Ah, Fire Island. No better way to throw yourself into the summer season.
A favorite story about Fire Island:
The first time I ever spent the night there, I was staying in Cherry Grove. We (Mr. Offender and me) decided to walk to the Pines. It was dark out, but we had our trusty keychain flashlight and we had been through the footpaths earlier. As we came closer to the entrance to (what we later learned was called) the Meatrack, we were encouraged to see all of the other fellows whom we assumed were also heading over to the Pines. Suddenly, as we were about 50 feet into the woods, something seemed off. Every time we followed someone in order to get to the Pines our leader kept stopping in little bushy alcoves. Finally we decided to try and make it on our own. We kept the flashlight low to the path and were making great progress, but suddenly we reached another stopping point. Feeling lost, I lifted up the flashlight to put my eyes on the largest man I've ever seen naked. Kind of like Santa Claus in all his jolly alltogether. Fabulous! We screamed like Mary, Kate and Ashole all the way out! Now granted, getting rimmed by a rabid deer isn't really something I want for myself, but a salute to those who get their forest freak on. If art is about putting yourself "out there", then this is art.
More stories from Fire Island past are coming. (Topics include Robyn Byrd's vagina, leaches, burlesque and fashion appropriation!) But after a great day I came home to look at my own art: randon patches of deep red and purple on white where the 50 SPF Baby Sunscreen had failed me.