Hey Friends-  I couldn't rest until I wrote the memorial for Brian, and now that it is finished, I am asking for some time off to mourn him. Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know how important my ex-boyfriends are in my life.  Brian is my first ex to die, and it has hit my heart very hard.  It's been an amazing experience for me, and a painful one too. 
    Look for me in around six or seven weeks. I'm sure that's the longest I can keep myself from writing and keep away from you.

 

                                                ALL ARE WELCOME!

GYPSIES, TRAMPS, AND TATTOO SLEEVES.

 
      The only reason why I'm glad Brian Murphy is dead is because he won't find out that a Cher song inspired the title of this memorial. His taste in music was much cooler than mine, and needless to say he did not share my love of Cher. But even Brian would have to admit it's impossible not to think of him when you hear 'gypsy' and 'tramp'. 
      He was one-forth true Latvian Roma gypsy, which explained his thick black hair and brows and his wild behavior. It made him even more alluring, and also got him into more trouble. Almost every gay man I know wanted to have sex with him. And every gay man who had sex with him wanted to have sex with him again. Dykes, straight girls, straight guys, drag queens, professors, drug dealers, even his shrinks, all found him sexy. He had sex with so many men, both sober and when he was high, that it only made sense he was chosen to be the 'face' of Syphilis. 

This poster was intended 
to reduce the spread of Syphilis
in England, but there were many men 
who would have gladly gotten
an STD just to have sex with Brian.

He might have been the 'face' of Syphilis
but he was the 'back' of HIV, at least 
on this cover of POZ mag 

Brian cornered the market on STD's. He was more than willing to pose for any disease he contracted.
This was for HEP C. 

                                    
                                         *** THE FACE ***
    
       The gypsy in Brian, passed down from his grandmother, was the defining part of his background for him.  It sounded more dangerous than just calling himself Black Irish, which was the more typical way of describing his looks. The Black Irish are what the regular Irish dream of looking like. The only hint of Brian being Irish at all were his gorgeous green eyes, but even they looked dark until he got right in front of you. For sure, he certainly didn't drink like an Irishman. He had no cravings for it, and fell asleep the few times he tried to get drunk. Ironically, alcohol was the only substance Brian Murphy wasn't ever addicted to.
   He already had all the addictions he would ever need by the time he was 19.  Brian also had a penchant for piercings, and delved deeply into more extreme ways of lancing a body. He became one of the pierced performers at Club Fuck! in LA, doing notoriously anarchic but artfully executed stage pieces.

A few years later wearing the
'CROWN OF THORNS'

    After Fuck!, Brian and a few other performers moved to San Francisco and started  Retarded Whore Productions, a company that ran a club called Jesus. No other club flyer has ever managed to offend both Catholics and Sex Workers at the same time, along with the Handicapped.
    Brian also toured with the legendary performance artist Ron Athey, who was his lover and mentor at the time (Athey was robbed of the honor of being in the original NEA 4, but nevertheless, did get targeted by Congress in 1994.) Performing Athey's profane and profound pieces, Brian and the rest of the troupe caused scandals throughout Europe, where they ended up being chased by villagers with torches more times than Frankenstein.  


                     *** THE TATTOOS ***
        
       Before 1990, a person had to be a sailor or a murderer to be as heavily tattooed as Brian. By '92, when he was still in his early twenties, he had most of his major tattoo work completed, including Maori bats on his feet and Iceman crosses on his knees, black stars around his pierced nipples, a holstered gun on his calf, a Tibetan storm cloud on his stomach, his pyramid yoke collar, and a huge Polynesian line mask that covered his entire back. He had his upper sleeves tattooed last, which most people usually do first. 

   
    What made Brian's tattoos so distinctive was their placement, as well as the boldness of some of the less complicated designs. Artists Trev Marshall and Alex Binnie spent months designing them with Brian. His star nipples and stomach storm cloud were my favorites. Probably the most significant ones to Brian were the Mauri bats which were a tribute to his first boyfriend who has shot to death; the words 'Never Forget' tattooed with roses over his ribs to keep alive in spirit 'all comrades,  activists,and lovers who died of AIDS or drugs'; and his back mask, which was a gift he gave to himself at the one year mark of his first attempt at being sober.
   Out of all his tattoos, Brian's back mask stands out as being the truly iconic one. It was undoubtedly, and will definitely remain, one of the most photographed and recognizable tattoos of his generation.

The only picture I have ever seen of
 Brian without the mask completed.
 The outline is barely visible in the left pic.

A beautifully stylized photo
by Brian's dear friend, Aaron Cohen.
  BRIAN IN CORSET

     No one was more fascinated by his tattoos and piercing than my family. The highlight of the first Passover dinner I brought him to was when he did his 'human water fountain '. He would unscrew the small, steel ball from the pointed steel stem of his labret piercing under his lip and remove it, take a big gulp of water, tilt his head back, and push the water out of it like a blow-hole, aiming for my open mouth two feet away. It became a family tradition, even when we were all at a restaurant. A holiday wasn't complete until Brian spouted. 

Good wholesome family entertainment   

   
                         *** THE MAN ***


   I've come to accept the fact, and now admit it publicly, that Brian Murphy was much cooler than me.  He was actually the coolest guy I ever met. He carried himself comfortably around all sorts of people, and instinctively knew how to act in dicey or dangerous situations without ever seeming nervous or vulnerable (he was only vulnerable in matters of love.) He kept peoples' secrets, never gossiped, and had the enviable skill of knowing exactly how much to say in social situations, never too much or never too little. He never bragged about all he had seen and done in his 20's, or where he had traveled to, or even what famous men he had sex with. He didn't have to be overbearing for his opinions to matter, and for many people including myself, his yay or nay was the one that really counted. He was extremely smart and sophisticated but could still enjoy the genius in tacky or creepy things, without ever being tacky or creepy himself. Anything he put on looked good even if it looked bad on everyone else. He didn't need designer labels to have style, and his style was impossible to label.
   So besides being the sexiest and the coolest man I've ever known, it appears that he was also one of the most liked. Seriously. Brian's death has brought an amazing amount of attention to his life. People are coming out of the woodwork.  Calls, texts, emails. They're stopping me on the street just to tell me how much they liked him. Parents are telling me how much their kids looked up to him. People are even telling me how much their dogs liked him.

Bronski and Mack loved Brian's
 skateboard more than a steakbone

With his little Felon

  An extra sparkle lit up Brian whenever he was around children and dogs.


  The only people I've ever known to say they didn't like Brian were usually the ones who secretly loved Brian the most, but didn't get as much of him as they hoped for.
                          
                       *** THE LOVE ***


    I met Brian Murphy in San Francisco in 1997. By 'met' I mean had sex. We saw each other once after that, at a garage sale he was having.
              " Hey, it's you," I said to him.
              " Hey, it's you, " he repeated back. He told me he was moving to New York while he petted and kissed my boxers ( dogs, not underwear), as if he already knew that Bronski and Mack would eventually be his pets too.  
              " Too bad you're not staying here. Ever coming back? "
               " Who knows."  He flashed his silver-covered canines, reminding me that he had one of the most beautiful, fun smiles I had ever seen.  

I'm going to miss that smile

    By coincidence, or by luck, or fate, the dogs and I moved back to New York a year later to live with a man I had met over the summer on a trip to Fire Island. Just as my short-lived romance was coming to an end a few months after I arrived, I happened to be squatting down cleaning up Bronski and Mack's shit on Christopher Street when Brian rode by on his bike. 
              " Hey, it's you," I looked up and smiled as he quickly turned around his bike. 
             " Hey, it's you," he smiled down at me, " And them," he added, bending from his bike and reaching to pet the dogs.
             " When they shit in front of you it means they like you," I said, holding up the warm plastic bag as I stood. 
             "Well when I shit in front of you, it means the same thing," he said, grabbing the bag from my hand and peddling over to the trash can and back with his ass in the air.
   After telling him about my ill-fated romance, I asked him if he had any plans that night. I could see he suddenly got nervous. He told me he was in ' kind of a show, but more like an art piece'. He was hesitant to describe it, and even more hesitant to invite me. 
            "What happens if you don't like it and you get turned off?" Brian asked frankly.
             " It would be very difficult for you to turn-off anyone, Brian." I promised him a dinner no matter how I felt about the show. He agreed and gave me the time and address.
            " Will I recognize you?"
            " I'll be hanging around. You'll see me." Brian tried to smile but his nervousness only let him grin as he rode off.

   When I got to the space where the show was, I  realized why Brian didn't want to explain it. How does one explain being suspended from meat hooks pierced through your skin attached to elastic cords, without freaking people out? 

   It was my unexpected introduction into the world of Suspension. I had never seen, read or even heard of it before. Suspension, like so much else in the realm of tattooing and piercing, has its origin in tribal custom and dates back thousands of years. It moved underground in modern times but, like tattooing and piercing, was resurfacing again for nice Jewish boys from Long Island like me to see.
   In the past, it was more of a ritualized rite of passage for warriors that challenged physical endurance and mental control, but could also be used as a punishment or for torture. Now it's more of an artform, with modern warriors fighting against norms instead of enemy tribes.   

    When I first realized Brian was one of the performers hanging from the meat hooks, I was shocked, but luckily only for a moment. Only wearing white pants, his entire upper half was covered in white powder. The black-green of the mask was still showing through, along with dried blood where each hook was inserted. The mask's shape was being contorted by the pulling of the hooks, as if it was making faces at me.The more Brian leaned forward, the more the mask lifted away from him.         

    For a half an hour, I stood in back of him just watching as people stopped and stared. I heard all kinds of comments, from ''disgusting' and 'fucked up' to 'holy' and 'metamorphic'. After a few minutes I stopped caring what anyone was saying, and didn't even hear their voices anymore. Brian's slow movements and the shifting of the mask's shape were hypnotizing me. I started to see the beauty of it, and I saw an even greater beauty in Brian's artistic fearlessness. I wanted to defend him and show him off at the same time.
   I felt something inside that I recognized from my past. It was a feeling that I had known twice before. My heart, which had been sitting on the sidelines for 4 years recuperating from my break-up with Pepe, had suddenly appeared again and was back in the huddle, joining my mind and cock in the game. This was all going on inside me as I continued to silently watch him. I had fallen in love with Brian before he even knew I was there.  
   He was leaning forward with his eyes closed so he didn't see me come from behind. I stood right in front of him and leaned forward too.
              "Hey, it's you," I whispered into his ear.
   He opened his eyes and found me staring right at him. I saw a moment of panic in his eyes before he read the love in mine.
              "You are so cool. I'm so proud of you," I told him. I gave him a quick, gentle kiss on his powdered lips. " Is it OK if I wait until your done?"
             " If you want to. Of course," he smiled and straightened up, forgetting for a moment that he was attached to the meat hooks.
               " I'll be hanging around, " I smiled, saying good-bye with a toast of my drink as I started to walk towards one of the club's couches.
               "Hey," Brian called out to me.
    I turned and looked back at him.
               "It's you." 
                               
                 *** THE PROPHECY ***  

   There was a part of Brian that was even darker than his darkest gypsy features. It was the only part that was as powerful as his allure or his adventurous, wild spirit. The difference was that his spirit reached outward while this darkness burrowed in, like an auto-immune disease.        
    He was absolutely fearless and fun loving, but his heart was surprisingly fragile, especially for someone desired by so many. Physical pain didn't scare him. He laughed at piercings and lancing that would make warriors cry. The pain of being betrayed and then left was what frightened him so much. It was what his first boyfriend did by being murdered, it was what his next boyfriend William did by cheating on him, and it was what it felt like when his father, Wayne, got killed in a car crash when Brian was 12 months old, and when his mother, Robin, died from a pill overdose when Brian was 21. After she died, Brian was left with no family, except one wonderful aunt, Susie, who lives in Arizona and loved Brian like a son.
   He told me all of that and other facts as well, totally revealing himself that night, more than anyone ever does on a first date, and more than some people reveal themselves in an entire lifetime. He showed me levels of vulnerability and strength that I had never seen in someone. That first night, he also told me something else. Something that he was certain about. What he told me was melodramatic and macabre, but he said it so casually that I laughed it off. At 28 years old, Brian was totally comfortable telling me without hesitation or doubt that he would not live past the age of his mother's death, 41. 
   I was not the first one to hear this, or the last. Anyone who knew Brian well eventually heard the prophecy. When Brian felt a strong enough connection to strangers, they sometimes heard it too. He toasted to it each of the 13 birthdays I celebrated with him, including his 41st one, which was 11 months ago on May 22. 
     The whole subject of dying young was not as foreign or frightening to Brian as it is to the rest of us.  He already had his father die at 22, his first boyfriend get killed at 24, and his mother died at 41. Compared to 22, 41 must have seemed like a good, long life to Brian when he was growing up.
   Add to that the specter of AIDS that loomed over Brian's head in the late 80's and early 90's, when he was still living with the death sentence of having HIV before the protease inhibitors stopped all the mass dying in '95. Premature death was all around him, and he was forced like so many other gay men to reconcile himself with a shorter life, and somehow put a good spin on it. 
   Brian had been so familiar with premature death, and spent so much of his early life imagining his own early demise, that he had no real concept of growing old. 41 was as old as he knew how to be. It was the target he aimed for, the last island before a vast sea of uncharted waters. 41 was his lighthouse. There was nothing beyond it to guide him.  
   In Brian's eyes, 41 was a great accomplishment. He considered it quite a feat to have lived to this age. Considering his copious drug use and his 'big heart' 
( he was diagnosed with cardiomegaly, or enlarged heart, 5 years ago) he was holding up pretty well. 
   No one else can say if another person has lived a full life or not; some people feel they have had full lives in only half the time. Brian's fast-forward button was pressed long ago, and he tore through his life like very few other people in this world. He traveled more, saw more, fucked more, performed more, got photographed and interviewed more, read more, learned more, laughed more, dared more, risked more, and cried more than most people do in 70 years. 
   Brian truly expected to have a shorter life, and Brian usually got what Brian wanted. He was extremely stubborn and tenacious, and could do anything when he put his mind to it. That was how he became one of the youngest to ever be a Master Piercer in the entire piercing industry, and how in his mid 30's, right before his heart condition developed, he was able to graduate a Teaching Credential Program at SFSU with straight A's while being high everyday ( Yes, frightening yet astounding.) 
       Only such a person could get what he wanted from even Death Himself. Somehow Brian managed to die  exactly like he told me he would thirteen years earlier. Robin Murphy died on April 13th at 41, Brian Murphy died at 41 on April 14th exactly twenty years later. The unbelievable thing about this, the thing that makes it exquisite, the thing that makes it nothing less than stunning, is that Brian Murphy pulled this off without actually killing himself. Sure, he was absolutely gambling with his health everyday and speeding up his demise faster than most, but that's different from actually pulling a trigger, or swallowing pills, or jumping off a bridge. 

In the end, it was Brian's big heart that apparently, and ultimately, killed him.

    ============================

    There he was, Baby Brian, the quintessential man-boy. Dead but still amazingly beautiful. He was laying in bed, propped up on pillows with his head gently resting on his left shoulder, with his lube bottle and penis-pump nearby, porno set to 'repeat mode' still playing on the TV, and his clean-up towel already draped over himself. Brian Murphy, who could have died a hundred different times in a hundred different scenerios in a hundred different places with a hundred different people, died painlessly and peacefully after a little pleasure, safe in bed in the most comfortable position, at the age he always wanted to. I am so grateful for that and happy for him. I'm a little jealous too. We all hope we go as perfectly, but of course we won't. Only Brian Murphy gets to exit so exquisitely, that lucky stiff.

            

MONA PRISCILLA

     The best way of apologizing for being late with my next blog is to offer you this masterpiece of my mother Priscilla.  It is hard to place a value on such a rare photograph, but experts have appraised it somewhere in the $5-6 million dollar range. Never has she been captured so primal, with the same startled expression (and hairdo) as Big Foot.
    I had no idea what was inside the large envelope my brother Mitchell mailed me. When I opened the envelope and saw this, it felt like I found a lost Rembrandt or Picasso. I hope it is enough to keep you satisfied for at least a few more days until my next entry....

Priscilla at 58 once again appropriately dressed, this
time for her grandson Jared's 6th birthday party.

My ex Pepe  insisted that I post this picture of me
from one of my Halloweens. I can't imagine why.
(or I just don't want to admit it)

 ..

 It's only fair that my host, Michael V, have the chance to recall his memories of my trip...
      
             LIST OF 10 THINGS I CAN'T FORGET
   (or WHY I WOULD KILL MYSELF IF GARY COMES BACK TO AUSTRALIA )

 1. Gary's towel falling down to my friends' horror in their first meeting
     within an hour after his arrival in Sydney. I had specifically asked him
     not to embarrass me.*
 2. Taking the photo of my ass at The Harbor Party, once again
     embarrassing me in the glamour set.
 3. Gary falling asleep (passing out) at the most inappropriate times,
     causing me more embarrassment.
 4. Gary fucking all my friends, or at least asking them to
     show their asses, almost causing me social ruin.
 5. Not getting even one of the "supposed" fancy dinners he promised me.**
 6.  Overcooking a piece of some kind of white fish with freezer burn and serving it over clumpy white rice.  A colorless smorgesbord of blandness that looked and tasted like dirty snow.
 7. Gary's ever present ability to turn any situation into "his" situation.
     The discussions, the analysis, the coversations...the exhaustion!
 8. Gary 'watching me', correction, I meant to write 'stalking me', in my own apartment.
 9. He leaving more crumbs on my carpeting than Hansel and Gretal.   
10. Making my week wonderful & full of fun and love. Michael V
                                                                                          xxxxoooo  

*  To clarify number 1, Michael's friends had arrived early and I had just gotten out of the shower. I quickly put on a jock and wrapped a towel around myself so I could come out and say hi.   
   When Michael saw me, he yelled " Gary! I told you never to have a towel on
in front of my guests!"
   "I'm sorry, I forgot. No towel, " I said, ripping off my towel and standing in front of his friends only wearing my jock. "I'll never wear a towel in front of guests again."

 **  To clarify number 5, Michael was on his conference calls almost every weeknight, and on both The Harbor Party and Mardi Gras weekends, we forgot what 'dinner' even meant. Anyway, Michael eats as healthy and regimented as an Astronaut. He takes all the fun out of eating. The only thing he has at night is compressed tofu patties. He keeps no food at home so I had to do food shopping everyday at the Duffy's, the most expensive and gayest supermarket in the world, where mixed salad greens were $16 per pound.
    I'll be happy to take him out for a fancy meal when he comes here on a business trip two weeks from now. Deal?

gary glassMANLY --- Australia part 3

     Unfortunately, I was too busy moving washing machines, making calls, waiting for phones and computers to re-charge, writing my blog and having sex with Michael's friends to possibly do any sightseeing. I was having a great time without venturing out much, but everyone seemed to be worried that I wasn't seeing enough of Sydney.  Personally, indoor sightseeing is just as interesting to me. Eating out of someone's refrigerator, food shopping at the local Supermarket, having sex with someone's friends and neighbors and seeing their apartments, hearing someone's conversations with family and with people from work, meeting shopkeepers, having conversations with cab drivers, reading a newspaper or two and listening to the radio a little can tell you plenty about a country and it's culture.
     I have known Michael V for 16 years but this is the first time we are actually boyfriend-free at the same time. I am witnessing  Michael Untethered, alone for the first time in 14 years, able to do whatever he wants, and live wherever and however he wants. Lucky for me that the 'wherever' is in a very modern two bedroom apartment complete with a furnished guest bedroom at gay ground zero in Surry Hills. This trip to Australia gave me the chance to see Michael at all different times of the day and learn his habits and routines. It was my version of bird watching, only I didn't have to go to the Australian bush.  I could just hang around the apartment and watch Michael, who was louder and fancier than the Cockatoo or any other bird in the wild.  
    One of the most fascinating and foreign things to me that I witnessed a few times was the nightly ritual of the conference call. Very few people ever witnessed Michael on one of these calls, so I felt privileged to experience it. I would sit across the dining room table from him writing my blog on one of his laptops as he sat  facing my direction with his other laptop he used for work. The calls didn't include a web cam hook-up so he could wear his gym shorts and tank top as he talked into his cellphone on the table switched to 'speaker phone' mode. Michael led each call, orchestrating with perfect ease whichever three or four HR employees he wanted to talk to. He asked questions and then listened to thei responses, chiming in when he felt it necessary. 
    I always tried to stay very quiet when he switched on his speaker to comment to the group. I didn't want to ruffle any of his feathers when he was busy like this, or do anything else during these calls that would cause him to peck my eyes out.  Occasionally, he would look at me and smile, and other times he would pass me notes that said things like 'if you don't stop watching me I'm going to bash your head against that marble countertop.'
   Ever since I met Michael, I've wondered how a man who behaves like a high school girl is able to climb so high up the corporate ladder. Hearing him so skillfully juggle several employees as he comes up with answers or solutions on the spot to every question or problem thrown at him,  I see why he's paid so well. He speaks in a way that commands respect but still manages to be playful and even  bitchy when he wants to.
     This is what makes Michael V such a unique person. He is in touch with his goodness and with his badness, and is happy to unleash both of these parts of himself out into the world without hardly any restrictions. He doesn't favor one part over the other, and never apologizes for the behavior of either of the two. He is not embarrassed to let both show, and really doesn't care if anyone is offended by them.  He brilliantly blends the confident, assertive, shrewd business man he needs to be with that silly, sexy, stupidly generous and shamelessly shallow high school girl he wants to be. This cocktail of charecteristics makes him into what can only be described as a cross between Rupert Murdoch and Marilyn Monroe.   

 

 Getting the opportunity to witness Michael V in his natural habitat was a rare treat. I really didn't have to do anything else in Australia to consider it a successful trip. Michael thought otherwise.
     " I didn't spend all that money flying you here and on that expensive camera for your birthday so you could take a picture of my ass blocking The Opera House at the Harbor Party",  he said as he turned and walked into my bedroom and came back with the camera he bought me. "Here," he said, putting the camera in my hand. "You've got one day left before all the Mardi Gras parties start. Go and see Sydney. And I want proof. Bring me back a photo of The Opera House and of Manly Beach and of three other interesting things." He held up my keys to his apartment that he must have grabbed when he got the camera off the dresser in my room. " I leave here for work in 25 minutes. That's the amount of time you have to get yourself ready to spend the entire day out seeing the city. The door locks behind us at 9 A.M. and doesn't open again until I got home at 6 P.M." He dangled my keys in front of me then put them in his pocket. "Better start getting ready, darling."
   As an extra punishment for starting my sightseeing so late in the trip, God sent down rain just to make my task more challenging.  Luckily my friend Michael P gave me simple directions to get me from Michael V's building to Sydney Harbor. The wet trek was basically in a straight line, which meant it was almost impossible for me to get lost. I walked through Hyde Park  and onto the beginning of Macquarie Street, where the original prison stands that was used for the British convicts shipped off to Australia,  called the Hyde Park Barracks. A lot of historical sites are on Macquarie Street making it perfect for my high speed whirlwind tour as I headed towards the Harbor. Along the way, I saw the first Mint building and went into Sydney Hospital that looks more like a museum. Then I went into the Royal Botanical Gardens where I stood in the rain and took pictures as proof that I was actually there.

Sydney Hospital dates back to late 1800's.

The Royal (And Wet) Botanic Gardens

I considered this fabulous woman in her eighties named Trish to be
one of the most interesting sights of the day.

      I continued my pilgrimage until I saw the top of The Opera House. It reminded me of when my ex Alex and I walked 5 kilometers at 3:00 AM in Paris to reach The Eiffel Tower, and how exciting it was to first spot it in the distance. I was proud that I found The Opera House by myself, though in all honesty, the route is so simple that Helen Keller could have tracked it down. 
   What surprised me immediately is that The Opera House is actually three separate buildings right next to each other, which isn't overly obvious in many of the pictures I've seen. They actually look like a mother dinosaur and her two children sleeping on their stomachs sunning themselves.  
   Michael didn't say which part of the Opera House I should take a picture of, so I went inside to the lower level and took these shots of the mens bathroom. I liked how the the curves of the stalls and of the long singular sink play off the shapes of the huge curved domes of the buildings.

I made sure no feet were showing

I waited until no one needed it

    
  

      I did take one shot of the Opera House from the deck of the ferry as we pulled away from the dock ( I tend to be drawn to the backsides of things).

.

These bonnets were the inspiration for the design of the Opera House roofs.

     It was pouring 20 minutes later when I reached Manly Wharf. There was no beach in sight, so I had to ask for directions. Already looking crazy walking around in the pouring rain, I frightened two separate people by stuttering on the word 'Manly', as I do quite often with m's. One of them got so scared that she just pointed in the direction as she hurried away. I had to ask a third time in a gas station before I finally knew where to go.
     The beach was on the other side of the island from where Manly Wharf was. I started walking with my hat and headphones on and didn't stop until I found it an hour later. I crossed the last street and climbed down the wet sand covered steps onto the beach. I couldn't believe I was the only one there! What happened to the famous Manly Beach with all it's manly men?  If they were really manly, they would be at the beach in the rain. That's what a manly man like me does.  I mean a manly retarded man, which was what I must have looked like to anyone passing in their cars watching me taking pictures of myself on the beach in the rain.

I took a shot of my arm just to show how wet I was

                                                     MANLESS BEACH

THE RETARDED TOURIST ----- Australia part 2 of 3

     When I told my ex Grant that I was traveling to Australia he immediately asked if I was going to The Great Barrier Reef. He assumed I was planning on it because, as I realized after ten other people asked me the same question, a person would have to be retarded to fly half way around the world and not see the world's biggest and most beautiful coral reef. Even the woman from Bank of America who I spoke with over the phone to verify I would be using my debit in Australia told me she snorkeled in the Great Barrier Reef and that it was 'must-do for anyone who lives on this planet'. Grant couldn't believe I was not going to try to take in as much of Australia's natural beauty as possible, something he and his boyfriend Mark, being consummate outdoors men, would naturally do.
     Even in the most urban environments, Grant and Mark search for pockets of natural beauty.When they went to New York last year they rented bicycles and for two weeks rode around every part of the city, even on the bridges. In 14 days Grant learned more about New York than I ever did in the 35 years I lived there. No doubt they would do the same Down Under, driving and pedaling and rowing and climbing and backpacking and swimming all over  Australia. This rugged country is the perfect place for people with adventurous spirits like them, where staying inside on a vacation is a punishment. 
   I felt as if I had already failed as a tourist even before my plane landed in Sydney. In all honesty, I am embarrassed of my apathy about all the outdoor sight-seeing that is such an integral part of visiting Australia.  Have I gone half way around the world just to see Sydney's gay version of Mardi Gras?  Michael V better take some of the blame for this. Did he mention the Great Barrier Reef to me one time? No, the closest thing he's mentioned is the Great Bare-ass Briefs he bought for an Underwear Party.
    The first thing I did after unpacking my suitcase at Michael's was to ask him what bus or ferry I would take to get to The Great Barrier Reef. " Maybe I could go to it for an afternoon while you're at work."
   "Have you even looked at a map of Australia before coming here? It might be an island but it's also a continent. You just can't pop! over to the Great Barrier Reef, he explained, gesturing his arms like Endora. " It's four hours away and takes two planes to get there. It's like being in New York and saying 'I think I'll drop by Disneyworld'."
    "Really?" I said almost joyfully. " That means at this point even if I wanted to go, it would be almost impossible to plan out everything it would take to get there. I would say that falls under the category of circumstances out of my control. Now I have the perfect excuse for not seeing it."  I fell back onto his bed and let out a big sigh of relief. "You won't believe how many people made me promise to see it before I left here. Of course no one seemed to care if I get eaten by a Great White after I cut myself on the coral. I haven't felt such pressure to do outdoors activity since I was ten in sleep-away camp when they forced me to play baseball."
    " If you want to impress everyone with your athleticism you can try the Sydney Harbor Bridge climb. It's the new thing to do. But let's get one thing clear right now--if you fall into the harbor you're staying there. It will be a burial at sea. I'll tell everyone in San Fran that's how you wanted it," he nodded somberly with  a mournful face and his hand on his chest.
    " Climbing a bridge actually sounds like something I would enjoy."
  " Of course you would, darling. All apes love to climb. That reminds me," he added, pointing a shoe tree at me. " We need bananas for breakfast. We're going to need some healthy food for our recovery after the Harbor Dance tonight."
       The bananas we bought turned out to be the only nourishment, along with yogurt and Gatorade, that I put into my body for an entire day after the Harbor Dance. I was pretty wiped-out for the next day also, suffering from jet lag plus Gay Circuit Party lag
     which can be more exhausting than a 14 hour airplane flight.
    By Tuesday though,  I was ready to face Sydney again. The first thing I did was, of course, go to the gym that Michael bought me a week's membership. Going to the gym on your vacation might seem like a strange concept to some people but it is something I've always done. It's essentially going to a completely different place but doing exactly the same thing, only around people with an accent.
   It has always been my way of rebooting myself emotionally and to get things moving again. It's also something I do that is highly active and good for my body. For myself, I define activity in terms of what I do indoors, not what I do out of the gym. Doing cardio on a machine with my headphones as I'm looking out the window is my way of engaging with the environment. The closest thing to outdoor activity I get is walking stroke, spinal and brain injured patients around the hospital sidewalks during the community reintegration part of their rehab program. Taking into account the amount of time I do spend exercising inside, you can even say I'm much more active than most people. The only difference is that my activity doesn't involve fresh air or catching any kind of ball. The only thing I can catch is the occasional STD from someone I meet at the gym.
   With all of this said, I still knew I had to start doing something outdoorsy that Australia was known for. I kept hearing Grant's voice repeating 'Great Barrier Reef, Great Barrier Reef...' over and over in my head. If I wasn't going to swim in the reef at least I would climb a bridge. But then I found out it cost three hundred dollars and took a whole day of training, and according to Michael's newly ex-boyfriend, Lee, who did it, the actual climb was painfully slow and boring because of out of shape people in the climbing group he got stuck with, and that it needed to be booked weeks in advance, especially right before Mardi Gras.  
  With my bridge plan thwarted, I was back to square one on my desperate search to prove that my trip to Australia was not just one big gay Circuit Party event. I was determined to swim in or hike to or climb up something in Sydney. So far, the only thing that comes close is helping my dear friends Ron T and Michael P who live here carry an old washing machine down their warm staircase to the sidewalk and carry up a new one. At least I can say I was somewhere that made me sweat and take my shirt off with Australians besides a dance floor.