Come on now, you KNEW this was coming....

Eeep! It's youtube to the rescue, and JUST as I'd begun descending into the depths of Barbie Bashing Withdrawal Syndrome (not a pretty sight, trust me. I was actually eyeballing pink prom dresses yesterday.....) Fortunately, my DD surfed me over to The Gothic Charm School with an eye toward correcting my blasphemous moment of pink perversion. :D

Enjoy. :D

OMG, Barbie and Ken go Political

OK, Barbie, do NOT make me like you.

This video makes an obvious political statement, but it's so well done that I had to tip my hat to the Plastic Princess for taking a stand for something beyond Pink Power.

Trashy Ladies

I've often wondered why I rail on Barbie the way I do. It's not like I was ever traumatized by the plastic princess. Perhaps my childhood closet career as a Barbie mutilator is to blame. Every time I got a barbie, I had to redo her into my (geeky) image. That usually involved dying her hair blue with a Magic Marker, chopping off her hair, and giving her some black lipstick. :D

Whatever the formative roots behind motives my outrageous obsession with nuking the Barbie World, I have finally fallen in love with a fashion doll.

Sort of.

Ok, fine, maybe fashion isn't quite the right word, but its as close as I'll ever come.


Courtesy of my lovely daughter (who is allergic to pom-poms thank GOD!), I present to you.......

(drum roll please)....

are you ready? :D

O.K., hang on to your hats....

Here she is. The one doll I truly MUST own....as seen on STUPID.com



The Talking Trailer Trash Doll. (I've named her Lurlene).

This trashalicious darling captures a world that Barbie has only seen in her worst nightmares. She wears a leather jacket and halter top, sports a head of bleached-blonde hair complete with curlers. Yes, that's a cigarette dangling from her mouth.

Did I mention that this (ahem) lovely trashionista got knocked up somewhere along the way (again)?

So even if Barbie has never met Lurlene, there's a good chance that Ken did. I mean after Barbie dumped the guy, I'm sure he sowed a few wild oats.

Lurlene talks, too! Go ahead, press her belly button.

"Pour me a double, I'm drinkin' for two."

"Bubba Jr., get off your sister!"

Lurlene may not be well versed in the social graces, but she's well-made. She comes in the box as shown, and even includes a little baby doll from a previous pregnancy.

Enjoy your Barbie world. I'm going to go throw back a few with Lurlene. :D

As my darling diabolical spawn is fond of saying...."I LOVE EET!"

Wonder if they could make a version with stretch marks?

So it's Time to Market My Manuscript

If you are a reg blog reader, then you know that I sent out a bunch of queries last month asking if some of my fave literary agents would be interested in taking a look at my book. Well freakin' THUD, man! I got hits from most of the agencies I sent out to, save for two. Good grief. But thankfully, two of them were the highest on my "I want THAT agent" list, soooooo...it's all good.

Bad part is my idea that YA books are immune to the dread synopsis....is so not true. Three of the agencies asked for one. Another asked for a detailed synopsis, which I took from my outline. So, I spent the last five days agonizing over a three-page summary of my book. It wouldn't have been simpler if I could have gotten away with a dry summary, but all advice was--make sure it maintains your author's voice and your entire story arc. In three pages or less. Dude, it can take me that to say "it was raining. And my author's voice? Can't I just do three pages of expletives expressing how bad writing an effin' synosis sucks? ::Big sigh::: Guess not. So, this is what I've been doing for the last seven days (between wiping up barf....youngest boy got the most heinous barf bug known to mankind--we did two trips to the ER for IV's and....I swear I haven't slept more than three hours a night this week....)

So, here goes. My synopsis....save for a minor smooth and polish before I hit "send" tomorrow.

SYNOPSIS
It's (so not) A Barbie World
A YA paranormal novel of 62,000 words

High school? Ugh. Pink Drama? Forget about it. Katya can't understand
how her dream to become an opera singer will ruin her (already trashed)
grade point average and destroy her (absent) social life. It's not
like she wants to become a brain surgeon, or (barf) a cheerleader.

"Be careful what you scoff at," KATYA's dad warns. "It might just
become a force to contend with." Now he's suggesting that Katya's
afraid to try and keep up with the elite crowd. Puh-leez.

All Katya wants is to score an audition to Juilliard and make her
escape from the mind numbing cheer mom enclave of Harmony Acres.
Should she score some suck-face time with her gothalicious audition
partner, TRISTAN, in the process? Bonus!

Keeping your head beneath the mean girl radar isn't that easy when
you have a learning disability. Katya lays low by posing (gasp) Goth
with her best friend, GERT, and the wildly eccentric cling-on boy,
SIGGY HAINES.

Shunning all things pink becomes easier said than done when the
mysterious CANDY DEMINT comes to town hawking BEAUTOXIA COSMETICS.
When she performs a beyond-extreme makeover on Siggy's estranged mom,
all the women of Harmony Acres start going toxic. Beautoxic.

Katya is convinced whatever is sweeping her town isn't in the water.
She suspects the real culprit lurks inside the new Beautoxia
Cosmetics factory. Even Gert is trippin' on lipstick. Come Monday,
the girl has morphed into TRUDY, a veritable pink princess who has
one goal in life—spreading the news about Beautoxia to anyone who
will listen.

Now there's a new breed of pinks at Harmony High. Like the A-list,
squared. Beautoxics. Led by Candy's daughter, Niko, these girls
have killin' powers of persuasion. Save for the Goths and the short
bus scene, social castes are dropping like dominoes.

In spite of the fact that the Beautoxics have sucked in Katya's best
friend, her dad, and her (almost) boyfriend, she resolves that a
perfect face and a wicked hot wardrobe won't sway her from her dreams
of attending Juilliard.

When Trudy/Gert's usefulness as Beautoxia's guinea pig is over, NIKO
chews the girl up and spits her out like yesterday's chewing gum.
The way KATYA sees it, now, more than ever is the time for herself
and her friends to bury their heads. She plans to go on perfecting
her operatic range so she can get herself to Juilliard's last
summer session audition of the season. Then she can get out of town—
for good.

Or not.

Beautoxia is launching a viral My Space campaign that will take their
product nationwide. When Katya's mom sees what Beautoxia did to Gert,
she promises to "poke around" and see what she can find out about
Candy. By the day's end, she's become the victim of a drive-by
makeover. She has suffered an allergic reaction to Beautoxia that
has left her convinced that she's BARBIE, incarnate. Certain that
Katya's love life is in dire need of a pink overhaul, Barbie sets out
to see her daughter crowned Queen of the Prom. Or else.

Katya, Gert and Siggy realize that alone they can accomplish little.
They must pool their talents to overcome their individual
weaknesses. Together they devise a plan that should open up a can of
internet whoop-ass on some Beautoxic butt before anyone else gets
hurt.

Problem is, in order to get their hands on the proof that can
circumvent Beautoxia's My Space campaign, Katya must pose (gag)
Beautoxic to appease Barbie and Siggy and Gert get a sample of the
formula out of town to be analyzed.

In the process of faking it, Katya nearly becomes charmed by
everything she never wanted to be. Tristan is certainly smitten with the new
Katya. Only when SIGGY and GERT step forward to remind her of what she's fighting for
does Katya regain the focus that helps her friends pull off their
plan. In the end, Barbie is gone and BEAUTOXIA's spell on Harmony
Acres is released.

Katya makes it to her audition still wearing her prom queen crown.
While her friends look on, she realizes how much they've overcome.
Facing her greatest fear has steered her dreams in new
directions—into places she never thought she'd go. While Katya
stands on stage singing with the boy she thought she always wanted,
she looks down from the stage to see her parents, Gert and Siggy beaming up at her.

She realizes that the Opera can wait. These are the only high school years
she'll ever have. Though she and Tristan win their early admission to
Juilliard, Katya finds that she wants nothing more in the world than
to spend time with her friends and perhaps even go on out a real date
with her unlikely knight in shining armor—Siggy.

A dead relative perhaps?

So, seems Barbie bashing isn't an *entirely* new sport. One of my dah-link compadres sent this to me--I'm told it was written in the fifties.

It's....well....gothalicious!

Barbie Doll
by Marge Piercy

This girl child was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.

She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle,
Her good nature wore out like a fan belt.

So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.
In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker’s cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn’t she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.
__

May love always rule in your life,

Liane

Oh. My. Goth.*

Becky, look at her dress.

It's like so pink.

She looks like Prince Charming's girlfriend.

It's so Disney.

That's right, girls. Disney's princesses--and their resplendent gowns--aren't just for the wee set any more. Now every girl , no matter what her age, can become her favorite Disney princess on her wedding day.

Disney has recently introduced a series of wedding dresses fashioned after their fictional cartoon heroines. In a recent Wall Street Journal interview, designer Kristie Kelly says Cinderella is "classic glamour," Snow White has "sweet elegance," Ariel from The Little Mermaid has a "sultry allure" and is "comfortable showing her body," and Jasmine from Aladdin is "bohemian chic."

Now, consider this tidbit. Word up's Barbie has a new management team. With this concept pushing Disney into national fashion news , could Barbie inspired outfits for grown ups be far behind?

Gag me with a hoop skirt.

______

btw, if you aren't the Barbie kind of girl, you wish black was the new pink, and you haven't read Oh My Goth by Gena Showalter, please do. It's wicked delish.

__

May love always rule in your life,

Liane

Barbie takes another victim

A writer should never begin a story to try to drive home a message. It doesn't work.

What's really frightening, though, is when something you wrote begins to feel prescient.

One of my characters in my book, Trudy, says something to the protagonist, Katya, which sums up today's (painful) post. "When did my choice to get pretty become a crime?"

In the context of the story, Trudy was right. Pretty is not a crime. Nor is the desire to become "all that we can be". The real crime is committed when attractive young women are encouraged by the people who love them in their quests toward an artificial standard of beauty.

I can't get my husband's best friend Pete* off my mind today--Pete, and his youngest daughter, Anna*.

Pete is a great Dad. Often, when I think of him, I begin to hum the song "Daddy's little girl". He's one of the dying breed of father who has erected his world around his love for his family. There is no boundary that Pete won't overcome to provide for his daughter's happiness.

So before you read further, understand, Pete wears his love for his daughter openly and without reservation. That loves defines him. He loves Anna as she came to him, and as far as I know, Pete has never encouraged her to become more than she is.

Like most young girls of her generation, Anna still yearned for *more*. Her Korean-American genes did not equip her with the DNA for large breasts. Pete's little girl found her flat chest ugly. She wanted to feel sexier. Prettier.

Anna already was. Pretty. Stunning, in fact.

Pete did not hesitate to help his little girl meet her dreams by funding her breast augmentation. He wanted to help his child to feel secure, happy, beautiful.

Yesterday, at the age of 19, Anna's dream of fuller breasts came to fruition...

This morning, Pete's little girl--the apple of his eye--lies in an ICU in a coma, while the tubes that keep her tied to this world protrude from every available orifice. Meanwhile her organ systems are systematically shutting down due to an adverse reaction to anesthesia. Anna's frail, beautiful body is in a race against time. Against death.

In spite of coming into this world looking like the proverbial china doll, petite and golden skinned with gleaming masses of black hair, Anna still felt she didn't measure up to the artificial standard which America uses to define beauty.

Anna was not a Barbie.

If you have a daughter, a wife, a friend, a woman who is considering plastic surgery, love her enough to drag her to stand in front of you right now. Tell her how beautiful she is. Then force her to look you in the eyes as you tell her that in this media saturated age of Photo-shopped images and surgically enhanced bodies, she may never hear about the already beautiful girls who have died in their yearning to measure up to that artificial ideal that their genetics never intended for them to be.

Tell her about Anna.

Remind her that Barbie is made of plastic and cosmetic surgery can kill.

Having experienced cosmetic surgery myself, during a time in my life when I was in no emotional state to make such life altering decisions, I can say for certain that nobody ever sat me down and asked my *why* I was taking such a risk with my life.

I was already pretty.

Nobody cared enough to ask me if I was alright inside of my head.

I wasn't.

Nobody ever considered telling me to get my papers in order and my ducks in a row, because this procedure could kill me. Sure, deep down, somewhere, I must have known that there was a risk--but at that point in my life, I'd have done anything to become one of *them*. And that yearning to look better--more perfect, more polished---more lovable---consumed my better judgement. I just wanted my straying husband to love me again.

I know how Pete's little girl felt when she asked her father for the funds to augment her breasts. She wanted the pain of not being one of *them* to go away...forever.

Its impossible to know whether the knowledge that Anna could die in her quest to become one of *them* would have chanted her fate. But if the worst should happen, and Anna should die, at least her father would have the peace of knowing that Anna not only knew the risks, and understoond them, but that she was prepared to accept them as her fate.

Pray for Anna. And then pray for Pete.

I don't know what will become of him without his princess.

*names have been changed for the protection of Pete and Anna's privacy

May love always rule in your life.

Liane

The Post Where Liane Attempts to Reactivate her Gray Matter

I decided to take a break from my head-banging query writing attempts today to attempt a somewhat rational post.

OK, stop laughing. I know the Weird Al video was a bit off the wall, even for moi. :)

So, here goes. My redemption post.

A few months ago my tweenish daughter lamented the fact that when Barbie dumped Ken, she did nothing better with her freedom than burn her stellar resume and set about getting in touch with her inner slut.

Apparently, my daughter's anti-Barbie backlash isn't so unusual among girls her age.

Could it be that the pink tide that's swept across our world is beginning to turn, or--dare I say it--even ebb? A blog reader submitted to me today evidence that its becoming "so not" a Barbie World in Japan. Recently, Japan's answer to Barbie, Licca-chan, re-invented herself from material girl to eco-friendly environmentalist.

I only one have problem with Licca-chan's redo of her previous self. She appears, on the outside, every bit as pink-obsessed as Barbie, her American counterpart. But, to give the plastic princess credit where its due, she's at least trying to add a bit of more depth to her plastic is fantastic personna.

According to AP wire reports, Licca-chan recently used her own (pink, gak) *cloth* shopping bag instead of the standard plastic basket to shop at one of Japan's Licca-chan Eco-Friendly Doll House shows. In doing so, Licca-chan's makers hope to impart the message that the popular fashionista is doing her part to advance the Japanese government's campaign against global warming.

The eco-friendly fashion doll will be further utilized by the Japanese government to launch a nationwide campaign which supports environmentally friendly lifestyles.

Next thing you know, cloth shopping bags could debut on runways everywhere as the new *must have* handbag.

Or not.

End of rational post.

Let the utter post-Nanowrimo mayhem resume.

The Pinking Down of America?

Pink, pink, everywhere. And not a blemish in sight.

There was a whole new level of elite to aspire to at Harmony High. Like the A-list, only prettier.

Trust me on this. Goth was the only place left to hide. Until we found a cure. Which was going to be hard because nobody who was "in the pink" believed they were sick.

After all, they had perfect lives, perfect boyfriends, and complexions to die for…

But at what expense? That was the question nobody dared to ask. So for now, it was just us, the Goths, against them, the Beau-toxics.

~v~

It's (so not) A Barbie World was inspired by the real life Barbie clone, Cindy Jackson. The article below tells of Cindy's obsession with making herself look as much like Barbie as humanly possible. When a friend of mine developed body dysmorphic disorder during a similar quest, I couldn't help but wonder what message this type of insatiable yearning for plastic perfection was sending to girls my daughter's age.

While I'm not necessarily anti-cosmetic surgery--I once gave in to pressure from my husband to have my navel pierced and my lips done--I am anti-doing anything to your body that you're not doing for solely to please yourself.

When I gave in to my flirtation with cosmetic surgery, I didn't do it for me. I did it because I was afraid of losing him. That freaking hurt, both mentally and physically, and I've been sorry I did it every day since. I sent my daughter a terrible message.

Months ago, I began to fantasize about what might happen to a jaded young lady who'd been burned by the A-list more than once came home to find that her uber-cool mom had experienced a bizarre accident which left her believing she was Barbie incarnate.

This book in progress is the sometimes snarkish, sometimes heartbreaking and often rollicking result of that exploration. I went into the book expecting a light and frothy beach read. But the actual writing is proving this book to be the anti-thesis of the pinking down of America. My inspiration article below:


For millions of little girls, the Barbie doll has been the pinnacle of plastic perfection for more than 40 years. “I think a lot of little 6-year-old girls or younger even now are looking at that doll and thinking, ‘I want to be her.’ And it’s something they grow out of,” says Cindy Jackson, 48, who admits that she never outgrew her obsession with becoming Barbie. “I looked at a Barbie doll when I was 6 and said, ‘This is what I want to look like.’” Cindy wasn’t born with good looks. She bought them. And along the way, she’s bought a lot of attention to her odd goal of becoming a living doll. Correspondent Richard Schlesinger reports.

“This is who I’d like to be,” says Cindy. “This is glamorous.” Cindy grew up a farm girl in Fremont, Ohio. “I wasn’t that good looking. And my sister was really, really a pretty girl,” recalls Cindy. “She was breathtaking. And everyone used to talk to her more and smile at her more and notice her first.” But Cindy says she had a lot going for her, even with her old looks: “I was recognized as being highly intelligent when I was a child. I was never shy. I was never lazy. And I was never lacking in ambition.” At 21, Cindy packed up her things and moved to London, where she went through a lot of changes – including a short career as a punk rocker. Finally, at 33, she began the grand transformation. “I just wanted to look better,” says Cindy. “Barbie was the blank canvas I filled in all those years ago. It was still my role model.”

Cindy didn’t have any of Barbie’s looks, but she did have some money, which she inherited. It was enough to begin the surgeries that made her as plastic as her role model. “I had laser surgery on my forehead,” says Cindy. “I’ve had upper eyes done, lower eyes done twice. Cheek implants, nose job – two nose jobs.” She also had four facelifts, a chin reduction, several chemical peels, and more. “My upper lift has been cut and rolled upwards to shorten the gap between my nose and mouth,” adds Cindy. “My eyebrows, eyeliner and lip liner and the full lipstick is tattooed on.” It took 31 operations and 14 years, but Cindy’s strange passion for plastic surgery got her a new look -- and a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records. How much did all that surgery cost? “About $100,000,” says Cindy. “But I did get quality discounts.” And that doesn’t include maintenance. For instance, her lips will not permanently stay pouty. They’ll have to be re-inflated every few months. “How much of the problem with your old looks do you think was a perception problem in yourself,” Schlesinger asks Cindy. “Absolutely zero,” says Cindy. “It’s not that deep. It’s not that psychological.”

Since Cindy re-invented herself, she has made some snapshot friendships with Ivana Trump, Michael Jackson and Sarah Ferguson. She’s also written a book, which she sells on her own Web site. She now makes a living becoming a kind of celebrity. But just like a surgeon needs a scalpel, or a tummy needs a tuck, a Barbie needs a Ken. And Cindy got hers soon enough.

Tim Whitfield Line, 36, was a web designer who lived north of London. He saw Cindy on television, and all of a sudden had a new goal in life. “I wanted to be a male version of her,” says Line. It didn’t take long. About one year and $50 thousand later, he’s now Miles Kendall -- new name, new face. “People call me shallow. But I call society shallow. Because they treat me differently now,” says Miles. “…I mean I wanted to look better anyway. I did. Who doesn’t? People like me or Cindy Jackson go a bit further. A lot.” They’re just perfect, and delighted – and just friends. But whatever went on between Barbie and Ken is not going on here.

But as Barbie and Ken, Cindy and Miles credit their new faces for their new lives. Cindy helped Miles open his new bar, and it’s a goal he says he reached with the help of plastic surgery. “The point is I’m content inside. I don’t worry about my looks anymore,” says Miles. “I want to concentrate on more important things in my life, which I’m doing now.” And Cindy, at 48, is also content to be the poster girl for plastic surgery, a plastic image she’s dreamt about becoming since she was 6 years old.

“The surgery was a means to an end. That’s all,” says Cindy. “There are so many people who are being held back by their looks, and if that can help give them a better quality of life and make them happier – what else is more important in life?” © MMIV, CBS Worldwide Inc. All Rights Reserved.