DAM! Why did I throw away my trolls?

https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/LucretiasLair?ref=condensed_trust_header_title_items

For those who have had even a passing connection to the original "Dam things" that swept the toy field in 1964, this is addictive stuff. When I googled Dam trolls, this is what I got, and I was amazed to find you can still buy these things for a fairly modest price.

That is. . . you can buy the clothes. The above sumptous outfits, created by an Etsy vendor called Lucretia's Lair (link posted above), blew me away: they were the nicest doll clothes I've ever seen, even with the bizarre squatty proportions of a troll doll.

Having fiddled around with dollmaking for years, I've tried to make troll clothes myself, with varying degrees of success. The photos I've posted here are the result of my current efforts. The things have the weirdest body proportions of any doll, with no waist, hardly any chest, and a prominent pot belly. 

Why I've taken another crack at all this mystifies me. It's trolls again, and I don't know why.

Am I trying to recapture a childhood passion, or what? From the first troll I bought in 1964, a "Dam thing" with the famous authenticating DAM engraving on the back, I had something that far surpassed a mere doll (and I hated dolls back then, never played with them). There was magic in it. More than one girl friend "played trolls" with me, though we never played Barbies and were disdainful of them. Most of us had a fair collection, from Dam things to Wishniks to cheap knockoffs with straight, shiny orange or black hair. The main difference among trolls was hair colour, except that. . . they had. . .  personalities.

They were alive.

I gave mine names. I remember a set of twins named Trollina and Trolletta. One was called Fundevogel, another one Fundindelve. I'm not sure where I got those names, and I am sure I didn't know what they meant. In fact I just looked them up now and found out Fundevogel is the title of a Grimm's fairy tale, and Fundindelve is a place name in old English witchery.

One was named Grundoon, after an obscure character in Pogo (a baby woodchuck that looked exactly like a human), his nickname being Grunny. I had a silly verse I said at breakfast:

"Toast and honey
Warm and runny,
Give it to Grunny!"

One was named Babbine, though I don't know why. These trolls did something to me.

A friend who lived far away had a black-haired troll named Venus La Mer - this one had the thick lavish lambs'-wool hair the original Dam trolls had, and it was spectacular. I had a grey-haired troll named Ludwig (loosely based on Beethoven, whom I loved, more in person than in music). They wrote love letters to each other. In a final act of sacrifice, my friend mailed Venus to me, and the two were married.

After that, I lost interest.

I lost interest even when my parents bought me an enormous authentic Dam troll, about ten inches high, complete with a Scandinavian-looking wardrobe. I named her Glumdalklitch after a character in Gulliver's Travels - the movie version, not the book, which I had never read. What I remember about her is her smell - a sweet, light vanilla scent. The other trolls smelled like damp wool and vinyl.

What happened to my collection? I must have gotten rid of it, though it would be worth a small fortune now. I just outgrew it, or something. I don't know. No more playing troll games, no more weddings or impressive literary references. I scream to think of it now. Then, back in the '90s, probably when they were experiencing a modest uptick in popularity, I bought a single troll and tacked it to my bulletin board by its hair. It stayed up there until I moved office, then got thrown into a box.

I still have it. It's a sad little thing, so far from a Dam troll that it's a wonder anyone bought them at all. There were a few events in between: I received a gorgeous basket of jams and candles and other Christmas goodies that had two trolls in it, gaily decked out in curly-toed shoes and striped scarves. They were relegated to the garage, and then during one of my periodic purges, I THREW ONE OUT. Just one. I kept the other one. This is sort of like a mother putting one twin up for adoption. Those Christmas trolls are now collector's items because they were only made for that one year. I feel a weird longing for it now, a longing I've never felt for any other childhood object.

As a matter of fact, finding any sort of troll at that point was well-nigh impossible. In one of their weird periodic disappearances, they vanished back into the Scandinavian twilight.

Life rolled on, and once again I forgot all about the subject - until I was in the dollar store one day, and saw. . . trolls, in plastic bags, for only $4.50! They were bland-looking and had fake jewels in their belly buttons, but I just had to have them. I immediately bought several, but they kind of got stashed after a while. Two or three years went by, trolls disappeared again - do these things have some sort of power to materialize and dematerialize? Apparently so, for last week, while looking for something else, in that same dollar store, I stumbled on four or five jumbled-up boxes full of trolls.

They're back.

I now have eight trolls. That doesn't sound like very many, but I have another one coming in the mail. This one is closer to authentic, at least, unlike the little lumpkins that sit on my desk (looking so alike that they resemble a family of Mormons on a picnic). I found it on eBay, priced in Canadian dollars. And there was no shipping and handling! I could be hip-deep in trolls by now without shipping and handling, which is often double the price of the troll.

I'd like a baby troll, preferably diapered and crawling, and an oversized troll, though of course not the size of Glumdalklitch. (There was only one Glumdalklitch.) I don't want anything two-headed and ugly. An original DAM would be nice, but I don't think I'll find one in my price range. Most of them have been refurbished, as the hair (natural lamb's wool) has a tendency to rot away after a while. New hair probably costs more than the troll.

The thing that's compulsive about collecting is the seeking, finding, ordering and waiting. The box opening is a huge thrill. After that, it can be a little disappointing. And then it's on to the next acquisition. The next troll is always going to be better, somehow. And then the next.

UPDATE. I got my new troll in the mail, and she is wonderful. She has a much more expressive face than my dollar-store clones (not that I don't love them!). So now I'm thinking about. . . see, Etsy has a special, three for one, and they're those oversized Dam trolls like I remember! A girl has to have a hobby, right? And hobbies cost money, don't they? 

I now have nine trolls.

What It's Like to Have a Pet Alpaca

I don't know what it's like to have a pet alpaca, but this video sort of grabbed me. The alpaca is closely related to the llama, and believe me when I say, you don't want to keep one of those in your house. They spit, kick and bellow, smell bad, attract flies, and are generally hard to live with. In these YouTube videos, the most unlikely animals frolic about, looking adorable. I have a feeling it's a baby alpaca, since it's so small, cute and fluffy. Baby ANYTHING looks cute, even rhino or warthog or great white shark. But this little guy is like a fuzzy stuffed animal on legs, springing about like a mountain goat. I notice that in some scenes its neck looks shaven. I think alpacas need to be kept shaven down, like poodles, or their fur will just grow and grow and envelop them. It's also very valuable, like cashmere, though I don't know how they make yarn out of it. The only other animal I can think of which is like this one is a guanaco:

To me, it looks a little bit like a kangaroo. 

But wait! There's more. I decided to stop being so slipshod and actually research the alpaca, which is now wildly popular and likely appearing in pre-teen-girls' bedrooms across the nation.

The adult alpaca really does look like this:

A fuzzy baby lamb with a longer neck. And how about this:

I can just hear the "Mo-o-o-ommm, I WANT one of these! I'll take care of it, I will, I will!"

These, however, don't exist, unless they are alpaca stuffies:

Rainbow alpacas, knitted into rainbow sweaters? I see an opportunity here.

Harold and Ginger and boudoir dolls

During my long Harold trek, which I don't think is over yet, I found some pretty sweet photos. The candid shots generally came with no explanation. But this one doesn't need one: it's Harold Lloyd hugging his dear friend Ginger Rogers, in the kind of gorgeous mink coat you never see any more (because someone will throw paint on you if you do). At first it isn't obvious, but you can plainly see his injured right hand with its missing thumb and forefinger. I've found a number of photos like this, where the hand is obvious in public, and it flies in the face of the "information" I found that said he always hid the hand in his pocket.

But he didn't. He was cool about it, so probably few people even noticed. He was relaxed about it with his friends. I think his attitude was: hide in plain sight. I like that, I like it a lot, and it took some courage in an age when "deformities" were kept carefully out of sight.

But this one is even more interesting. It's surprising what you miss when you don't look too closely. I never even noticed, until I posted this on my Harold Lloyd Facebook page (yes! I have a Harold Lloyd Facebook page, though hardly anyone knows about it: https://www.facebook.com/theglasscharacter/). 

I knew about the craze for boudoir dolls, a Russian-inspired fad that raged through the '20s and '30s. I even collected some photos of them several years ago, yet still I missed this one! I wonder now if this was a gift from Harold to Ginger. With Harold's great generosity, it might have been.

http://www.jazzageclub.com/fads/the-boudoir-doll-craze/

This link will take you to an extremely detailed and informative post about boudoir dolls and their cultural significance.

And here is a slideshow I made just for you, dear readers, so you'll know what they looked like. Obviously, there was no one style, but at the same time, they have a certain sophistication in common. Their bodies and limbs were very long and skinny, as if they were mere frames for the clothes. Doll mannequins. I wonder how costly they were? If movie stars were carrying them around, they must have been, though no doubt there were knockoffs then, as there is now.

As I was working on this slide show, I realized I was seeing something with a startling resemblence to the eerily beautiful Enchanted Dolls of Marina Bychkova. I've been obsessed with those dolls for years, and have posted about them many times (and my hope of even seeing one of them in person is very slim - they command tens of thousands of dollars, and only appear at the most prestigious doll exhibits in the world). 

At one point I had the two sets of doll pictures mixed together, and - oh shit! - was it hard to separate them, because of all the similarities. Bychkova's dolls tend towards the waiflike, though some of them are downright fierce. They echo ancient story and reflect the true darkness of the fairy tale. Boudoir dolls have a flapperish quality (some are depicted smoking, or reclining in a seductive way with their legs apart). But the sexuality, the gorgeous costumes, the weirdness and slight creepiness that all dolls exhibit - I see them in both types.

Another slideshow I made of Enchanted Dolls. I think you can see the similarities, as well as the differences. And now I wonder if Bychkova, born in Russia, was influenced at all by these exotic European-made dolls. How could she not be?


BLOGSERVATION. I just noticed another thing. Ginger's doll has a certain resemblance to Marie Antoinette: the elaborate gown, the very high hairdo. 

And behold, this - 

I don't want to start researching the life of Ginger Rogers and trying to find out if she collected boudoir dolls, if this was in fact from Harold, or if they were carrying on together (as he did with so many women). Let it rest for now. But it's a fascinating subject. Though I return to dolls again and again as a topic, I'm not much of a collector.

But I do have a few.

The Ice Bucket Challenge: what went wrong?

Why the Ice Bucket Challenge is bad for you

The ALS campaign may be a great way to raise money – but it is a horrible reason to donate it

Scott Gilmore

August 24, 2014

(AP Photo)

The ALS Ice Bucket Challenge is bad for you.

I don’t mean you will catch a cold (you won’t), or look like a craven sheep (you will). I mean that when you are inspired by a viral fad to donate your limited dollars to a charitable cause, you ignore the diseases that genuinely threaten.

The marketing gimmick is very clever. It is short, immediately understandable, and like the most popular forms of slacktivism, it is easy to do, entertaining to watch, and narcissistically self-promoting. Every screen on our desks, on our walls, and in our hands is filled with celebrities, neighbours, porn stars, and politicians showing off their earnest compassion and occasional humour. The ice bucket’s ubiquity rivals other famous charitable stunts like Movember, Livestrong, or the infamous Kony 2012.

As a result, the ALS Association has received more than $70 million so far, compared to only $2.5 million during last year’s campaign. It is a great way to raise money — but it is a horrible reason to donate it.

We, as individuals and as a society, have finite resources to donate to medical research and other worthy causes. When we decide where to spend our charitable dollars, we need to consider three factors.

1. Where is the greatest need?

2. Where will my dollars have the greatest influence?

3. What is the most urgent problem?

The ALS challenge fails all three of these tests.

First, ALS research is not an especially great need in public health. It is classified as a rare disease and, thankfully, only about 600 people die from it every year in Canada. That sounds like a lot, but that is not even close to the top 20 most fatal diseases according to StatsCan (the top three being cancer, at 72,000 deaths per year; heart disease, at 47,000; and cerebrovascular disease, 13,000).

Second, it is already extremely well funded. As this chart from CDC data shows, last year ALS killed 6,849 people in the U.S., and attracted $23 million for research (a ratio of $3,382 per death). Heart disease, by contrast, killed 596,577 but only raised $54 million (a paltry sum of $90 per death). If you want your donation to make the biggest difference, fund the diseases that need the most money.

Finally, ALS research is not an urgent need. If you want to help where time is of the essence, then look to Syria (greatest international refugee crisis in a generation), Ebola(now a full blown global health emergency), or the Central Africa Republic (quietly bleeding to death unnoticed by the world).

We aren’t rational, though. Typically, you will spend more time considering where to order a pizza and what to put on it, than you will deciding where to donate your charitable dollars. As a result, the real threats, the diseases that are far more likely to kill you and your loved ones are ignored. This is why the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge is bad for you, and me, and all of us. Instead of supporting what is most needed, we support what is most amusing.

But you can change this. Print the simple reminder below, fold it up, put it in your wallet. And the next time you reach for your credit card number, pause and actually think.

Good reasons to donate:

1. Need

2. Influence

3. Urgency

Bad reasons to donate:

1. Ice Buckets

2. Wristbands

3. Mustaches

Scott Gilmore is a former diplomat and the founder of Building Markets. 

Readers reply: Follow this link to a selection of their feedback. 

My thoughts. I love this piece and wish I had had the chops to write and publish it. I simply couldn't put my feelings into words. I was not allowed to say anything to people about this, unless I wanted a shocked sideways glance ("Huh?", meaning "I can't believe what I'm hearing"), a headshake ("I knew you were pretty negative, but about THIS?"), or a sense people were embarrassed for me. What a party-pooper! Such a great cause! All that money! Hey, it's just water - what are you griping about? Some people hate everything.

As with breast cancer, donation is lopsided because of public perception and a bandwagon approach. The pink ribbon juggernaut has already taken much-needed dollars away from the number one killer of both men and women: HEART DISEASE. Do you hear of heart disease runs or tshirts or any of that? It's just not a sexy disease. ALS isn't either, so I am surprised that this even got started, and I don't know how it caught fire the way it did, but I am almost certain the roots are in celebrity. If you're famous, you're the lead goose in the flock. This includes brain-damaged idiots like Miley Cyrus and her goddamn ass-shaking and disgusting tongue.

What I'm trying to say is. . . oh never mind, it will never happen because too many people don't THINK. I know from being on Facebook that most people don't, would rather not, but the thing that scares me most is that they don't even know they aren't thinking. If they did, I doubt that they would care. Just jump on the bandwagon, because it's fun! Meantime, whatever funds you may have set aside for charity are spent for the year - but never mind, if it's making all these millions, if so much attention is being paid, ALS must be our most pressing health problem, right?

Excuse me. I'm going to go have a heart attack.

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book

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

http://www.amazon.com/Margaret-Gunning/e/B001K7NGDA

The Ice Bucket Challenge: throwing cold water

Why the Ice Bucket Challenge is bad for you

The ALS campaign may be a great way to raise money – but it is a horrible reason to donate it

Scott Gilmore

August 24, 2014




(AP Photo)

The ALS Ice Bucket Challenge is bad for you.

I don’t mean you will catch a cold (you won’t), or look like a craven sheep (you will). I mean that when you are inspired by a viral fad to donate your limited dollars to a charitable cause, you ignore the diseases that genuinely threaten.

The marketing gimmick is very clever. It is short, immediately understandable, and like the most popular forms of slacktivism, it is easy to do, entertaining to watch, and narcissistically self-promoting. Every screen on our desks, on our walls, and in our hands is filled with celebrities, neighbours, porn stars, and politicians showing off their earnest compassion and occasional humour. The ice bucket’s ubiquity rivals other famous charitable stunts like Movember, Livestrong, or the infamous Kony 2012.

As a result, the ALS Association has received more than $70 million so far, compared to only $2.5 million during last year’s campaign. It is a great way to raise money — but it is a horrible reason to donate it.

We, as individuals and as a society, have finite resources to donate to medical research and other worthy causes. When we decide where to spend our charitable dollars, we need to consider three factors.

1. Where is the greatest need?
2. Where will my dollars have the greatest influence?
3. What is the most urgent problem?

The ALS challenge fails all three of these tests.

First, ALS research is not an especially great need in public health. It is classified as a rare disease and, thankfully, only about 600 people die from it every year in Canada. That sounds like a lot, but that is not even close to the top 20 most fatal diseases according to StatsCan (the top three being cancer, at 72,000 deaths per year; heart disease, at 47,000; and cerebrovascular disease, 13,000).

Second, it is already extremely well funded. As this chart from CDC data shows, last year ALS killed 6,849 people in the U.S., and attracted $23 million for research (a ratio of $3,382 per death). Heart disease, by contrast, killed 596,577 but only raised $54 million (a paltry sum of $90 per death). If you want your donation to make the biggest difference, fund the diseases that need the most money.

Finally, ALS research is not an urgent need. If you want to help where time is of the essence, then look to Syria (greatest international refugee crisis in a generation), Ebola(now a full blown global health emergency), or the Central Africa Republic (quietly bleeding to death unnoticed by the world).

We aren’t rational, though. Typically, you will spend more time considering where to order a pizza and what to put on it, than you will deciding where to donate your charitable dollars. As a result, the real threats, the diseases that are far more likely to kill you and your loved ones are ignored. This is why the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge is bad for you, and me, and all of us. Instead of supporting what is most needed, we support what is most amusing.

But you can change this. Print the simple reminder below, fold it up, put it in your wallet. And the next time you reach for your credit card number, pause and actually think.

Good reasons to donate:

1. Need
2. Influence
3. Urgency

Bad reasons to donate:

1. Ice Buckets
2. Armbands
3. Mustaches

Scott Gilmore is a former diplomat and the founder of Building Markets.

Shut. UUUUUUUUHHPPPP!!!

Not long ago I was sitting at the bumpy back of a shuttle bus, when I overheard two girls talking.

They must have been somewhere around the age of fourteen (oh God, maybe twelve), headed to Megalopolis Mall for some serious retail therapy. They were deep in conversation in rapid, breathless phrases that almost ran together into one word:

“So I’m like, you can never wear those jeans, Ashley. And she’s like: Kaylee, they make me look 15 pounds thinner! And I’m like, you can’t see them from the back. It’s like majorly muffin-top. And she’s like: maybe I don’t want to look anorexic and have no butt at all. And I’m like: bitch, what are you saying? And she’s like: nothing personal, Kaylee, but you’re like soo thin I can see right through you.”

Her conversation mate Madison replied, “I’d like be so offended, Kaylee, you’re just soo not anorexic, you can like wear a size zero and she’s like jealous.”

I tried to count the “I’m likes”, but lost track after about 20. This phrase, originated by kids who were born in the mid-‘90s, has hung on with surprising tenacity, even longer than, “Then I go. . . then she goes. . . then I go. . .” (“Go” meaning either “say” or some other active verb).

I don’t know how it happens, but obnoxious phrases and quirks of speech seem to worm their way into common discourse, to the point that I’ve heard middle-aged people say “I’m like” (and inflect their voices with that curious upward, ask-permission sound at the end of sentences that communicates chronic but somehow fashionable uncertainty.)

I can’t remember when I first started to hear the phrase “change it up”. You can arrange your living room furniture around the 80" flat screen TV, or you can change it up and stack the sofa on top of the coffee table. Bored with a certain routine? Change it up.

(This is related, but only indirectly, to “man up”. I don’t need to translate that one.)

I am convinced that this particularly irritating phrase originated with Dr. Phil, that transplanted Texas cowboy, his speech peppered with “y’alls” and “you guys” (and don’t get me started on that one, often used by 20-year-old waiters on dignified elderly couples).

Another Phil-ism that I detest is the dreaded “You know what?” I know a woman who says it before every sentence she utters. I am tempted to respond with “NO! WHAT?”, except that this phrase doesn’t really mean anything, and she probably has no idea she’s even saying it. Her mouth is just flapping and something is coming out.

As the song goes, everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout a new way a-walkin’. Or, a-talkin’. Here are some particularly poisonous examples.

No one can say a short “e” sound any more. It’s more like “ahh”. As in, “ahhvry.” “Ahhvry time I go out with my boyfrahhnd, he’s like, I wanna go to bahhd with you, and I’m like, soo not rahhdy.” This isn’t just in people under 30, unfortunately. It has spread like a communicable disease. The jaw drops lazily open and doesn’t bother to come up again (“sahhx”).

It isn't an accent. It's an affectation, and it radiates "dumb" more than people realize.

Another annoying quirk is one popularized by Stacy London of the psychologically sadistic show What Not to Wear (in which women are completely broken down, cult-like, in order to be built back up again by the immutable laws of fashion): “Shut! Up!”. This is not a literal shut up, but almost a seal of approval, replacing the outworn “you go, girl!”. It’s a variation on Elaine’s “Get! Out!” on Seinfeld, accompanied by a push so hard it literally knocks the other person over.

Oh, but I’ve saved the worst ‘til last, and it’s so ubiquitous that people don’t even hear it any more. “Icon”. Or “iconic”, the two are almost interchangeable. Tomorrow, as an exercise, count the number of times you hear or read “icon/iconic” in the media. I once counted five, and that wasn’t unusual at all.

Anything can be iconic now, which means that nothing is. Some asshole journalist was blathering on and on about Sex and the City (after that lame movie came out) and said that the cupcakes Carrie and Miranda ate were “iconic”, leading to a rash of cupcake stores that now litter the landscape all over North America.

OK then, can cones be iconic? As in ice cream?

You nahhver can tahhl.