Showing posts with label new yorker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label new yorker. Show all posts

Friday, February 23, 2007

consuming girls

the current scene with barbie, bratz, and princesses

The guys on Project Rungay are blogging season two of Project Runway (as is Eric3000). Right now they are writing about Episode 3, when the designers had to create an outfit for the new My Scene Barbie. My Scene Barbie is Mattel's answer to Bratz, which is putting a serious dent into Mattel's monopoly of the market. This reminded me of two very smart (and quite funny) articles that were recently published:

Little Hotties : Barbie's New Rivals
On t
he rise of the Bratz doll phenomenon.
By Margaret Talbot, New America Foundation
The New Yorker | December 5, 2006

What’s Wrong With Cinderella? One mother's struggle with her 3-year-old daughter's love affair with princess culture.
By PEGGY ORENSTEIN
The New York Times Magazine | December 24, 2006

[ related kih postings : ]

Thursday, February 22, 2007

quality time together

(with apologies to E3K for the conversational genre imitation, um, homage.)

I wasn't sure if I would watch Top Design last night but my husband wasn't feeling well so he stayed home. While the show was on he surfed the web and I read the long New Yorker article on the Hewlitt-Packard surveillance scandal.
FYI: This is such a disgusting example of the board room old boys club that I wanted to take a shower after finishing the article, the upshot being that Silicon Valley zillionaire and numero uno a-hole Tom Perkins, a soft? porn writing skeeve screwed over Patricia Dunn because she made the cardinal sin of not kissing his ass. Now she is facing felony charges meanwhile his bud Mark Hurd, the CEO of HP -- who knew as much as Dunn plus he was her superior -- not only walks free but was just given an $8.6 million cash bonus plus stock options. Oh, and Dunn has been going through treatment for ovarian cancer throughout the entire ordeal and will probably die before she is forced to serve any time in jail. Perkins now claims he feels bad for her and that he didn't mean for this to go so far -- like it is some sort of fraternity prank that got out of hand, which, in a way, it is. Some things never change. Ain't life grand?
Anyway, having company made the show slightly more interesting, especially because otherwise it was just another bunch of white boxes. What little conversational energy we had was spent marvelling at two things:

First:

Me, distracted by reading article in the New Yorker: Where do they find these people? First an interior designer who has never painted. Now one who has never been to a garage sale?

Husband, distracted by being sick and surfing the web: How could someone never have gone to a garage sale?

MDBRANY: She's part Swiss. Maybe she went to a Swiss finishing school. They sent her away from the damaging affects of American garage sale culture.

HDBBSSW: So she has always had something new or auction quality antiques?

MDBRANY: She's also the one who said that she always gets what she wants.

HDBBSSW: Is she Veruka Salt?

Second:

MDBRANY: Who in their right mind would be wowed by somebody else's grandma's afghan?

HDBBSSW: Someone who did not come from a family whose grandma made afghans?

MDBRANY: But she's an interior designer. Look at those colors. That has got to be the cheapest acrylic yarn there is.

HDBBSSW: When are you going to finish knitting those socks for me?