I can recall (just barely) a few memorable nights with MM, how we ran with the bulls in Pompalona, trained as matadors in Madrid, slung the bull to some fat Shelias we thought were good looking while drunk, cruising the wall of shame in BKK "i'll make that old toothless hag mine" he'd proclaim "any limp wrist can shag a stunner, but I like them ugly, a challange, to go where others fear, for I am a Spaniard!"...but most of all, I will miss the nights in Casanova. MM was never hung up on the macho trip so many Spaniards are. I can recall him walking in in his matador's costume, eyes a fire at what her preceived as beauty before him, and then offered to skewer the "ladies" with his "Picadillio of love" as he called it. I always declined to partake in the dancing and pagentry that ensued, "mas para Mi " he'd yell as he enjoyed life to the fullest. He was young drunk stupid and in love, always a true Spaniard...in the end, the bull got him where no Katoey ever had, but he died as he lived, in his cape with his pants down. Vaya Con dios mi amigo!-OH