It had been a rough year, my partner of 10 years had just passed away from AIDS. This was back in early 90s too when the deaths were grisly, long-drawn out, movie-of-the-week affairs. He'd been in and out of the hospital for three years, until he finally got sent home when there "wasn't anything left to do." We  set up a bedroom with a hospital bed and arranged for around-the-clock nursing. He was given a couple of weeks to live that ended up dragging out to an excruciating 3 months. The whole time I was having to get suited up every morning to go to work. A workplace where I really couldn't discuss what was going on at home, much less with me.

After he finally passed away I had a come-to-Jesus meeting with my doctor. Everything for the past 3 years had been all about David, I'd been put on the back burner. "So Doc just how long do I have?" With AIDS there's a number of tests and things to look at. One is your CD4 count and below a certain level, well things start to kick in. My Doctor told me I could maybe expect another 6-months of good health "at most."

At the time, AIDS was pretty much a death sentence. Statistically with the blood work and all, I wasn't all that far behind my partner's progression. Yet it proved to be a critical small difference. As new drugs became available he was always too sick to take them. I was always just in time.  Yet still at the time, my prospects were dim. So I did what I think a lot of people would. I took his insurance money, some time off, and planned a summer in Europe.  I'd never even been outside the country before and it was the big thing on top of my bucket list.

Nothing extravagant mind you. I got my Eurail Pass and my guide book with all the best one and two star lodgings. In Amsterdam I actually stayed in a five floor walk up, where I had to climb a ladder and go through a trapdoor to my attic space. I'd later visit the Ann Frank House, "OMG, her whole family stayed in the exact same space as my hotel room."

There were two things though that got me through the trip. First was the movie "Philadelphia", it had already come and gone in the States, but was all over Europe that Summer. At first I went just to see what it would be like dubbed in a foreign language. Yet, with my recent loss and my own situation, I found myself weeping uncontrollable. An odd thing though, in that movie, an ocean away, in a strange place, with strange people that I'd never see again, I just let the tears go. I felt so much better after the movie. Something had definitely been purged. The same thing happened the next time when I saw it, I think in German. Sure I got glances, but people would let me sob in piece. It's also hard to really "shush" someone when they're sobbing without looking like a jerk. All-in-all over the course of that summer I saw "Philadelphia" at least 8 or 9 times. Sometimes it was English language with foreign subtitles, most often it was just dubbed into a foreign language. But it didn't matter, I got to know the movie so well, I knew exactly what they were saying, no matter if it was in Italian, Austrian, Spanish. Over time as well the sobbing grew less and less. I had actually come through my European tour of grief to get a lot out of my system. Leaving much of my grief and pain behind as well as tear stains all over theaters across several countries.

At the same time that Summer there was another bit of pop culture that seemed to be running through ever place I visited, every bar, every restaurant, like a theme song. I'd always been a big fan of the Pet Shop Boys and that summer they'd released "Go West" an peppy euro-dance cover of the old Village People song. Most people realize today that most of their songs are thinly veiled references to gay culture. "Go West" was a celebration of leaving oppressive small-minded towns and moving out to California where there was acceptance and promise. The Pet Shop Boys had even expanded that meaning to include gays from overseas moving to the U.S. With everything else that was going on, I found myself latching onto this song with a vengence. Just as "Philadelphia" allowed me to work through my grief a bit, then "Go West" allowed me to discover a small bit of hope and optimism.

"There where the air is free
We'll be what we want to be
Now if we make a stand
We'll find our promised land."

Yeah, yeah, the whole song is pop kitsch, yet the words, the beat, the tone of the song was something I could cling on to. I was hearing it constantly, especially as this was in the midst of the video bar craze and it had such flashy pop graphics.

I learned a lot that summer. I had this crazy notion that I had to see every church, every historic spot in every city. Then realized after collapsing from exhaustion, one can only do what you can do. I found beauty and grace in many places I expected to, but in many surprising places as well. I learned that people can be giving and open. I also came to give myself some slack.

I can't really watch Philadelphia anymore. I never bought the tape or DVD. If I did though it would be sitting dusty on a back shelf. When it comes on now on TV as it sometimes does, I'll turn it off. Yet when I hear "Go West" from time to time (increasingly on oldies programming), I can't help but smile and get a little teary eyed. If I'm feeling down or low, I can pull it up on my computer.

I have a pet theory about movies and even songs. That they in large part act as tarot cards or a Ouija board. They give us the answers to the questions we're asking that we often already know the answers for, often answers we know deep down. Over the years I've taken away some odd messages from movies, even songs. Yet there were definitely there for me to find even if I had to dig a bit. Pop Culture can be like that, they give us those answers that we need for the moment. They define our times, yet they can also help us define ourselves.