AIDS: I'll Tumble 4 Ya!

This morning was the AIDS Walk New York. For those who don’t know, it’s a small gathering of 50,000 of AIDS’ closest friends and admirers—er—protesters and haters? Well, let’s just say that homosexuals and ethnic minorities alike fill Central Park and the surrounding areas in support of finding a cure for AIDS. Short of the pride parade, it’s probably the largest outdoor gathering of gay people the city has to offer. Unlike the parade, however, there’s a certain level of dignity to the day. No one is clad in bikinis made of whipped cream with carefully placed cherries, no one is covered in glitter, and there’s a glaring absence of disco music and feathered boas.

I’ve met a few girls at pride events in years past, and I try not to recall those disasters unless I’m subpoenaed to do so. Even when I could remember them (after the whiskey wore off), I’m sorry to report they weren’t as interesting as they had seemed through the thick June haze of humidity and hormones. But today, I thought, in this cool May morning, perhaps I’d encounter a character worthy of a few pages in my life’s book. Optimistically, I awoke at eight. I dressed casually, but fixed my hair and make-up to suit my confidence level. Yes, today could be the day!

Cut to two hours later: I’m sweating my ass off in a friend’s apartment, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our full crew, hoping to get the show on the road. Trying to gather a group of comedians during the morning hours is like trying to hold an AA meeting next door to an open bar—let’s just say people are late, and maybe a little drunk. My shirt is now wet and wrinkled, my make-up smudged from my melting face, and my breath is now heavy with the taste of too much coffee. But I persevere. In the spirit of the day, and those who are surviving far worse circumstances, I’m trying not to complain.

We arrive in the park and things are looking up. I’ve got my fancy camera, my funny friends, and the cool morning air calming me down, drying my now two-toned t-shirt back to a solid, sweat-free state. Anxious to get the actual walk started, I find myself at the head of the group, making my way through the fields above Central Park South, and arriving at a tiny fence. “Well,” I think to myself, “that certainly looks surmountable!”

I take a few quick steps and attempt to leap over the two-feet of chained links. As both feet leave the ground and I reach the top of my jump, I realize: I’m wearing jeans. And, while cute, they’re not flexible, meaning: I can’t pull my knees up to where they need to be. It’s at this exact moment that my right toe catches the top link in the fence…

As I lie on the gravel path on the opposite side of my foe the fence, my friends quickly step over the now crushed barrier, cross the path and hurry to my side. There’s nothing quite as moving as a group of cynical, sardonic comics actually empathizing with someone in pain. I’m bleeding from my elbow and knee, covered in soot, and dirt—and possibly a little bit of AIDS. And while shaken, I’m touched that they’ve pulled me onto my feet and literally dusted me off. It’s love in stereo! And when I can’t let go I say… I’ll tumble 4 ya! I’ll tumble 4 ya! (Wow, this quickly became the gayest blog ever. Maybe I did catch some AIDS.)

PS. What’s the worst possible way to make friends at an AIDS event? Show up to with an open wound, blood dripping from your arm. Needless to say, I didn’t meet the girl of my dreams today. But I did fall a little more in love with my friends. I’ll tumble 4 ya!