New York -- Three men in $400 suits hover over "Big John" in the Parker Brothers showroom at the American International Toy Fair. These buyers -- in town to audition new toys -- shove green "scuzzies" into the toy toilet with the smiley eyes.
"Will he blow?" asks the game's demonstrator, a man named, coincidentally, Big John. He's dressed like the painter on "Murphy Brown." The suits keep cramming green scuzzies into Big John (the toy, that is) until it belches and, indeed, blows. Scuzzies hit the showroom floor.
It's just another uneventful Monday in New York City. Madonna -- sans the F-word -- drops in on David Letterman, a sports who's-who list attends ESPN's Espy Awards at Radio City Music Hall, coiffed dogs show off at Madison Square Garden. And up the street, scuzzies explode from toy toilets.
ABSOLUTELY NO ONE UNDER 18 WILL BE ALLOWED AT TOY FAIR, says the sign inside the Toy Manufacturers of America building -- the site and sponsor of the 92nd annual Toy Fair. That's right -- no kids. This is strictly business -- $18.7 billion a year in America.
More than 20,000 buyers will scour the Toy Fair before it ends Monday. They'll decide what toys your kids will see advertised and, therefore, the toys your kids will ask you to buy. Parents have no say in this process -- but you knew that already.
The scene outside the Toy Fair is typical of New York. Grown men in Robocop costumes sneak up on unsuspecting tourists, who take their pictures. The locals don't blink. For $7.99, city folks can get a "Worm Cocktail" from the "Gross-Out, Take-Out" vendor. Cyclones of trash whirl on Fifth Avenue, as hundreds of buyers and reporters attempt to get into the Toy Fair through two revolving doors.
Inside, it's a kiddie zoo and the POGs are flowing. With 1,600 exhibitors, the more prudent tack would be to return immediately to Baltimore and wait for the new toys to come out like everybody else. That's until we take shelter in the Lego showroom.
"There's no right way or wrong way to build Legos," says a man named Scott, beginning his tour of the Lego line of products.
Lego doesn't simply make toys; the company cleverly creates "systems" of toys to keep kids in Legos. Scott ticks off the entire family: Duplo Baby, Duplo, Freestyle, Lego System, and Lego Technic for the big kids. Everything is made of Legos in the showroom, maybe even Scott.
For the girls this year, Lego makes pink Duplos of cradles and cribs. Scott says research shows girls are more interested in role-playing than building things. Four-hundred piece Lego buckets should give parents even more to pick up around the house. The Busy Bus Pick-up for $21.95 will help: Roll it on the ground and it mini-vacs Legos.
In 1999, a Lego Theme Park is scheduled to open in California -- not on a fault line, we hope.
Slimed again
Back at Parker Brothers, public relations manager Carol Steinkrauss whisks us past the Trivial Pursuit CD-ROM, Peanut Panic, Bubble Up Pup! (bubbles included) and straight to Gum Guys. As advertised, it's a game for every kid who stuck gum under his desk in grade school. The object is to slime the guys with "non-toxic peanutty putty." The first Gum Guy to rip apart loses, and it's not pretty.
Monopoly is 60 years old, which means one thing: A limited edition for $40. The houses are wood; the properties are hand-lettered, and the money is printed on replicas of old Atlantic City postcards. Monopoly's mascot -- Rich Uncle Penny Bags -- finally has a token in his name. His first name is Milburn, which we're told is a hot Trivial Pursuit question around these parts.
At Little Tykes, visitors who have children are immediately struck by one frightening fact: you have purchased every item here for your child. Why, there's the Little Tykes Noah's Ark and the Little Tykes Beauty Salon and the Little Tykes tree-house.
Little Tykes owns you.
Leslie Mapes, the toy guide for Little Tykes, shows us a soft rocking cow and a Giant Action Figure Castle for $40. For $70, Little Tykes has a water slide. Cool. By the way, Ms. Mapes doesn't have kids. None of the toy guides we met have kids.
Look who's talking
Later, Hasbro's Bryan Wright points to a new doll called Princess Wishing Star. When you squeeze it, the doll asks such questions as, "Am I pretty?" And, "Am I going to find a boyfriend?"
"We're always trying to build positive self-esteem," Mr. Wright says.
Paging Camille Paglia. If ever we needed her for a cameo, it's now.
At the big-boy toys, the buzz is Techno Zoids. There's an electronic, stalking Doberman with a gun on its head. "Bent on the destruction of the world! He's one mean dude!" says Chris, a Zoid-like human demonstrating this Hasbro product.
At the Barney pavilion, harrowing news is unveiled: A Barney movie is planned for 1996. And a Barney Universal Studios Theme Park will become a reality.
Shaking that off, we move on. It's the 25th anniversary of Nerf, which now offers Nerf Golf Arcade and Nerf Brain Ball. Yes, kids, it feels like a brain. Grab it, squeeze it, hurl it at a friend. (Everything is having an anniversary, it seems. Spirograph turns 30.)
Nerf football has a lava-like material in its center for better tossing. We send Nerf demonstrator Beth on a down-and-out pattern in the showroom. She initially resists, but feels duty-bound to play along. After all, the fair has banned kids. Beth makes the catch, by the way.
Serious suits
This Hasbro land of Nerf weaponry "shooting soft, non-threatening Nerf products at you" is just a Letterman moment waiting to happen. In fact, the rumor is Letterman has been here to film one of his new toy bits.
It's the buzz among the demonstrators -- where's Letterman?
In the elevator on the way to Ideal's showroom, four more suits are overheard having a serious discussion about the new product lines shown at the Toy Fair.
L "Seriously," says a serious man, "Big John was my favorite."
But have they seen the "awesome dye-cast" cars from Ideal? In this showroom, demonstrator Jill shows off a 1958 Corvette for $100 and a new line of cars called Music Traffic Jammers. You press something on them and the cars play rap music for eight seconds.
Jill starts jamming to the sounds, but when Ideal national sales manager Norb Kaper walks up, the party dies.
Mr. Kaper is asked to join the dancing.
"If you're not Toys R Us, I don't jam," he says.
Back to reality
With that, we leave the building and the Toy Fair. We make our way past the worm cocktails and Robocop, to the curb where cabbies are frothing at their meters. We have to get to Penn Station and back to Baltimore to tell folks the news.
We have seen the toy future, and it is scuzzy.
"When I was a kid, we had marbles," says the cab driver.
What? He has interrupted our getaway from the subject.
"We used to dig a hole in the sand and hide our marbles from our friends," the cabbie says. "When we went back to find our marbles, they'd be gone." Shifting sands.
The name on the cab's registration is Thomas Madukakuzhy. He's from New Delhi, and has a 3-year-old boy. From the other side of the cab's smeared partition comes the man's clear thoughts. He misses India. He misses the "best time" when he didn't have a TV.
He misses the old toys.
"Kites. We liked kites."
Marbles and kites -- both missed at the 92nd American International Toy Fair.