As I strolled through Toy Fair this year, the annual orgy of too many toys, games, and video diversions assembled under one roof, I felt my head throb and my toes pinch. Several hours of trekking beneath the bright, blinding lights and hearing the constant hum of electronics can become noticeably grating, and I admit I did fear a Manchurian Candidate sort of hypnotic/synaptic blitz. (“The next time you see a Disney Princess, you will lash out. You will lash out. Disney Princess. Next time. See it. Lash.”) Luckily for my mental well-being, and for the safety of our world leaders, no such subconscious intrusion occurred, but I did have an irritable edge to me by the time I emerged into the sunlight 7 hours later.

If you’re going to be in Manhattan, and have a few thousand to spend, may I suggest an evening at “Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark”? Okay, I’m kidding about the thousands (but just barely), but I do recommend this big, gigantic mess of a show for two reasons: 1) if you have children who are over the age of 8, it’s akin to taking them to a circus of nonstop tumbling and 2) while you’re sitting there surrounded by all the aerial stunts, you can do a lot of soul-searching. When I calculated how much I had spent on seats, dinner, parking, and bridge/tunnel costs, I figured it was the equivalent of maybe 40 Pink Box Barbies or two really well-made artist BJDs. Was it worth it? I’m going to blog it out.

There’s a lot of bigotry in this world. I’m sure you don’t need to read a doll blog to figure that out, but I am shocked to realize that I, too, am a bigot—and in a completely indefensible way. I’m not a racist or a homophobe or a political ideologue. No, my prejudice is something more insidious, and ingrained really deep inside. I just realized I judge a doll by her appearance, and—this pains me to admit—I favor pretty faces over plain, ordinary ones. I am a doll-mold monster!

A few days ago, I received an e-mail from a friend, who wishes to remain anonymous, because of an impulsive purchase that he felt only I would understand. (Yes, it was a male pal, and that’s the only identifiable info I’ll divulge.) He was extremely distraught because he was looking to purchase one thing—just one simple NECESSARY household thing—on eBay, and instead he ended up buying a trio of “I Dream of Jeannie” dolls. As he wrote to me, “I think this could end up becoming a nightmare!”

For those of us who collect dolls, they are more often than not sources of joy, pride, and wish fulfillment. In some cases, they cause extreme exasperation (when you miss out on a limited edition, for example) or financial consternation (did I really just spend $300 on a BJD . . . again?). When people play with their dolls, I imagine it’s a sense of revisiting happier days of yore—really coming home again emotionally and spiritually. So with all of these good vibrations and happy feelings floating around, why can’t Mattel and MGA Entertainment get along? Is it too much to expect them and their company lawyers to play nice?

Late on Sunday nights—after the kids are sound asleep and the hubby has retreated to the bedroom to read Popular Science magazine—I settle down on the couch with my loyal cat, Annie, and my trusted remote control in hand.

What the heck is “Auld Lang Syne,” anyway? And will it become a doll? Oh, 2010, you came at me like a bat out of hell, and you’re flying away like a pigeon with a clipped wing!

As a New Yorker (yes, I know I reside in N.J., but my heart is forever with my hometown), I think the most beautiful time of the year is Christmas. During the week after Thanksgiving, leading right up to the Epiphany, Manhattan is decked out like a debutante with a million fancy-dress balls to attend.

When it comes to Internet surfing, I’m like the Big Kahuna of the cyber waves. There isn’t a byte of information or a massive thread that I’m not willing to throw myself into (or onto, if we’re talking successful surfing). Recently, I came across a columnist from Chicago who was wondering if dolls were still wished for by anyone: Were there still little girls out there asking Santa for a “Betsy Wetsy” or a "Barbie" to call their own?