I used to babysit a house full of smart, awesome girls. They played pirates, staged elaborate kitchen science experiments, and read books by the case-full. For half an hour every evening, we sprawled out on the couch and tuned in to the ongoing exploits of a myriad of makeup lacquered, fresh out of elementary school Disney starlets. Those 30 minutes of 100%-geared-towards-girls-programming were chock full of boy craziness, feuding girl friends, and the trials and tribulations of pop super stardom (this was in Hannah Montana’s heyday). The girls on screen were nothing like the bright, playful girls who I babysat or their friends, full of personality and laundry lists of interests that went way beyond boys and looks. Every night ...