new fat bellies, so it's a kind of side effect, it looks like. It's also time to go have my molluscums burned off. Those are little bumps caused by a skin virus.

Had a lovely weekend. Played the piano a lot getting ready for Monday's recording session. Also, Lynn comes home this week and we can finish recording any other tracks we might have in mind.

What was that you asked? How did we meet Lucy? Well, through a Maps to the Stars Homes we bought down on Hollywood Blvd. How else?

Saturday, October 12, 1996
Weekend Mailbox.

I've been reveling in some incredible mail.

First, from my little niece, Elizabeth. She's 11ish or 12ish or something:

HI, Hi, hI, hi, H I, H i, h I, hi, and HELLO!!! How are you doing today? I saw your Web Page!!! Pretty cool!!! How do you get one? How's the weather? Down here it's getting kinda chilly!!! But right now the sun is shining like there's no tomorrow... well now that I think of it there might not be a tomorrow.... Tomorrow Tomorrow I luv ya Tomorrow... What's wrong with today?

I think Little Anne was a procrastinator!!! I mean how did she know there would be a tomorrow? What if she died today? That would mean she wouldn't luv "ya" tomorrow...and whom, may I ask was ya? Well I guess that's enough about Little Annie... even if her singing did stink and her hair was ugly as sin...she needs to meet my hairdresser.

I decided this child needs her own homepage. This is from Kerry, stuck in a small redneck town in the South and feeling rather isolated. He just began reading this diary. Since he is a relatively recent arrival and not from this small town, he's still having some culture shock. He wrote appreciating the gentle hand I take with "religious bigots":

I thought life sucked. Not for legitimate reasons, but just because we'd been forced to move away from friends and family so that the other half could have his job. I now live in a place that could only be described as the epitome of the right. So I thought life was pretty much a dead end of just existing until old age. Then I kept hearing of your site. People never said what it was about, just that it was the "best" they'd ever read. So mouse in hand and Willa's list to guide I came there.

WHOA...wait a minute, I found a man who faced death with matter of fact vision while squeezing every bit of life out of life. A man who wasn't railing at the injustices, but patiently and articulately explaining to the close-minded hoards with success. Then a man who for only the price of HUGE needles, and unlimiting rounds of taking drugs, got a second chance and soared.

Sheepishly I looked at my own life and had to laugh. What's a few rednecks?

So it's not just seeing how the disease led you through the awful path, but that despite it, you had the time to be patient, to write music and to see the best in life. A lesson for everyone, not just those that may have nasty little attitudes towards AIDS and homosexuality. Worse, those that feel that God is a sword. So although I may send every non-thinking dolt I run across to this site, I'll also be sending the folks who feel slighted by life, and most importantly anyone who thinks their life might be better. After all the most important thing is life and I know too many of us forget that basic fact. Your words explain that better than anything I've ever heard or read.

Seriously though it was your handling of the religious right that I learned a lot from. I get entirely too soap boxy and no one is in the least bit improved. You're making a difference.

The straight folks I know that are solidly supporting their Gay and Lesbian counterparts are the ones with friends and family members. You diary gives that feel of knowing someone and that's where hearts and minds will be changed. I cannot imagine the stone cold heart it would take to read your diary and not absolutely rejoice in the news of your t-cells and viral counts as they head in the right directions (I literally jumped up and down and clapped, waking the household). Your effect and words to those who would scramble to find reasons to continue their beliefs are kind and they get through. Yes, the "Last Session" must get out there. I had visions of entire rooms full of rednecks becoming supporters to PFLAG.

That became my favorite mental image of the week -- right after the one of him waking the household when he read about my t-cell count going up. In fact, if Christians actually lived their own principles, they would be on the front lines of making sure gay people were treated with respect and with equal legal rights. But the TV Evangelist Politically motivated so-called leadership has blinded them by enforcing their own ingrained homophobia (not a difficult task) with hate-filled propaganda videos and fund raisers. Oop, I'm preaching. Sorry, Corky.

I suppose there must be worse horrors than to be gay in a small town in the south but none come to mind. In Jacksonville, Texas, the first gay person I met was an undertaker who smoked liked a chimney and had a closet full of nothing but black suits. He lived a few miles down the road in a different small town. Everytime I went there, I thought gangs of rednecks were circling the house on their Harleys, watching the house. I was finally "run out" of Jacksonville when, one fine day, all my "friends" got me in a circle and "accused" me of being homosexual. Of course, half of them had sneaked into my budoir at one time or another and asked for "favors" when the women population of Jacksonville was unavailable.

I let them play their little game with me. And then the next day, I packed my tiny little car with whatever it would hold and I drove out of town, winding up in Dallas. Now, you straight folks reading this, if there had been a different atmosphere in this small town -- if there had been a "who cares" attitude about being gay, if I had been able to live my life openly, I would never have run off to the big city and gotten into the kind of trouble I eventually got into. I could have stayed in my own community surrounded by family and friends. But that's not what happened.

Kerry also asked me about my writing process. Here is kinda what I sent him in response:

Here's how I write songs.

A piano and an empty room.
Lyrics I wrote yesterday at dawn.
I read the lyrics until my pulse starts to race.
I put my fingers into the ivory and find a virgin spot.
When it connects, the music flows as if it were already written, and I can barely breathe. My head spins.

This is also how I perform, I think. I never seem to play the songs exactly the same way twice. I do a consistent performance, but I don't repeat myself exactly every time. It just depends upon how I feel when I'm playing. I do try to keep the head spinning down to a minimum. After all, it scares the children.

Music can be a heady, sensual experience. And it's sin free!!! That's right, it has no calories and it does not get jealous. But before writing, it's a good idea to think of something you really want to say. Unless you feel compelled to tell a story, it will not be compelling, no matter how you dress it up. A pig in a bikini will still wallow in the mud.

And speaking of pigs, Kerry also turned me on to a little pig page he created and which he thought I would like after reading how to pronounce my name. He also recommended meeting Bacon, a pot-bellied pig who is the apple of his owner's eye. Pot-bellied pigs became a trendy pet choice some time ago, but when -- well, let's be blunt -- when cityfolk try to raise pigs, it doesn't usually work out that well, and it's the pigs who suffer.

In Buna, Texas, where I spent my high school years, there was a family that lived out on the highway that cuts across to Houston, I think. Well, anyway, as many small farmers often do in dirt-poor southeast Texas, they raised a few pigs. Sometimes, though, they'd fall in love with a little piglet and this animal would become the house pet; treated like a pet dog, loved by the kids. It would never, under any circumstances be buthered for its meat.

Uh, well. That's the whole story.

Sunday, October 13, 1996
Lucy, Jim and Steve.

You never have asked me about Lucille Ball, you know. Today, I was at the computer having fun and Jimmy was watching "I Love Lucy." There's something about having her voice in the house that just feels like home. Probably because she was omnipresent with "I Love Lucy" when I was growing up. But even more because I was lucky enough to actually spend time with her at her home before she died. We even went out to a couple of big events as her escorts, landing on Entertainment Tonight because of it.

In person, she was very loving. The second you walked in the door, she'd be all over you asking if you need lemonade. She'd ask you four or five times until you finally acknowledged that you needed it. Then she'd run to the kitchen and make it, presenting it like a mom giving you "a little something to tide you over." After we all got comfortable, (Jim and Lucy in the corner at the backgammon table, me on the couch in the lanai, looking out onto the big back yard, reading magazines or a book), I'd just sit and listen to the two of them play and laugh and tell secrets and chatter away.

Lucy had this most incredible mind. I don't know if you've ever been around someone you could call "great" or not, but there was something to her that I've not seen in but a very few people in my lifetime. It was an intelligence you could almost feel. She never missed anything going on around her. She was legendary for being able to walk onto a set and know which person was going to be a goof-off before anyone said a word.

Lucy always invited me to join them in a three-way backgammon (taking turns tournament style if I recall), I'd more often than not, say no. I like backgammon and being with her was like being with electricity, but there was something soothing and incredible about just being in the room reading while she and Jim played and laughed and told old stories. She just loved him. He had her constantly laughing and it's my opinion that he helped extend her life because of it. Gary, her husband, was a nice guy but he was a golf fanatic and was out on the links everyday.

Lucy had a few friends, but not that many. Some were really old. Most had jobs. When we met and Jim told her he loved backgammon, she invited him over every single day to spend the afternoon playing backgammon. I also think she "wore people out" with her own relentless energy. She liked being active and she liked being entertained with witty conversation, something that is increasingly a lost art.

Jim was the perfect one to fill the bill. He's not like most people you meet. He's startlingly intelligent (for a clown who's favorite show is "America's Funniest Home Videos") and was even on Jeopardy once, as I mentioned once before. But he was raised among adults in New York. His father worked for Allen & Co., the big investment firm. One of his first friends he met as a boy was Ethel Merman. And as a post-adolescent, he actually used to go visit and "play" over at Joan Crawford's apartment in New York. He and Joan met on a cruise. Jimmy was 13. Make him tell the story.

The point is that he really comes from a different world that is fast fading. One in which polite conversation and intellectual stimulation was the norm, not the exception. I marvel at his ability to just tell a story, sing at parties, imitate Ethel Merman (something he believes himself to be famous for, by the way--because he is). He and Stan Freeman, the great Gershwin/Jazz pianist, do this number together with Jimmy as Ethel singing lullabyes and quiet songs. Volume at 11.

Jim has been complaining that I don't mention him very much in this diary. I suppose it's a matter of privacy. He's not too keen on getting famous. Well, it's a show biz side effect and he's going to have to get used to it. Especially being married to me. Besides, how many writers of a musical that hasn't even had a full professional run are famous? None. We have a long way to go. Schalchlin is not a household name.

Speaking of me, my weight is up again. 172 as of yesterday, which is over 35 pounds gained since my low in May/June. Skin looks good. Eyes look normal. Legs are looking fine... Just a little pot belly from the massive and fast weight gain. I began doing some pushups yesterday and I am WAY WAY out of shape. In my online Crixivan discussion group, I'm reading many, many, notes from people complaining about their new fat bellies, so it's a kind of side effect, it looks like. It's also time to go have my molluscums burned off. Those are little bumps caused by a skin virus.

Had a lovely weekend. Played the piano a lot getting ready for Monday's recording session. Also, Lynn comes home this week and we can finish recording any other tracks we might have in mind.

What was that you asked? How did we meet Lucy? Well, through a Maps to the Stars Homes we bought down on Hollywood Blvd. How else?

One more Lucy story. We were going to a benefit in a rather low rent district of L.A. and decided to go to a little deli/restaurant first. Lucy is dressed from head to toe in black but she has this gorgeous gold necklace on. We go into a place that can be best described as ... um ... not a celebrity hang-out. There were as many street people in the joint as there were people who could actually pay the dinner check. Now, I've been in public with celebrities before, since my job before led to a bit of that, but nothing I ever experienced was even remotely like being out with Lucille Ball. It was like a cartoon, peoples' head would snap in ways that defied physics. This was a woman known to every single human being on the planet.

The waitress shook like a leaf. People would pass by our table with their mouths hanging open. Later, just outside the theatre, a homeless man came up to our group to ask for some change. Lucy gave him something, I think. Just as he was taking it from her, his eyes popped open and his jaw dropped and he said, at something I can only describe as a scream, "YOU'RE LUCILLE BALL!!!"

I felt very proud walking next to Lucy. She never failed to elicit smiles. And if someone came up to her, she'd want to know their whole life story. She was intensely interested in people. I think, of all the things I liked best about her, it was this quality that I loved the most. She was "just folks." Just Lucy.

Monday, October 14, 1996
"Get 'im Off the Crixivan and Onto the Ritalin."

That quote above came from my friend, David Rambo. He's a playwright and he made an appearance here in these pages a few months ago when he was in the hospital unexpectedly. He said this after I picked up the phone and practically shouted his ear off, I guess. I don't know my own strength these days.

Today I went to Theta Sound Studios to do some recording, but somehow we all got screwed up on the dates because Randy didn't know we had a session. Oops. He apologized over and over again later tonight when he called. It wasn't a total loss, though. Barry Fasman arrived also and we went back to his house and talked about the CD. It's going to be tough, tough, tough, to get it recorded and mixed before the end of the month. Hopefully, we'll do the recordings this week and mix next week.

Barry and I also talked about this website. He has some gay family and it pleases him to send them pages from this diary. When I wrote about helping the mother in New Hampshire come together with her lesbian daughter, he literally cried. He thinks that this site is performing some kind of service to the world. I never meant to do that, of course. I thought this site was about getting attention! HEY! LOOK AT ME!!

Well, if we have to save a life or mend a family or two, I suppose I can't complain. My weight, by the way, was 174 this morning. My tummy is sticking out. I'm finding out, though, that this stomach thing -- it's almost like it's distended -- is common to many of the people taking Crixivan. However, I did some more exercises today and let Jim give me a shot of deca durabolin, a steroid many PWAs use for weight gain and muscle mass build-up. (Muscle mass is our only defense against wasting.)

Well, anyway, Randy did call and now our recording session is set for tomorrow.

I was cranky tonight. I was at the computer typing away on something when Jimmy said he was going to make a cake or something. I was only half listening. Then he said we only had enough milk for the cake and not breakfast in the morning. He kept talking and asking me if he should make it or not. Finally I got petulant and said, "What are you talking about? Make the cake or don't make the cake! Why are you asking me about it? I'm working here! I don't even know what you're talking about!!" He looked totally stung. He just put the milk back into the fridge and said he didn't feel like making cake for me now. (I hadn't realized he was making it for me. As if he doesn't eat cake...). Still, the whole thing put me on edge. Why were we fighting? Why did I feel like I came back into the second act of a play I hadn't seen the first act of? Why was he being so weird?

Finally, he fell asleep on the chair and then went to be early. I sat up until midnight feeling bad and feeling wired and edgy. I think I'm getting just a bit stressed over making the CD, doing the show in NY, and not being able to supply our musical director with any music on paper. Carl the Producer asked what we used in the L.A. production to read harmonies and stuff. Well, I didn't write any of it down. We just learned it as we went along. You know what? This is what I'm really stressed about. I can't do the staff paper work they've asked me to do because I gave up on it. I felt like I put in days and days of work earlier last month only to find it was mostly wrong. So, I quit.

I guess I feel like a failure there. I can't give anybody anything except tapes and singing. How do I get myself into these sorts of things. I suppose it has to do with the fact that I consider scoring to be "work." And I only want to have FUN!!! Still, I slept fitfully all night long. Clearly, my mind is unsettled.

I also got a hilarious e-mail from Kerry, the guy who wrote yesterday. Wll, guess what. It's not a guy. It's a woman. She said I could refer to her as a guy to save being embarrassed, but what's the big deal about being embarrassed? I always admitted being a bit of an idiot.

Tuesday, October 15, 1996
Finally Recording Again! And Then, A Flat Tire...

Well, the good thing about having a diary online is that your lover can read it after you've had a little tiff. His whole reaction to last night? "I wondered why you were acting so weird..." And thus, the crisis ends. Onto the next!

This morning I drove down the San Diego Freeway, which was bizarrely clear for a change, and woke up David Robyn at 10:30. I (jokingly, of course) offered to join him in bed but he wasn't too keen on the idea. (These straight boys...) The weather today was overcast and cool. I was still feeling a bit edgy still, so David made me some tea and we had a long conversation over our hot drinks. He told me a bit more of his background in music groups. He told of opening for Leta Ford on the Sunset Strip in a band with mile-long hair, leather and spandex. He said the band members were hot and really into what they were doing, but it was also a time of great excess.

But it was at the end of the Winger/Poison (etc.) L.A. hairband thing and David said he suddenly just wasn't into the music anymore. He said he just suddenly felt like it was all stupid and not at all what he wanted to play for the rest of his life. So, he broke the band up. He said they were so pissed at him that one of the guy's girlfriends came up to him in a club and slapped him shouting, "You ruined my boyfriend's life!"

I had a similar experience when I left my old Gospel group, Damascus Road back in the 70s. I had been struggling with my identity. For many years, following instructions from all the evangelists and preachers I hung around in East Texas, I begged and pleaded for Jesus to change me into a heterosexual. It seems Jesus doesn't do that, you see. He likes me just exactly as I am. But I couldn't take it anymore, feeling like a hypocrite. So, one day, I called the band together and simply said, "I don't believe in any of this anymore, so I have to quit."

Since the band members were all very sincere people, they couldn't argue with me. They certainly didn't want to play with someone who was no longer a believer. It hurt them, though. I was the principle songwriter and singer, although the others wrote and sang some, too. They tried to go on, but it was to no avail. Now, Tommie, the leader, refuses to have anything to do with me because of some verse in 2nd Thessalonians or something. But I think the problem with him is that he is simply a homophobe and he, like many others, uses the Bible to affirm his own prejudices. It's too bad. Tommie and I worked side by side for over five years. Now he treats me as if I were the devil incarnate.

ANYWAY, David and I eventually made our way out to his studio and I sang some back-up vocals for him on a new CD he is making. After that, I drove home, took a much-needed nap, and then went over to my beloved Theta Sound Studios where I recorded five songs in about an hour with the rock steady Randy Tobin at the controls. Then Ginger Freers came in and joined me on vocals.

I was really feeling great by now because the session had gone beautifully. As Bill White Acre said, I'm at my best (and many of the songs are at their best) when it's just the piano and me. I'm even considering including on the CD nothing but these stark, simple tracks. I don't know. That's what Ronda Espy is for; to make up my mind for me.

We had a great session and I was feeling wonderful again. Then I got out to my car -- it was about 9:30 P.M. by now -- and began driving out when suddenly I realized that the car was acting really badly. I got out and, lo and behold, a flat tire. Wonderful. So, there I am lying on the sidewalk in the near-dark trying to find the little spot where you are supposed to put the jack. There was a little light coming from the basketball court in the little park I was adjacent to. Just as I finished tightening the last lug nut, all the lights in the park went off and I was crouched there in total blackness. I had made it just in time.

Wednesday, October 16, 1996
Eatin' & Laughin'.

It's almost 6:00 p.m. as I write this.

Ronda Espy is about to come over here. We're going to watch the Presidential Debates. Jim has made an incredible dinner of roast beef, mashed potatoes with onion and sour cream, mixed vegetables, smothered onions, gravy, brown bread, and a "made from scratch" chocolate cream pie. The total idiocy of the political campaign is such an irritation now that it's just a mud throwing contest.

So, when you know the entertainment is going to be boring, the best way to counter that is to serve a really great meal. We've certainly gone to dinner theatres where the food was better than the entertainment. (But usually it was way the other way around.)

Jim is a fabulous cook. When people ask me how we have made it for twelve years, the best answers are that he makes me laugh and he's a great cook. What else is there? Eatin' and laughin'. That should be our record label, "Eatin' and Laughin' Records."

Speaking of laughing, I found this on the net. Reminds me of my own writing sometimes.

Thursday, October 17, 1996
Comic Book Day. Some Personal Notes.

I was hoping to do some music stuff today but both Barry Fasman and Jim Latham were busy, so instead I caught up on errands. Making copies of stuff, writing a bio for NYC, and getting my beloved comic books, of course. Normally, comic book day is Wednesday, but I was busy yesterday eating and laughing, so instead I went today and got the most current issues. X-Men is my favorite except for Spawn, of course, which rules the comic universe.

(I make no apologies for this childish behavior. Call it the quirk of being an arteeest.)

Yesterday, I met a gay activist on the IRC who was a rabid Christian-hater because of all the hate that's been thrown at gays by the Christian Right. I told him that hating wouldn't solve any problems. I described how we try to approach this problem in our musical. He kinda followed me but felt I was "sucking up" to Christians and that they were the enemy; crusading hatemongers from hell who would prefer to pen all gay people up into concentration camps. He's not too far off the mark, you know. This is a proposal that has been floated in more that a few Christian pamplets and books. And I think even Jesse Helms mentioned it a few times.

The hatred many people feel added to the fear most heteros feel can be a deadly combination; especially when further combined with the exagerrations and evil being thrown at us by the Falwells and the TV evangelists. This is one reason why people like Don Kirkpatrick and Carl D. White and others are working so hard to get The Last Session mounted. They feel it is essential and crucial that it be heard by people.

But I'm not here to Christian-bash. I think it is just as wrong for gay people and others to judge Christians. But I also say that Christians have to begin to be more vocal in their opposition to this hatred brought about by the extreme Right. It's a rift in our society that must be mended. Our show is a very real illustration of how these world can be brought together. It's not Mission: Impossible.

It's frustrating to be stuck in the middle, too. Christians screaming about me being gay. Gays screaming at me for talking to Christians and treating them like human beings. It's weird.

Tonight we went over to Ronda's for pizza and hot wings. We got to play with a baby, Emma, who is only 13 months old. Just beginning to walk a little. Everytime Jim said anything to her, she cried. It was hysterical. But she would come over to me and give me toys and things. She liked me. Jim was sitting in a chair with strong backlighting, so everytime he spoke it was spooky. I kept calling him satan. Ronda and Judy, Emma's mother, shushed me when I called him that.

PERSONAL NOTES:
ITEM: I didn't mention this before, but I've been actually exercising the past few days. Yes. Push-ups and some hand weights. I'm going slowly because I am out of shape, but I tone up quickly. After all, all the girls from ODU called me on my birthday in anticipation of my trip there next month. I want to be beautiful, don't I?

ITEM: My feet are beginning to hurt a little more than normal. It's peripheral neuropathy, probably from the d4T I'm taking. It's not bad with shoes and socks, though. Last year, I tried another "d" drug called ddC and I couldn't even walk after a couple months. Had to use a cane. d4T doesn't seem so bad. (Neuropathy is when the nerves become damaged. Sometimes it's painful, sometimes numb, and sometimes it feels like they're hooked to live electrical wires.)

ITEM: Last night, a friend of ours named Bob was invited to the pizza party but he declined because he said he has a cold and didn't want to give it to me. I really appreciated the thought but colds are spread by touch and we could have easily "segregated" my pizza from his or his from mine. I would have preferred to have Bob there. This whole thing brings up the issue of how fragile I might be or what people should do around a man with AIDS. The simple answer is to act as you would around anyone else, but being careful about germs and sneezing and stuff. It's up to me to remember to keep my hands away from my face when in a public situation. I've been in many public rooms and shows and parties and in the last three years and I have not had a single cold. I also haven't gotten the flu. So, *knock wood*, I am taking care of myself and I plead with the good folks in Virginia, when I come there, to not worry about making me sick. Just treat me like anybody else. My only food restrictions are "anything raw." No lettuce or salad, unpeeled fruit (like grapes), sushi, rare meat or hollandaise sauce (raw eggs). HOW I MISS HOLLANDAISE!

Friday, October 18, 1996
Back on Track. Doing that Music Thang...

Unexpectedly, Barry Fasman called me this morning and said we could get together and work on the CD, so I raced over Laurel Canyon and found him outside with his HUGE dogs getting a little sun. (He has a great Dane that I can actually almost ride like a horse!) We went into his studio and listened to the songs I recorded the other night at Randy's. This was the first time for me, too, to hear them since they were recorded. We were both pleasantly surprised that the tracks (recording live to tape with piano and vocal) sound really great. I always prefer a live performance because I guess I'm in love with Truth. I'd rather hear a person than a machine; and so much of what we hear just sounds like machines.

So, now I feel like we're on track to finishing the CD which I'm sure you are all excited about. I'm also excited about the trip to Virginia and the New York. Jimmy has fashioned a shorter script for New York, which I might have told you already. In New York the staged readings, which is what we'll be doing, are more beloved if the author can keep the time down to 75 or 90 minutes with no act break. This way no one can leave at intermission. Hehehehe. (That was a free helpful hint to all you people with theatrical ambitions. Ten cents, please.)

Also had a nice "drop-in" visit with Paul Zollo. He is working on a new edition of his great book featuring interviews with the world's greatest songwriters. It should be out in the Spring.

I saw a kind of scary note from someone on my HIV e-mail group about how he failed on Crixivan after only six months. However, they tell me that there are three more protease inhibitors on the way. So, even if they all only last six months, that gives me a good year and a half of life. By then, I'm sure they'll have a cure or something new. *cross fingers*

Thanks, again, to all of you who have written me lately. I appreciate the fact that you are concerned, not only about my health, but about the issues of love and tolerance. 

Saturday, October 19, 1996
Saturday Mailbag.

Some interesting mail this week:

From Linda George: I think you are smart in educating people right now before you meet your throngs- re: colds and germs and stuff. Everyone who has been reading your struggle with AIDS and the many associated problems will desperately want you comfortable and germ free. Your web site has helped people understand about your limits and that you don't really want special attention!

I'm glad to hear this. Most of my friends treat me like any other ordinary person and, if you're reading because I'm coming to your hometown soon, the only thing I require is bottled water. Tap water is VERBOTEN for little Steve. Other than that, just let me know if you have a cold or something. But for heavens sake, don't let that keep you from coming to my show. Now, this little tidbit from my brother who is a policeman (gawd help us all):

Well...I now know what it's like to be bashed for being gay. I was messing with a guy today at work and....wait a minute....I need to rephrase that. I was pulling pranks on a guy today on a part-time job. I didn't realize it but he slipped out to my car before we left and taped a large sign to the rear that said "I support gay and lesbian activities". On the way home I was minding my own business when a car full of African-Americans pulled up next to me on the freeway and started honking the horn. They then began giving me the bird and screaming at me. I was about ready to point a gun at them when they took an exit. A few other individuals gave me the evil eye and another guy pulled up next to me and gave me a long gazing smile. I was pulling in my driveway when the guy that put the sign on called me and told me to look at the rear of my car. After I saw what he had done, I told him that I was about ready to shoot at a carload of idiots on the interstate.

Oh...the games we heteros play!

I wonder if he got a date out of it. Oh, my little friend, Shawn Decker just wrote an essay about growing up in junior high with HIV. Please read it. How he can make me laugh while breaking my heart is amazing.

Sunday, October 20, 1996
A Night Out and Then In Again.

First, read Mowing Jimmy's Lawn.

Last night, Jimmy and I had a perfect night at that theatre. We were in and out in a flash. Just like we like. We went first to our favorite bad 50s diner (where I had the terrible chicken fried steak several weeks ago). Our waiter couldn't have been over 15 years old. His busboy looked slightly younger. It also looked like he was the only waiter in the whole place and he looked like it was his first day on the job. I felt really sorry for him because whenever we asked for something, he got this really empty look in his eye. Since I've done that waiter thing, I could empathize. We were very sweet to him.

Tonight we were to see "The Glass Menagerie" which is playing in rep with several other plays at "A Noise Within," a great theatrical troupe in Glendale. By the way, it was a beautiful evening and the drive into Glendale is spectacular. To the left (from the Valley where we live), there are rolling deserty hills with homes all over them. The seem to point right into Glendale, which is glittery and new.

So, after we ate our burgers and fries (and chocolate malt -- yum), we breezed over to the theatre and sat. We were in a good mood and yakking a little loudly letting everyone know that Jimmy was the critic for the Glendale News Press when the show started.

It was the wrong show. They were doing an entirely different play! One which Jimmy had already seen and reviewed. So, right as the actors were starting, we bolted out of our seats and raced from the theatre. The little PR guy who was responsible for giving Jimmy the wrong info just kinda shrugged with a little weak smile when Jimmy told him about the mix-up. When we got home, though, there was this massive apology on the machine.

But, actually, Jimmy and I like being home. A perfect night out. Go eat, see a 30 second show and be home in time for Jimmy's favorite show, America's Funniest Home Videos. I, of course, headed straight to the computer.

I had a great day yesterday, Saturday, in the studio with Barry Fasman, by the way. He has shown me that we can orchestrate several of the piano/vocal tracks I recorded this week without losing the original power. What we'll do is simply make the low tones of the piano richer with some deep, low strings and bring out the richness of the ... well, never mind. Music can't be described. All I'm saying is that the simple CD I'm making for you (YES YOU!! hehehehe) will be a very nice production. You'll even be able to play it for company.

Today I worked on the website, adding a new guestbook server. Poor Lpage. And I individually loaded most of the old messages which I was smart enough to save. But now you can all put in NEW messages! I also found more things from PFLAG -- Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. This proud and wonderful group has healed thousands of lives and probably saved more than that. I've spoken of the cultural war being waged against gay people and, if you're a regular reader, you know that we tackle this subject peripherally in The Last Session by showing, by example, how these opposing groups can exist without killing each other. PFLAG consists of moms and dads and grandparents and gay people all finding a way to support each other in these dark days of homophobia and hatred. I introduced myself to the group and got lots of nice replies.

Between this group and the HIV group I belong to, I'm now getting a hundred e-mails a day or more. No big deal. I always answer you first, dear reader, so please don't hesitate to write me if you have a question or you just want to inflate my already 'too big to be seen from anything but a satellite' ego. There's room for more!

Oh, and today, for the first time I spoke voice to voice with Gabi, Bill's mom. We are practically family by now. Funny how you can be so close to someone and yet tonight was the first time we spoke live, or, as they say in cyberlanguage, in R/T (Real Time).

Monday, October 21, 1996
Big Dreams, Credit Cards & Negatoids.

[Just a little note here: I've decided to go ahead and allow myself another big dream. A HUGE, impossible dream. As you know, we're making this custom CD. It will be on our own little label -- maybe we should have a "name that label contest!" -- and it's mainly for you who read this diary and for the audiences who come to see me live when I start my college tour (!), assuming I do one. But now I've secretly decided to try to get a legitimate record deal with all this. Don't tell anyone. The trick, of course, will be to convince a record company to sign someone who "is dying of AIDS," as their accountants and lawyers will describe it. Also, they will note that I am far too old for today's market, I don't write the kind of songs that get played on the radio, I won't live long enough to see it through to the marketplace -- believe me, they will come up with a thousand and one other reasons to not sign me. This is how record companies work. But I don't care. If life isn't for dreaming big and breaking all the rules, what good is it? So, let's just keep this between you and me and I'll keep you updated on how I finagle my way into a record deal. By the way, it's a totally impossible idea, you know. But as an old girlfriend once told me, "Fences were made for people who can't fly." Anyway, on with the diary...]

Such a mixture of the bad, the good and the hilarious today. The first thing that happened this morning was that I got a letter from my last good credit card telling me that they're cancelling me. I've been keeping up the payments and all, but someone down there ran a credit check on me, saw how much I owed the rest of the world and suddenly decided I'm a credit risk. Isn't that nice? Just because I'm in debt up to my neck and beyond. Like that's a big deal or something.

So that was the bad. The good was that Barry Fasman and I worked on the CD today and he did a fabulous arrangement on Connected. Don Kirkpatrick in El Paso asked me last night to go into a little more detail about what we're doing musically. Well, the short answer is to imagine me at the piano surrounded by a brilliant string section of violins and cellos and things, tastefully following along and adding to the sound. The key here is taste. They don't drown me out. It's more like they play just enough to make the hairs on your arm stand up. Barry's just great.

You might not know Barry Fasman because he's more of a "behind the scenes" dude, but people like Melissa Manchester do. And do you remember when they turned the movie, "Fame," into a TV series? Barry produced ALL the music on that show. He told me yesterday that he feels like it's an honor to work on my songs. In fact, as he was describing his feelings about this whole project, he began to get misty-eyed right in front of me, leaving me -- for about the second time in my whole life -- speechless. I t dawned on me that he's doing the entire album for the price of about one string arrangement. I know how much sophisticated string arrangements cost. I've seen Stan Freeman charge anywhere from $1000 or more for an arrangement! Barry is arranging, recording and producing the entire album for less than that.

I hope you know that there's a part of me that hates "using" professionals this way. I believe everyone should be paid for their work and he deserves to be paid a lot more that this. But he's says he's not doing it for the money. I did make a promise to him that if we sell enough of these to where we actually begin to make a generous profit, I'd come back to him with more money. He accepted, but said what he really wanted was to be able to have the privilege of working on songs like Connected and The Group, etc.

He believes in the message of this material. He's tired of homophobia and bigotry and hate, and he feels these songs have the power to bring people to a new understanding (without being preachy). The whole thing blows me away. Thank you, Barry.

So, here's the plan for CD, there will be about eight cuts including a few guests vocalists here and there, and a choir on When You Care. I'm also throwing in, as a bonus track, the song about Billy Valentine, One New Hell and also a bonus fully produced track of Ginger Freers singing Going It Alone! We should have it manufactured and ready to shipping by December in time for Christmas. This means you can order several hundred each for all your friends (!).

Now, as a warning, The Group does have the "f" word in it, but it's so subtle and natural, you don't even hear it. Even my mom didn't mind it because it's so much a part of the character in the song.

The hilarious part of the day happened like this: I joined an e-mail exchange group and introduced myself telling my whole story. One of my friends in the group then got a note from one of the others. It seems there's someone in the group who thinks I don't really exist!! They think I've been making all this up!!! After I picked myself up off the floor laughing hysterically -- please, who could make up this stupid diary from last March? And didn't they check the L.A. Times? The pictures from our production here in L.A.? Hell, they could call Rusty's Surf Ranch and find out if I'm real!! This is wonderful. What it really tells me is that I am now living an extraordinary life; one that is so special, people can't believe it's really true.

You have no idea how happy that makes me because I guarantee you nobody would have wanted to change places with me last year or the year before. Shawn Decker has a term for people like this. He calls them negatoids. (Those of us with HIV who are living life to its fullest are positoids. Those who don't have HIV and who have no class and no brains are called negatoids).

Silly Negatoids!

[One last little piece of news: A non-profit group called Children's Animated Television run by Claude DiDomenica sent this:

Hi, I was touched by "Bill's Story" My non-profit just set up an awards site for progressive ideas and we gave "Bill's Story" an award under our "GLBT Youth" category. You can see it at www.furballthegreat.com.]

Tuesday, October 22, 1996
Recording, Traveling, & The Flu.

Well, Barry Fasman did it again. When we began recording this CD, the one thing I told him was that I knew, just KNEW, there was no way The Group could work as anything but a piano/vocal, but Barry (rubbing his hands together) said he couldn't wait to give it a shot (arranging). Well, I went in yesterday and he has absolutely blown me away with what he's done. I cannot wait until you folks hear this. Sorry if this sounds like hype, but he's done a sensational job. And once again, Ronda and Jimmy both approved.

I forgot to mention that I went to see "That Thing You Do," the Tom Hanks movie and I loved every second of it. I think that's what spurred me to thinking about a record deal. I've just gotten so optimistic lately, I feel I can do anything at all. And, of course, the truth is that all of us have the capacity to do whatever we want. We just have to free our minds and go do it!

What's really on my mind, though, is the excitement I'm feeling about next week. I leave on Halloween and don't come back here until Thanksgiving. We decided to be smart and fly ON Thanksgiving Day. Most people fly the day before or after. Also, I found someone who has offered me the use of his computer while I'm in NYC. If we are able to make it work, then I can update this diary regularly. Don't know if I will be able to do it daily, but at least I can keep you up to date on how the auditions, rehearsals and readings go. I've already gotten several e-mails from people threatening my life if I "abandon" them for a month. I promise I'll work it out.

Also, when I'm in NY, I'll get my mail through steve53@hotmail.com. This is a free e-mail service you access through a net browser. The ISP I use is local to L.A. and I won't be getting my mail from loop while I'm out there doing that East Coast thing.

Tomorrow I go see Dr. Ellie again. I was supposed to get blood tests this week but I forgot. I'll do it just before my appt. with him and he can tell me the results next week. If there's anything bad, he'll let me know. I don't think there will be, though. Also, we're not going to do the full viral load, etc. Just generic blood stuff to see how my liver is holding up while I'm doing all these drugs. My main concern is avoiding the flu. It can be molto dangeroso for PWAs, but even more than that, I got a show to do!! I could get a flu shot, but there's a question about how safe they are for me. They tend to raise the level of virus in the blood. Every year I face this question. So far, I've avoided both flu shots and the flu. I'll be more in public, though, this year for the first time since I was really sick with AIDS. I just have to remember to keep my hands out of my mouth and away from my face. (Shoot, does this mean I have to stop picking my nose?).

Wednesday, October 23, 1996
The Nazi & The Positoid.

Something weird happened in a chatroom -- #christian -- this morning. Somebody said he wanted to murder me. It was some guy who was logged in from Germany. (This morning there were people from Ireland, New Zealand, Texas, and, of course, Los Angeles, just name a few). He heard me telling someone the story of The Last Session, (i.e. The Baptist and the Positoid). Then he announced that he was a nazi and that he would like to murder me.

How's that for a wake up call?

Am I living dangerously? Is it worth it? Well, I'm not turning back now. A threat like that only makes me realize how important and strong the message is that we are presenting in our music. Why does the message of love and tolerance make people violent and murderous? Maybe I'm just mentally retarded or something but I cannot understand this. I just do not understand it.

I mean, let's not blow this out of proportion. Chances are it was just a loony on a computer on the other side of the world. Someone who chooses to gay bash by computer instead of by stick and stone, the usual way for this kind of coward. He was probably some teenage kid pulling a prank and has probably forgotten me by now; the kind that haunt these chatrooms looking for people to harrass at random.

But there was more to it than that. What disturbed me was how long he listened to every detail in the musical. If he were just a positoid basher, he'd have "hit" me as soon as he "knew." But, he listened to the whole story until I had completely finished. It was the story that got to him.

"You're a motherfucker," he wrote first. At that point, I didn't know I was pissing him off, but usually something like this is accompanied by one of those :^) -- smiley things. I wrote back, "If that's a compliment, I accept." Hoping it would be received as humorful (as Jim would say).

Then, a few minutes later he said nazi thing and the killing me thing. He was then booted from the room by some IRC cop or something. At the time I shrugged it off and I am going to shrug it off now.

But how utterly, miserably sad this makes me.

ON THE OTHER HAND... I got this beautiful letter today from Alison, a playwright and college student. She had written some time ago about homophobic language which unexpectedly came from her mother. In that case, I counselled her to not "hate" her mom, but to love her all the more and to teach her mom by example that hate never solves anything.
 

There's been a lot happening around campus lately. Last week was Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual/Transgander visibility week, and many activities were planned, including "chalkings," slogans of gay pride and human rights written in chalk on the sidewalks of the academic quad. Of course some people got upset or offended by the chalkings, and many voiced their opinions in the newspaper. Some of the letters were really narrow minded, but one blantly expressed outright hatred and homophobia. This person said he thought homosexual desires were "unnatural," gays were (excuse my language here) "fucking up nature's plan," and just couldn't find any one of the opposite sex to be attracted to them so they had to compromise.

Obviously, his letter disturbed me very much. My first impulse was to write a letter back screaming "You ignorant jerk" (well, jerk wasn't exactly the word I had in mind). But I remembered what you said about my mother being informed, that it wasn't her fault she was ignorant regarding homosexuality, and that she needed my love more than my hatred. I'm not sure this person needs my love, but I know he needs someone to help him understand how wrong his words are, and how much they hurt others. So this is what I wrote:

"I'm a vegetarian. I personally don't believe in eating meat. That doesn't mean I publish letters in the "Bullsheet" [the under- ground paper] condemning all meat-eaters because they're wrongly screwing up "nature's plan." They have a right to eat a hamburger as much as I have a right not to. Similarly, you have the right to think the way you do, but that doesn't give you the authority to assume your view is the ONLY view. Just because you don't believe in something-- be in eating meat or practicing homosexuality-- doesn't make it wrong.

"The beautiful thing about human beings is that we come in all different sizes, shapes, colors, abilities, personalities, and yes, sexual preferences. These differences make us who we are. Without them we would be carbon copies with no indentity or creativity. It's important we recognize and appreciate our differences while at the same time realizing that deep down we're all the same: just people trying to cope with whatever life has dealt us.

"I understand you don't practice homosexuality. I urge you to start practicing TOLERANCE. We don't live on this planet alone, and respecting others makes it a whole lot easier for them to respect you."

Steve, thanks for helping me see that hate will never get us anywhere. Now if only everyone else would see that, too!

Thursday, October 24, 1996
"People Should Have Your Problems!"

Dr. Ellie prescribed an ultrasound for my little belly today since it's gotten a bit enlarged. He just wants to make sure my liver isn't enlarging or my spleen is doing something gothic. He said it's just precautionary because of all the strong drugs I have to take. (I just hope the baby's healthy).

Today I got a call from a guy named Kevin. Kevin's a longhaired rocker who worked on and off at National Academy of Songwriters when I was there. He's been out of town for the summer so he was asking me about everything that's been going on -- and about my health. He told me about his struggling with getting his music together, etc. Then I told him about all the good things happening with me: the workshop in L.A., the trips to Virginia and New York, the CD, etc. and I was joking about "having" to go to New York, "having" to finish my record, when he suddenly said, without even thinking:

"Yeah, people should have your problems."

We both stopped for a second. Then I said, "You wouldn't have said that to me a year ago." He said, "You know, it slipped out so naturally, that once it was out, I thought, 'wow, did I really say that?'"

And that, my friends, made my day. Someone was "jealous" of my life. Imagine that. Wanting to have the life of someone with AIDS. But, the point I want to make is not that I'm so special. All of us have the capacity to excel beyond our supposed limitations and to endure the unendurable. I never got straight A's in school. I was never singled out as some kind of genius. At worst I was teacher's pet until my mouth got me into trouble. HA!

Last night we had a lovely Thai meal up on Ventura Blvd. next week.with our friends up at Bob-A-Lew and went to sleep about 9pm where we all laughed a lot. I'm trying to get my body on East Coast time before I take off next week. NEXT WEEK???? Oh, man. It's upon me. I finally leave the safety of Los Angeles and go off to bring my music to the world. To civilians (as we in the music industry call anyone who isn't in the music industry.)

The Positoid Deluxe caravan leaves the station next Thursday. ALL ABOARD!!!

Friday, October 25, 1996
A Meeting. A Recording Session. Some Photos.

Doug, who works at Bob-A-Lew, scheduled a meeting for me with a record producer. I wasn't quite sure why we were meeting, but since I am *secretly* going for some kind of record deal, I thought, at the very least, I could give him a listen. His first suggestion, after hearing the VERY rough first demos of The Last Session (which is what he had), was that we needed to write a real hit song that readio would eat up and find some way to insert the song into the show.

At this point, Ronda entered the room and said she felt like we already had two potential hit songs in the show. At this point, I put the "radio sounding" version of Somebody's Friend on and he said that he felt like that song had some hit potential. Ronda replied that she hadn't even considered that song for radio. Then I said, "Well, then, that's gives us three hit songs!"

The afternoon was spent with Barry Fasman again as we tried to finish up the CD. Alan Satchwell came in and played trumpet and sang. Also, Charles Esten sang and Ginger Freers, too. All of us were doing verses on When You Care. So, as of last night, we have now completed all of the recording and today we will try to mix it all. Then I'll take that tape to New York, get everyone's opinions and hopefully get the thing mastered and manufactured by Dec. 15.

Sorry if all this sounds boring, but then sometimes diaries are boring. At this point, I'm all workworkwork. Next Thursday is D-Day and I'll be flying off to Virginia. Oh, and I'm so excited! Tracey Thornton, who is responsible for getting me invited to Virginia has now gathered a CHOIR for the show. We are going to be rocking our socks off (as much as a choir and a piano can rock, of course!).

Last, but not least, I found a wonderful photographer on the internet who went to the AIDS Quilt in DC this month and shot some photos. It would please me greatly if you would take a moment to visit Bruce and see the stunning images he brought back. Some of the more radical elements of the AIDS Wars actually brought ashes of dead lovers and friends and threw them on the White House lawn protesting their belief that the federal government has caused much of the tragedy by being to complacent, especially in the early years. This was one action that just brought me to a strange, cold standstill. If that's not an expression of grief and helplessness, nothing is.
 

[OCTOBER 26-31 WAS LOST IN A COMPUTER SYSTEM CRASH AT GEOCITIES. I HAVE NOT RECOVERED THESE PAGES.]

END OF PART 3.