Friday, February 26, 2010

On Thin Ice

Nothing comes closer to turning me into a gay man than watching figure skating. When Chinese pair Shen and Zhao performed their short program on Valentine’s night, I wished for a gold medal for them. And they got it, by the way. I found myself sitting there enraptured by their talent, their grace and power. And I was nearly on the edge of my seat with every move, finally breathing when they finished.

Other couples were less memorable, and I found myself being a little catty with them, saying things like, “That is the most horrible triple toeloop I have ever witnessed,” “What’s up with that straight line step sequence? I’ve seen better footwork in 'Planet of the Apes on Ice,'” and “It’s a pair combination spin, honey! You’re supposed to be in synch with each other, hence the word ‘pair!'”

I don’t understand. I didn’t behave like that when we watched snowboarding or downhill skiing. What is it about figure skating that makes me go all Carson Kressley? Don’t get me wrong; I love Carson more than my luggage, but why am I not that way with all of the competitions? Maybe it’s the intrinsic femininity of the sport itself.

I don’t mean the competitors are gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but let’s face it—it does require one to move with quite a bit more flourish than other sports. Plus, if you compare the petite frames of the female skaters to those of, say, the female curlers, the difference is obvious. I’m probably thinking about this too much. I should just enjoy it. And I will. As soon as I make myself another Cosmopolitan.