Rest in Pieces

I was late to work today and still managed to be the first one here. A little Christmas miracle. Ok, but the reason I was late was because I got up so early and showered so quickly that I had time for a cup of tea and to read the news. But reading the news quickly degenerated into watching all the videos on this one website for a blender.

Will It Blend? dot com captivated me. The Put Shit In a Blender and See What Happens thing is something I've wanted to do my whole life. My favorite was the Barbie one because it was Christmasy.

I love my sister. I do. But she had SO much Barbie shit when we were young that I couldn't help but to imagine doing this in front of her 10-year-old self and what her reaction would be. Part of me thinks she would cry, but just as I'm about to feel bad about that, I realize she probably wouldn't cry anymore. When she was 10, sure, but then an image of my now-21-year-old sister enters my mind, and in this tableau, we can observe the rapid maturity she has since undergone as she laughs heartily and shoves Ken in the blender to join his girlfriend. (Or ex-girlfriend. I lost track, is she still diddling that Blaine character?) Smoke and the acrid smell of smoldering polymers flood the kitchen as Barbie's perfect life is reduced to perfect pink plastic pebbles.

Look at how much we've grown!

Seriously, watching Barbie get blended satisfied this twisted, morbid desire within me. I can't explain it, but I think it's one of those "guy things", which would explain why it feels so foreign to me. I don't have a lot of "guy" urges (don't say it) but one of the earliest that I remember also involved my sister's Barbies, but it was diluted. I was 8, and one afternoon I took great pleasure in sitting in the living room with my sister and her 30 or so Barbie dolls. (Yes, 30. My sister and I didn't exactly lack for toys and games.) We each had a pair of scissors and a Barbie hairbrush. We were playing Beauty Shop, and the rule was if the brush got stuck in Barbie's hair and pulled her head off, she got a haircut.

My sister's idea of playing with Barbies was essentially holding two in her hands and shaking them violently as she made them talk to each other, so the dolls' hair wasn't exactly Thermasilk smooth. About 15 Barbies got chopped that day before our mom caught us.

The mutilation, you see, was partially a "guy thing" (the destruction of my sister's toys, desecrating the feminine) as well as what I now realize was the vastly different (if only by one letter) "gay thing" (Barbie Beauty Shop, I mean helloooo). It was an extremely complex emotion I was feeling that day even if I didn't realize it at the time. I remember it well, though, and I'm fond of it. I'm glad I was able to work out some of these conflicting feelings we feel as gay men. It's not easy to find activities that satisfy both sides at once. Chick action movies are a good substitute

In conclusion, I think if all little boys played Barbie Beauty Shop, there'd be a lot less gender confusion in the world. Think about it. I haven't.