In late February of 1999 I stumbled across a rebroadcast of the HBO biopic "Gia," based on the investigative novel Thing of Beauty by Philadelphia journalist Stephen Fried about the rise and precipitous decline of late '70s supermodel Gia Carangi. Although I was hip, young and kickin' during Gia's salad days, I was unfamiliar with the woman or her work.

And what a mercurial ride it was. Fame came virtually overnight, with international runway shows and covers for Vogue, Cosmopolitan , et. al. But the glamour was too quickly followed by her descent into heroin addiction and ultimately death from AIDS in 1986, when she was only 26 years old. Gia earned the dubious distinction of being among the nation's first female AIDS fatalities, in an era when the disease was as mysterious as the black plague and twice as scary.

As the HBO movie ended, my reaction is impossible to describe. For reasons I may never understand, I had an almost immediate spiritual awareness that Gia was ... what? My guardian angel? My inspiration?

Whatever role she was to play in my life, whatever gifts she had to offer my own spiritual odyssey, the instant the broadcast was over I jumped onto the Web. I was compelled to insatiably devour every scrap of information available.

 
Since then, I have ordered the unedited version of the HBO movie, with additional scenes focusing on Gia's lesbian sexuality. I have read Fried's book twice. There have only been two other books in my life that gave me as much strength: the Bible and the Bhagavad-Gita . And neither were as immediately powerful for me as Gia's life story.

As a seasoned journalist, Stephen Fried faithfully captures the hedonistic flavor of the late '70s and the turbulent career of his glamorous, troubled subject. But the profundity of his book's impact on my life and my spirit clearly far transcends the biographical proportions of his journalistic account.

 

"God, I don't want to turn Gia into something mythological ... but I would hear these stories, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who lived vicariously through them. She was doing stuff

we all wanted to do but were too afraid to. This spectacular- looking girl who didn't give a shit -- I greatly admired the stories I heard about her." ( Thing of Beauty , p. 206)

I write this only a few short weeks after receiving my gift of Gia enlightenment. But she's already led me to understand why my recent efforts to land a variety of pedestrian secretarial jobs are a complete, miserable misdirection of my talents and energies. The heroin addict has saved me from myself, in spite of myself, by reawakening my suppressed creative instincts. She has reminded me I have more to offer than entering statistical data into an Excel spreadsheet. She knows -- and now, once again so do I -- that it's all about the juice. The quickfire spark of art and inspiration. Gray is grim, and I'm a rainbow.

Of course, this egocentric poetic awareness fails to address how I'm supposed to earn a living or pay a growing stack of overdue bills. Those are legitimate concerns, and I'm still waiting for an answer.

But if those types of questions are what's driving my life, then fuck it. Gia survived homelessness; Gia survived (rumored) multiple rape and hooking; Gia survived heroin addiction; the only thing Gia couldn't survive was AIDS.

 

"I saw her in a unique position, because [with her failing health] she couldn't do what she used to do. She thought of herself as wild. A lot of the wildness was driven by how she felt about herself." ( Thing of Beauty , p. 371)

Who better than a wild-girl lesbian androgynous fashion model to infuse me with female energy, confidence and creative direction? And what better karmic subject for Gia, than a transsexual Mensa musician? After all, her main idol in life was the early androgynous David Bowie. Her lifelong dream was to play the guitar. Maybe now, through me, she will.

"At that time she had become spiritual. She was reading the Bible. She was reading a lot of things. She was saying, 'I think God has a big plan for me, but I don't think it's in this life.'" ( Thing of Beauty , p. 367)

 

I don't know why God gave me this difficult road. I don't know why God gave Gia her difficult life -- barely more than two years of international success, followed immediately by heroin addiction and a painful lingering death from AIDS.

And beyond our individual human struggles, what's going on between the two of us now? Guardian angel? Inspiration? Did I choose her or did she choose me?

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