In contrast to neuroscience journals who Shelley reveals are still mortally under-representing women, James Lileks is at least trying to bring out some feminism in his daughter. He has this little episode about trying to teach his daughter to go to Harvard in the Bleat. Unfortunately sometimes lessons don't take (sort of):

Every time you think you're raising a level-headed child you get a bit of TV culture seeping into their play. She wanted me to play Polly Pockets after summer school; it was a simple routine. They were going to Hollywood. In a helicopter car. In their underwear. (Aspiring starlets take note: with the right advance PR, that could work.) My Polly Pocket, however, got a serious case of the Lisa Simpsons, and announced she was going to Harvard.

"What's Harvard?"

"Only the best college ever in the world. You girls go have silly parties; I'm going to learn stuff."

"We're going to make movies. It's fun."

"No," said my Polly, in my voice, "movies are fun to watch but they're boring to make. You stand around and wait and you have to do things over and over and over again. It's like gym class with a catering truck."

"What's a catering truck?"

"It's a truck that brings food. Salmon and carrots," I added quickly. "Carrot smoothies. Anyway, I've made movies and they're okay but not as much fun as college. I'm going to be a pet doctor."

"And then you can be a pet doctor in Hollywood!"

She had me there. Polly Pocket, Hollywood Vet! So. I went to Harvard for my Pet Doctor degree, which took 2.5 seconds, then joined the other Pollys in Hollywood. Gnat laid out all the Pollys and gave them each a small animal, gathered from other playsets. A bobble-headed cat (broken tail) a bat (deaf) a snake with the flu. I fixed them all and charged the Hollywood Pollys lots of money. Lessons learned: vets make lots of money trading on the anxieties of young childless starlets.