A Tribute To The Prettiest One: Uber-Saint of Chaos

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"Je suis la plus belle!"

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This was the dance-floor war cry of Gaetan Dugas, the notorious flight attendant from Quebec whose "little black book" was used by the Centers for Disease Control to prove that AIDS was -- is -- a sexually-transmitted disease. I don't know how many times I read And The Band Played On (by Randy Shilts, long may he wave) before it finally soaked in.

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"I am the prettiest one!"

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That was what Gaetan used to say when he looked around a roomful of new romantic prospects -- at a bathhouse, a bar, maybe a party. And he was probably right. But talk about tempting the gods! And this is not tempting just any god. Without realizing it of course, he was asking the Goddess of Chaos to use him as a live grenade, which with all due respect is just asking for serious, serious trouble. And he got it. I know, I know, he didn't really ask. Who the hell would? It's just the superstitious lunkhead in me that wants to assign cause and effect to this cruelly random, randomly cruel disaster. Because then it would make sense. Because then it would be someone's fault.

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"I am the prettiest one!"

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Why not just paint a bullseye on your back, man?

Twenty or twenty-five years ago now, researchers identified him as the center of a traceable network of people who mingled their body fluids and paid a horrible price. And here's the thing: nobody, even health professionals worried about Gay Bowel Syndrome and parasites run amok, could have seen THIS coming. Let alone this guy who just wanted to party his brains out when he wasn't working.

The cruel irony of this man's life has offended people from that day to this, as well it should. But some of you are still shooting the messanger. If he could have seen this coming, don't you think he would have done it all differently? Do you not see that what horrifies you is that you didn't see it coming, either?

You make the picture even worse when you try to neuter the Chaos. His terrible death, along with a whole generation of nice guys just like him, wasn't enough? You have to martyr him again? Even today you can hear people trying to pigeonhole Gaetan Dugas, who they can never understand.

People should know better at this late date.

This is why you can't pin him down: YOU HAVEN'T BEEN THERE. Because he is the prettiest one, and you, sir or madam, are not. Count your blessings.

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"Je suis la plus belle!"

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They even embroidered it on his piece of the AIDS quilt.

eBay Find Of The Gods -- No, I Mean Literallly

OK, check it out, some Freakasaurus Rex is actually rolling the Apples of Chaos into the fast lane of the Information Superhighway. A seller who prefers to be known as ex_tellure_vita is opening the bid at $0.99!

The precious item's descriptive text is thus:

Zeus held a banquet in celebration of the marriage of Peleus and Thetis. Left off the guest list was Eris (goddess of discord), and upon turning up uninvited she threw or rolled a golden apple into the ceremony, with the inscription which said: καλλίστῃ or, "for the fairest one". Three goddesses claimed the apple: Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. Zeus decided that Paris of Troy would judge their cases. Each of the goddesses offered Paris a gift. Hera would give him power, Athena would make him wise, and Aphrodite offered him the love of the world's most beautiful woman, Helen. Paris chose Aphrodite, and Helen's leaving of her previous husband precipitated the Trojan War.

Handcarved golden apple, ~3".

OK, this is accurate as far as it goes, but where exactly does the gift of immortality come in? That's not exactly Discordia's stock in trade. Maybe she -- or the seller (and what's her real name?) -- is throwing it in for free, like a first-class shipping upgrade.

But think about it. If you really wanted to sow the seeds of Chaos, make someone immortal. Just one person would probably be enough. Imagine what you could accomplish if you literally had all the time in the world. You could get yourself fixed up as dictator for life of the Eastern Hemisphere, say, or just make your first trillion without wasting energy on the stupid stuff that we mortals have to worry about, like health insurance or a new car that you'll outlive by a factor of one hundred. There will be a period of utter madness and despair as everyone you ever loved, everything you new and understood, is stripped away from you by Discordia's good buddy, the Grim Reaper. But hey, you'll get over it.

At that point you could REALLY start to have some fun, setting all the world's top research scientists to work on terraforming Mars or making Jurassic Park come true. Or both! Strand all the people you like on Mars and let them fight it out while unleashing peevish, bank-building-sized carnivores on the wretched masses here on Earth. Or come up with your own ideas; don't be restricted to my (admittedly satisfying) B-movie fantasies.

Or you could get really goofy and make 3 people immortal. Any three. You pick.