A reading matter

Interesting line-up of magazine reading over at New Frontiers. Definitely there to appeal to women. Upscale women with the mind-set that goes with shopping at New Frontiers -- Mothering ... Vegetarian ... Get Fresh. However, I'm somewhat surprised by O, which is certainly a lot more mainstream, as well as a major on the mag racks at the big supermarket chains. Since I'm more likely to read Analog or Atlantic, I don't really have an opinion here, just plain old fashioned curiosity.

Coopting the Kids

See those carefully painted lines and numbers on the concrete at the school playground? A form of hopscotch. Straight out of some how-to textbook written for recreation majors. I am appalled. For centuries, hopscotch, marbles, jump rope and many other classic games were part of Kid Culture -- passed along from older children to the younger ones. Without any adult intervention. Not any more. For one thing, those level dirt places where one could draw the hopscotch outlines with a stick are gone. Paved over. Or built over. (Although all it takes is a sidewalk and a piece of chalk, plus a handful of stones to play the game.) But adults keep sticking their noses into private places where they don't belong. Is this part of the misbegotten impulse to be children's pals rather than their mentors? Or is it that we are leaning more and more on Centralized Authority.

In contrast: having lived in several parts of the country when young, I recall hopscotch, jump ropes and jacks all having regional variations. "Sky blue"? Never heard of it til I came to Chicago, where all the little girls also played jump ropes hopping rapidly between two intertwining ropes. In California, we had a version of hopscotch that involved inscribing the names of movie stars in the squares that we owned. "Ollie, ollie ox can come in free"? How did you let the kids know that someone was already IT in a game of hide and seek? Variety. Differences. Evolution. Yes, diversity.

Of course, more than a certain amount of the blame also lies with Marketing Man. Back to my blessed youth again, there was only one doll that came with a trade mark pedigree: Raggedy Ann. One named one's dolls and stuffed toys; for example that's Julius Otto, my very own teddy bear sitting there in the chair. (No, I didn't think up that particular moniker; obviously an adult, in this case my Aunt Jo, savored the absurdity of the name.) My mother, who valued originality, would never have bought a toy that was already named -- no way! It was probably the success of Barbie that ruined everything, turning what had been the individuality of a doll into a mass market phenomenon. In this mix, TV advertising was the killer app, without which Barbie probably never would have happened. But it did. And the world is changed forever. Grump.