In Defense of Barbie and Ken Dolls... after the VT massacre 2007

I sometimes rail against "Barbie and Ken dolls" and use them to symbolize the empty headed consumer of our plastic and disposable pop culture. It is, of course, satire. I do not really objectify people in this way.

Monday someone who had more thoroughly objectified people managed to get away with executing more than thirty of them. No doubt, behind dark and polluted eyes he saw a world of pretty young people having fun, partying, spending money, and having sex. This was, to him, a world he could never be a part of (or so he told himself in his demented isolation). He punished these people by ending their world. At some point, probably long ago, those that he looked out at had probably long ceased being people. They were "its" and "them" of some kind. That transference is necessary to kill someone. In our war the people our President objectifies as "insurgents" or "terrorists" get furthered objectified by soldiers as "targets". On the other side, young college aged kids with girlfriends and worried parents became "infidels" and "occupiers". This has always been the way of murder. This is the Great Sadness.

A lot of people feel like "outsiders" especially in high schools and colleges. I can only imagine there are hundreds of thousands if not millions of us that feel alienated in some way. I remember going to college for the first time and looking out at all these pretty young people and wondering how I could possibly fit in. Then, a couple days later, a pretty girl smiled at me and said "Hi". I was in too much shock to really respond. I think I might've grunted or something. I did see her later though and because she had said hi to me I mustered up the courage to approach her and fire off a joke.

It wasn't funny but she laughed anyway. We talked for awhile about where we were from and what we were studying and some time later we went back to her room and I kissed her. When I looked around and saw the pictures of her parents and her little brother, the rock posters on the wall and all the silly souvenirs of childhood recently left behind, I realised that this pretty girl was a dork. She was just as insecure and unsure about her life as I was.

I kissed her again.