So. On Thursday I go to Barnes and Noble for lunch. Not for the food -- ugh -- $7 pre-made sandwiches wrapped in plastic -- no thanks. I go cause I like to read; I need a new book for the morning subway commute. I go cause it's a real shitty day out -- hot, humid and rainy. I can tell it's going to be a real bad hair summer. So, I go in through the music section, walk past Children's, Cooking, and Self-help on a set course to Fiction. But something catches my eye. There -- on a table full of gay photography books -- lay a thin paperback; black and white photo on the cover. The title? Naked New York. "Hello -- What's this?" I pick it up and do the perfunctory flip-through. Hmmmm. Every other page is divided between 2 photographs of remarkable similarity. On the left -- a person -- fully clothed in what seems to be their natural preference for casual street fashion. A person standing in front of a brick wall in what seems to be the photographer's bohemian East Village squatter loft. The photo on the right is almost exactly the same -- person, brick wall -- save one detail: the subject now stands stark naked . Across the bottom of the of the 2 pictures is the person's age and profession written in punch label. Cool -- me thinks. I start from the beginning marveling at the diversity of the people, professions, races, classed, body types, you name it. All shapes and sizes. No holds barred. What guts these people must have -- what balls to stand there -- disrobed -- naked as a jay bird -- in one's birthday suit. Fat, hair, cellulite totally exposed to the harsh unblinking Cyclops eye of the camera. How strong these people are -- to stare unflinchingly back at it, at the photographer, at us. I continue to flip through the book, astounded at the range of people within, when all of a sudden I turn the page and gasp. There, for all humanity to see, is my boyfriend from college. I slam the book shut and laugh a giddy giggle. I look wildly about -- unable to contain my merry mirth -- wanting to share the joke with someone else. Over by Art I spy Katie, Kyle's friend from college. I run over and tell her, she demands to see, and so we look. We laugh like two little school girls doing something they know is naughty. How absurd! Her one comment: "Kinda small, isn't he?" Oh man. Maybe. But I'm telling you -- to bare yourself like that takes courage. To put yourself out -- naked -- for all the world to see and comment on. Well. Small, fat or ugly -- that takes a big person. A big person with big balls.