Somewhere in there was a Christmas column about a trip home for the first time in many years that was surprisingly sentimental and got quite a response from the readers. It was a rather idyllic Christmas. There were no fights, no siblings in the midst of divorce, no one in jail, the hospital or a mental institution, and lots of nieces and nephews around who worship me because I havenít fallen into the same structural trappings as their parents and other uncles. To put it more simply, because I'm "weird", too old to be unmarried, I wear a leather jacket, I tell them secrets and openly swear in front of them. Little did anyone know that at home in SF I had left behind a ballistic domestic situation, far too many deaths of friends, another friends unsuccessful suicide attempt and a personally dire financial situation. For the first time ever, my holiday visit home with the family provided the enriching warmth and solace that it should. It felt like The Brady's or the Waltons or the assembled god-fearing guests on a Kathy Lee Christmas Special. Well, not that sickeningly sweet, but very good for all involved. So call Ripley's, I have had a Hallmark warm and fuzzy Christmas before, at least once.

I'm not sure if this comes out before or on Christmas day, but by the time youíre reading this, Christmas will almost be a dim memory, like the ashes of a home burned out by just one spark from faulty tree lights, just like the example footage theyíre showing on the news over and over just to demonstrate how quickly holiday cheer can turn into a fiery death trap. Gotta love the news, itís been full of marvelous cheery holiday stories lately. I remember my Mother always saying, "Christmas is for the children," and I couldnít agree more, especially after my room mate Tish gave me my Christmas present early and the gleeful childlike state it put me in. I was almost as excited as she was last year when our friends (the ones who were laughing while I vomited) rushed out and purchased the infamous hair-eating Cabbage Patch Doll for her, before it was removed from the shelves as the most dangerous toy of the season. We gave it cigarettes, lots of fingers, let it try to eat itís way up a wallet chain, even gave it a wig to chomp on. It had a few plastic food items that it came with to eat, which after ingested, could be found in the dollyís colostomy-like backpack looking like a freshly packed lunch. Aside from the terror of getting their hair eaten by the doll, I believe this toy reinforced some not so pleasant ideas for 4 to 6 year olds.

My gift from Tish was a toy but it didnít really pose any unusual danger to children (damn!) aside from the disappointment of not being able to find one--they just flew off the shelf at Toys R Us where we had looked for it together as many as three times. Resourceful as she is, Tish was able to deliver into my hands, Smiling Becky, the first ever Barbie doll confined to a wheelchair, a positive role model or image for specially abled girls to adhere to like millions of girls have for years with their Barbie dolls. Smiling Becky comes equipped with her wheelchair, a hairbrush, and a backpack, but unlike the Cabbage Patch doll, it holds no special snacks, just a little plastic charm and ribbon necklace for the proud owner of Smiling Becky to wear. I was oddly thrilled with owning my first (I swear) Barbie doll and decided that I could decide how she became confined to the wheelchair. Was it a skiing accident? Was it polio? Was she faking it like the villainess on my soap opera? Was it a car accident? Was it an insurance Scam? I tested that possibility on my own but now Iím perplexed because not only can Becky not stand on her own but no other Barbie doll in history can either, without a special stand. Hmmmm. I settled on the cause of her paralysis being the result of an illegal abortion performed by Frank Sinatra's mother. Weíre looking forward to Halloween so Becky and one of Tish's Barbies can dress up as Joan Crawford and Bette Davis in Whatever Happened To Baby Jane. Other themes to explore are Heidi, Larry and Alethea Flynt, and of course, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I don't want to seem set on with sullying the image and good intentions of this toy, but isn't the bigger issue at hand the simple fact that all Barbies actually need a wheelchair? When the topic of the Wheelchair Barbie was brought up on the television show Politically Incorrect, singer Taylor Dayne remarked, "Isn't Mattel aware that we've been crippling our own Barbies for years?" Maybe they are. Nonetheless, I heart my Smiling Becky, and I think I know why she smiles. She's got wheels instead of a plastic rod up the back of her dress holding her in an upright position.

Speaking of toys and children and upright positions, isnít it beyond odd that in Japan a very popular childrens cartoon has induced seizure in several hundred children by way of a bright flashing light then bingo, hundreds of kids simultaneously lose their highly attentive tv viewing upright positions and fall into temporary lifelessness or mild spasmodic convulsions--just in time for the Holidays! What the fuck is going on here? Will we ever know or will this curious story just fade away without comprehensive investigation and conclusive findings. Weíll see. What if some mechanism of that nature had been implemented during the televised broadcast of Princess Diana's funeral or some upcoming top worldwide telecast like The Popes Easter Mass or The Superbowl or Melrose Placeís season finale? Kind of funny to think that something sounding utterly science fiction, like the premise for a plot on an episode of The Monkees or Batman could actually be,well, true. Yeah, real funny, like a thimble-full of Anthrax--a real laugh riot.

Yet another technological laugh riot I read about recently in a few of our esteemed Leather Community Columns in various gay rags around town had to do with an online sexual foray ending up in the accidental death of a man by self-strangulation, causing the concerned members of the community to call for the need to take a firm and responsible stand when it comes to their highly specialized "scenes" and "roleplaying" and "edge-play" and persona indentifying sexual acts. Give me a fucking break. Sounds like urban legend fodder to me, like in every high school there's a cheerleader from the rival team who collapses after a busride home from a game and is rushed to the hospital and her stomach is pumped of itís contents which are several pints of sperm. Well, in every leather community there's a guy who collapses and when rushed to the hospital... etc... etc. Or these two leather queens vacationing in mexico buy a precious little Chihuaua puppy and when they got home it got sick so they take it to a vet and learn that itís not a dog but really a rat. What is this all really about besides obsession and boredom and the creation of codes and rules and stratification to make lives less empty and easy to follow as dictated? If a person can actually have fufilling sexual encounters online at a computer terminal then I think that accomplishment earns every dominant top online leatherdaddy master in the fucking world the total right to go too far and kill your online sexual submissive as often as you can find one, you crazy urban cyber-aboriginals. Go for it! Knock yourselves out...or I mean off. Would it reflect on you any worse if you did that or if you appeared at a leather function in improperly fitting chaps? Who cares about your highly advanced and imaginative self-identifying edge-play codes of behavior. As they say online, this makes me "lol".