The 98th Annual American International Toy Fair

My childhood, like everyone else's I suppose, was often dark and frightening. School was a torturous nightmare, and home wasn't exactly quiet. So I retreated often into fantasy worlds, and was very susceptible the thrill of a brand-new toy.

So I was pumped to hit the 98th-annual American International Toy Fair, where toy companies and retailers converge to decide which gadgets and gizmos will be warping?I mean shaping?the minds of children everywhere. It's a massive event, nearly 2000 exhibitors displaying their goods at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center and the "Toy Building" at 200 5th Ave. and other locations around New York.

I decided to start with the showroom exhibits at the Toy Building. First stop was an outfit called Wizards of the Coast. My escort was a chubby English chap, Jeff. It was a numbing experience. As Jeff showed me all of Wizards' various card games?they do Pokemon, and Magic: The Gathering?he read nonstop from a script, ignoring all of my questions. Well. He does get points for giving me my first Toy Fair swag?a little backpack containing bottled water, an apple and a bag of potato chips.

Next stop, Colorforms. This time my guide was an older Aussie chap (I see a pattern here) with very dirty fingernails. They only had one game I found intriguing, Worst Case Scenario. Players take turns trying to solve problems like "How to Take a Punch" and "How to Survive a Bear Attack." They also had some neat glow-in-the-dark stars, and a toy called Instant Slime Hag.

At the very bright and colorful showroom of Basic Fun, Jennifer showed me the goods. She was cute and perky. At first I was wary?"perky" is a danger signal to me, much like "crackhead." Plus, she said things like, "Slime is a classic," and "Keychains are a gotta-have-it item." But she actually seemed to know her product, explaining that Basic Fun focused on the impulse sale?inexpensive tchotchkes, usually placed near checkout. They actually did have some cool things: a keychain with a little tv that plays the Twilight Zone theme music, and one that plays "Hungry Hungry Hippos." And Burple, a foot-long plastic tube filled with a rubber bulb at either end. Squeeze a bulb and Burple emits a loud belching sound. I wanted one, but alas, my parting gift was only a furry Planet of the Apes luggage tag reading Get your hands off my luggage, you damned dirty ape!

Consolidated International's showroom had no blinking lights, no flashy display. When I walked in, I saw three guys sprawled in chairs noshing on sandwiches, goofing around. Craig gave me the tour. These were, essentially, Santa's rejected toys. Items that were overproduced, had slight errors or were just plain lousy sellers. I instantly bonded with these underdog toys, like Cuddlefish, a plush musical trout, and a cute black baby doll named Plumcheeks. I couldn't believe these were all loser toys.

Day two was all Javits Center. Taking a cue from my inner blonde, I had no plan or agenda and simply dove into the frenzy. Press pass in hand, fighting the crowd, I attempted to snatch as many free goodies as I possibly could. I visited no fewer than 500 booths. I saw everything from $1000 electronic robo-puppies to 99-cent Mexican jumping beans (I grabbed two of those). There were Thingamabotz, "wacky" windup insect toys; Twinkleball; an endless parade of collectable trading card games. The fantabulous folks at Decipher gave me 10 packs of Star Wars Jedi Knight cards. Score!

At Booth #2186 they were featuring "Dawn?the Most Beautiful Doll in the World." Apparently Dawn was big shit in the early 70s, though no one I've spoken to remembers her?she looks like a bottle of Herbal Essences shampoo. Anyway, we were all invited to meet Dawn LIVE. A very lovely young actress portrayed Dawn, right down to the hideous blue-and-white outfit with gold rope belt and off-color blonde extensions. She was pretty and plastic, like the doll. Every single man who passed gave her a dirty leer. "The Most Bitter Homosexual in the World," I moved on.

At the Billy-Bob booth they were shilling novelty teeth that were crooked and yellow for that down-home redneck look. I was angling to talk to one of the three hunky, overall-wearing Billy-Bobsters there when some short woman with a Dorothy Hamill bob rudely approached me. She got right up in my face.

"Do you need something?" she crisply asked. I noticed she wasn't wearing the Billy-Bob teeth.

"Yes," I replied in my smug, urbane way. "Tell me, are y'all authentic hillbillies?"

"Well, dear," she frowned at me, "we do live in the country if that's what you mean. Now, are you here to place an order or just to waste my time?"

I left the booth before this hillbilly bitch and her farmer goons could turn my Yankee ass into pig slop for the folks back home. I was exhausted, hungry, weighed down with yo-yos and puzzles, my mind filled with questions. Is it wrong to profit from the wishes and desires of children? Are dazzling high-tech wonders really better than the basic toys that stimulate a kid's imagination? And perhaps most importantly, why can't men come with warning labels like "DANGER: Small Parts?Choking Hazard"?