There is always one more. . . doll

I don't know what gets into me, I really don't. I can't leave it alone, and I never could.

A few posts ago I was talking about fan art, which I've never done before, mainly because I have no artistic sensibilities whatsoever and can't draw or paint to save my life. Once during a manic phase, I did a lot of abstract painting and was convinced it was REALLY GOOD and went around scanning it and sending it to everyone. Unfortunately, it was shit. I had no idea why everyone seemed so embarrassed.

I don't know how artists do it, except through true talent and determination.

I can't leave it alone. These dolls, these alabaster time-travellers created by the mysterious genius Marina Bychkova (a Vancouver girl, I'm happy to say) pull something out of me, something equally strange.

I want to unjoint them and take them apart and see how they work, or at least dress and undress them. Why? What's the matter with me? I hated dolls as a little girl.

I didn't even have any, except an execrable Debbie doll with a big head and permed black hair like my mother's, and an even worse one called Miss Debutante. Does the average eight-year-old know or care what a "debutante" is? It's a strange term at the best of times, and like "chatelaine" it has no male equivalent. I used to call her "Miss De-BUT-ton-ty", when I called her anything at all.

I did mummify my Barbie, and got some strange looks for it, even from my schizophrenic brother Arthur who seemed to be from some other planet. What can I say, I loved mummies and hated Barbie and it seemed like a good solution.

I can't play with dolls even now, I can't afford one as good as these, and feel a bit silly prowling around doll shows where people just hoard them. So this is my only way of playing. 

I have to reveal a secret: while I played with images today, I worried about a medical test I'm having in a week. I don't feel well and I haven't for some time, though as usual nobody has a clue about it because "you seem fine to me". When you've hidden depression and other kinds of wretched imbalance for nearly 60 years, you get awfully good at it.

This seems to be "physical", meaning "not my fault" and "not something I'm just making up to get attention that I could snap out of any time I wanted to, except I don't want to". It's weird, because part of me hopes there's something wrong, or at least something they can locate, so it won't be one of those vague situations where you KNOW there is something wrong but no one in the medical community will acknowledge it.

It seems a bit idiotic to say, "Gee, I sure hope they find something wrong."

But I do.

I have another secret, and now I will reveal it. I wanted to use one of those hideous birds by Hieronymus Bosch in my "fan art", but discovered it really wasn't do-able, any more than my equally bright idea to make my own Russian nesting dolls. But I did find this, some sort of hawk making that screaming noise they do. What struck me is that its mouth was a perfect mother-of-pearl-looking heart, so I used that as a basis for my fan art, or desecrations, or whatever they are.

It just worked so perfectly. 

Mommee. . . I'm. . . hun. . .gry. . .

"Did I make a stinky?"

It's summer, I'm lazy, don't feel like writing anything, but just had to share with you, my faithful friends, the bare facts about a doll that used to be popular a few decades back. A doll that keeps being reissued, with refinements, I guess.

There are lots of far more graphic videos of this thing in which little girls check its diaper and find a slimy mess of ingested material (begging the question: how do you clean this thing out so it won't be full of rotting food? Does Mommy have to stick it under the tap and flush it out?) But instead I thought I'd lazily append a detailed Wikipedia entry in fairly bad English, which nevertheless gives us the basic facts of this incredible artifact.

In all the ads I saw, the doll's feces is called "whoops", "an accident", or other coy terms. My kids' childhood would have been a lot easier for me if they had produced "whoops" every day.

I apologize for the length of this, but it seemed too astonishing to touch. Just read the parts that disgust you the most.


Baby Alive is a baby doll made by Hasbro that eats, drinks, wets and in some cases messes. Its mouth moves and is supposed to be lifelike, as the brand name suggests. It was originally made and introduced by Kenner in 1973, and reintroduced by Hasbro in 2006. Today, Baby Alive is offered in Caucasian, African-American, and Hispanic varieties. The newest versions include Wets & Wiggles (male or female), Sip 'N Slurp, Sip N Snooze, Pat N Burp, Baby Alive learns to potty, and baby go bye-bye.

History

1970s-1980s

The first Baby Alive doll was introduced by Kenner in 1973. It could be fed food packets mixed with water, and came with a bottle, diapers, and feeding spoon. The spoon would be inserted into its mouth, and a lever on its back pushed to have it chew the food. The food would move through her and end up in her diaper; this version did not speak, so you had to check the diaper a few moments after feeding. It also produced droppings and threw up regularly.

1990s

In 1992 the first talking Baby Alive doll was produced. It was fed in the same manner, but swallowed automatically without the need for a lever, and used a potty instead of a diaper. There were sensors located inside the doll to detect what stage the food was at, and trigger its voice to say "I have to go potty" or "All done now". These dolls did not sell well due to the loud gear noises and her "deep adult voice".

It was later discontinued, and a non-speaking baby was released in 1995 with snacks and juice boxes, although these came in boxes and cans rather than packets that were mixed with water. They, as opposed to modern Baby Alive doll food and juice, had names such as Yummy Juice and Baby Cherries. It only came in two versions, Baby Alive and Baby All Gone.

It appeared as a doll with blue eyes and messy curly blonde hair, not dissimilar to the modern doll, although the 1990s version seemed more traditional and less "cartoon-ey". Nowadays, Baby All Gone is fed bananas instead of cherries, and the juice is given from a bottle instead of a juice box, which saved on cardboard waste from empty boxes.

A doll was introduced called Juice & Cookies Baby Alive who could be fed juice from a box, and cookies could actually be made, when a mix was put in a triangular mould, baked and removed with a scoop. The doll drank and chewed automatically.

Newborn dolls

Sip 'N Slurp, A baby which when her tummy is squeezed she "drinks" from her juice cup with a straw attached and "wets" her diaper. A Sip 'n' Slurp birthday doll was released in 2008 is the same principle as sip n' slurp, but her birthday can be celebrated everyday because she can "blow" on her party blower and "blow" out a candle on her cupcake she has a cup with attached straw just like the Sip 'n' Slurp.

Wets 'N Wiggles, This doll comes in either a girl or a boy and is given juice and lets you know it is wet by crying and wiggling and then the diaper is changed. Unlike the other dolls, it does not speak.

Pat 'N Burp, A newborn baby that "drinks" from her bottle and when pat or squeezed, she "burps". She can come in numerous skin and eye colors.

Sip 'N Snooze, A baby that gets "sleepy" as you feed her a bottle and gets snuggled when she falls asleep. She can come in blonde or brunette hair colors.

Speaking toddler dolls

Baby Alive Learns to Potty: A new potty training version of the doll, where the baby gets fed and is given a bottle and tells you when she has to go potty by saying phrases such as "Potty time!" or "Hurry-hurry!", and she "goes" when the food and water move through her, but she has a diaper just in case and then she says "oops! I had an accident" if she is not put on the potty in time.

She also says "I'm a big girl" or "I love you, Mommy", says "Yummy!" or "Mmm, good!" when she is fed with her doll food or from her bottle, and sings a discordant version of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Also, she has a learning feature, where she gets better at using her potty after each feeding. She will ask to use it twice after the second feeding before she goes in her diaper, and so on until the fifth feeding.

Baby Alive Baby's New Teeth: A doll who is "teething". If her tongue is pressed, new teeth will appear. She has a special teething chew ring, and if you give her a teething cookie she will actually "take a bite". She drinks from her cup and then wets her diaper. She comes with a toothbrush and toothpaste so the child can "brush" them.

Baby Alive Changing Time Baby: she can be fed a doll food paste made from a powder, and given a bottle of water. They move through her and end up in her diaper, which is then changed.

Baby Alive Real Surprises: A doll who eats her doll food and drinks from her bottle, and then wets and messes her diaper afterwards saying "Uh-oh! I made a poo-poo" or "I made a stinky!" or "Surprise!". She talks, sucks her pacifier and sings a discordant version of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star". Many people make handmade bottles, doll food and pacifiers for these dolls instead of using those designated.

Baby Alive Bouncing Babbles: A doll who can bounce up and down, operated by a small internal motor, and which makes giggling and cooing sounds.

Baby Alive Better Now Baby: A doll who is ill and needs treatment. She drinks water from a cup, and then wets her diaper. She is given medicine and the child can "check her up" as if they are a doctor caring for a patient.

Baby Alive Bye bye, Baby: A doll that is designed for travel by having a papoose and baby carrier in one unit.

Baby All Gone: a doll who is fed "bananas" on a magnetic spoon and makes them "disappear", although the food and drinks do not move through to minimise mess caused by doll food moving through. They seem to go into the doll's mouth when they are mechanically retracted back into the spoon. Also, she drinks juice from her bottle, although this doll, unlike other Baby Alive dolls, does not wet. The juice, although seeming to disappear, is also retracted back into the bottle instead of being consumed and moving through.

My Baby Alive: a doll who is fed powdered doll food mixed with water and water from her bottle. She makes a belching sound, wets and messes her diaper, and then asks "Did I make a stinky?". She comes in numerous skin, eye and hair colours.

Baby Alive dolls at present are more sophisticated than those of the past, including a stationary bracelet with a button, which when pressed activates the doll to say a phrase, a moving mouth which opens when it senses its special magnetic spoon, bottle or pacifier, or it speaks, and large cartoon-like eyes which can be programmed to open and close, rather than traditional closing eyes when the doll is put down.

Criticism

On January 22, 2009, Baby Alive Learns to Potty was nominated by the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood for its 2009 TOADY (Toys Oppressive And Destructive to Young children) Award.^[1] Saying it will "Ruin your girl's creativity" and also criticizing the cost of refills. It lost, however to one of the latest Barbie dolls.

Donald Draper is a living doll!

One wonders, sometimes, how many degrees of separation exists between "something" and "something".

Or "something" and "anything".

My obsession with Mad Men is longstanding, but it's starting to wear thin as I realize I will have to wait TWO MORE MONTHS before Season 5 begins. And that wait offers no guarantee that the show won't finally jump the shark into mediocrity.
                                                                                            

   

Perhaps to fill the void, I've been sucked into another obsession: the wonderfully creepy Enchanted Dolls of Marina Bychkova, a local genius who seems to snatch these lovely waxen lilies right out of the subconscious.

But wait! It couldn't be. And yet, it IS.

                                                         

What are Mad Men figures doing in a Barbie collector's magazine, you might

ask?

What do you think, dumb-bell?

My beloved Mad Men characters have been turned into dolls.

Not just any dolls, but Barbies!

High-end Barbies , I would guess, with nice wardrobes and all, but still. Mattel must have seen a good marketing opportunity and grabbed it

But I must find the sweet sauce in the poisoned apple. Now I get to toy with Don Draper all day long! Never mind that his face and body look alarmingly like Ken's and are probably poured into an identical mould.

At last I can indulge my fantasy of taking his clothes off, even if his pants are only three inches long.

Already there's controversy over this (which will no doubt sell more dolls): is Mad Men selling out? What next, I wonder: nouveau Bryll Cream? Mad Men push-up brassieres with  pencil-sharp points at the front?

Who's going to buy these things? Not Moms for their little girls' birthdays, surely. Mad Men is full of sex and booze and smoking and all that other awful stuff that only happened in the '60s. Not good doll material at all.

But wait a minute. Mad Men is all about selling, commodification, "product". What could be more devastatingly tongue-in-cheek than making the show's characters into playthings, merchandise for sale?

Besides, Barbies have a shelf life of about six months, and a shorter life once the box is opened. They all seem to end up buried at the bottom of the closet, naked and with their hair in a frizzled mess.

That means you'll just have to go out and buy another one.

Bychkova's dolls, much more exquisitely-made, would never fall into that category.  Yes, they're bought and sold, sometimes for as much as $40,000.00: but only to serious collectors who will cherish the dolls forever.

On the other hand. . .

On the other hand, glittering like a glacier, we might find a high-end diamond-encrusted engagement ring by Victoria Buckley,  displayed by an elegantly-posing Marina Bychkova bride doll.

It seems that though Barbie lasts but a moment, an art doll (like a diamond?) is forever.

 

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book

    It took me years to write, will you take a look

Order The Glass Character from:

Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA

Barnes & Noble

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-glass-character-margaret-gunning/1117863913?ean=9781927068885

Thistledown Press

http://www.thistledownpress.com/html/search/genre/Fiction/the_glass_character_p580.cfm

Chapters/Indigo
http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/the-glass-character/9781927068885-item.html?ikwid=the%

Chatty Cathy's great-great-great grandmother

Oh Lor', oh Lor', we can't get OFF this topic now.

I've known about this little monster ever since I wrote a novel called Bus People back in 2005. (Yes, that's right. Bus People. Ever heard of it?) One of the characters was obsessed with old wax cylinder recordings and eventually found herself talking to one of them. Imagine her surprise when the recording talked back.

This doll talks back too, in a wretched, wobbling voice that must have been pretty awful even when it was first recorded on a tiny gramophone-like disc inserted into the doll's hard metallic abdomen. (Like Chatty Cathy, whom she resembles in many ways, she has a grillwork of holes in her back to let out the sound.) This recording is particularly gruesome because in the "cleaned-up" version she sounds even worse, like a bug in a bottle.

These dolls didn't last long because they broke after only a few cranks, and the mechanism inside couldn't be fixed. Most of them were returned for a full refund, but the remainders soon became collectibles. I'm not sure any of them really play any more: it's possible this horrible sound has been recreated just to scare the bejeezus out of us on an otherwise peaceful Sunday.

Do I have to post any more creepy doll pictures? Please. I really need to lie down now.

http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.com/2012/01/synopsis-glass-character-novel-by.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

Baby Laugh-a-lot!

OK, I got carried away today. I dredged these ads up for my 7-year-old granddaughter, she of the gappy teeth and amazing mind. She loves this kind of nostalgia and makes video ads of her own, with Chatty Cathy saying all sorts of subversive things. This one is the limit, I think. Nowadays parents can find the battery chamber and disable toys like this, but this one. . . it's a whole new definition of crazy.

As for the others, I was aghast at Barbie and her pooping dog, and even more taken aback by Willie Wee-Wee or whatever it is, a little boy's peeing penis on full display. I remember there was a Baby Joey when Gloria had a baby on All in the Family, and there was a huge dispute about it because he was anatomically correct. I think they pulled it off (excuse me) the shelves and/or neutered him. So how did this little devil get by the censors?

The Meow Mix one. . . what can I say. It sends my grandkids into peals of laughter every time.

Is this my new diary?

So anyways, I'm back from holidays on a pitiless, brutal dripping Monday, Vancouver at its worst. It won't let up for a couple of days, by the looks of it. I realize with a shock that I never write in my journal any more. It just doesn't occur to me. I've been keeping a journal since I was eight. I have let go of so much in my life that used to be meaningful, so much so that I don't dare tot it all up.

So I'm left with projects that might strike others as pretty weird. I'm always wanting to make something, from Wonder Knitter dolls (no pattern for these, as usual: they evolve in my hands) to unusual installations. I had these ice-like rocks, plastic actually, used for accents or decorations, and I wanted to display them. I put them in a glass bowl and thought, ho-hum. It just didn't work for me. So what sort of container could I come up with that would be completely original?

At the same time, we were cleaning out closets and turfing out things (fall cleaning, I guess) that we didn't need or use. We found what seemed like hundreds of old cassette tapes that we never played, or couldn't play due to oxidation and age. So we had to get rid of them, but I began to look at the clear plastic cases and think, hmmmmm. . .

So I came up with these. I've since used crystal hearts in various colors, and will experiment with other things. But what's the point? I don't sell them. I'm not much of an entrepreneur (or however you spell that - it's Monday). Maybe that's why I can't sell my novel(s) and book(s) of poems. I can make the "product", but can't distribute it.

These might be seen as too odd, but the effect I'm after is: what are these things? They look familiar, and yet. . . Or, maybe people would just look at them and say, cassette tapes. How lame. I don't know. The voice of my older sister, forever undermining my creative spirit with caustic, withering remarks, still echoes in my ears: "You're weird, Margaret." "You're crazy!" (said in a shrugging, completely dismissive way. Jesus, how did I get on to this? Just how much damage did she

do?)

One reason I got turned off with my diary is that it had devolved into one big rant. The dissatisfactions in my life were being amplified, I think. I started tearing up the rants, but nothing much was left.

I have love in my life, and that's supposed to be all you need. I still feel creative. But when I presented my five-year-old granddaughter with the little 3" handmade doll I crafted, with the tiny knitted dress and beaded belt and braids, she threw it back at me. I'm not supposed to be upset, am I?

I look in the mirror, and I swear I can't see the kick-me sign. Is it invisible, but only to me?

The summer's gone. . .

. . . and all the flow'rs are dyin'. . .

But it isn't really fall yet. It won't be for several weeks. But we're still on that same infernal system that probably goes back to feudal days, when kids were kept home in the summer to work the fields. Now they just die of boredom and work the malls.

A certain melancholy descends on me now, as I contemplate what the bleep I am going to do to publish this novel. Then I realize I have three manuscripts that need to be published, and don't know what to do with any of them!

The first one is a book of poems inspired by the diary of Anne Frank. I had several highly critical author/editor types read it, and all praised it lavishly. It bounced back to me several times, and I couldn't go on with it, it had too much of my heart in it.

Then there's Bus People. Oh, oh, oh, BUS PEOPLE! I wrote this novel in 2005, in a kind of storm of inspiration. It's set on Vancouver's notorious Downtown

Eastside.

Just as I have never heard of anyone else writing a novel about Harold Lloyd, I have never heard of anyone else setting a novel on the Downtown

Eastside.

I haven't looked at it in so long that it intimidates me. So which one do I lead with? First, I must get an agent. I'm not sure how I did that the first time, and the truth is it just didn't work out (I thought the first person who was interested in my work would be the best person to represent me to publishers.

Wrong!).

It's as if there is some impenetrable brother/sisterhood in the literary world that I just cannot penetrate. I don't know the secret handshake, or I have the wrong blood type or something. My second novel Mallory was all about social alienation and feeling like a member of another species, but I was not aware then of how excruciatingly true this is of me.

Cold shoulders and closed doors.

When it looks as if a door is about to pop open (those reviews I posted yesterday), it blows shut again, and locks tight.

So. . . I hereby post pictures of two little dolls I made for my granddaughters. They are only about 3" high, and I made them with a Wonder Knitter, a little gizmo that is essentially like the spool knitters of my childhood.

I had no instructions and no pattern, and I knitted them all in one piece, switching the two heads back and forth. The dresses were vastly scaled-down from regular doll dresses, which were scaled-down from baby dresses. I am doing everything in miniature.

This keeps me from going insane with worry and pain.

This hurts, it hurts. I know I am good. It took me this long to find out. I have three manuscripts, all of which have the potential to be published and to reach people. And at this point, it looks as if none of them will be. But I can't give up on it. I can't spend the rest of my life knitting. Something's got to give.