Allow me a personal note on an issue I feel strongly about.
It was my niece's fifth birthday recently, and being the dutiful uncle that I am, I inquired of her parents what kind of present she might like on the big day. They offered several suggestions but told me the one thing she wanted most of all was a Spongebob Squarepants doll.
Now, I have to admit I'm a little out to sea when it comes to children's entertainment. Frankly, I don't really enjoy being reminded of the pre-adolescent set much, as their very presence not only conjures up painful memories of my own childhood but an inconsolate feeling of lost youth slipping away as the malignant cancer of adulthood and eventual death slowly creep upon me, like an ominous black cloud on an otherwise beautiful summer afternoon, hovering, taunting, as if to say, "You can't have it all." Of course, I've never discussed this with Kayla, my niece. Pretty name, isn't it?
Anyway, I was blissfully ignorant about this Spongebob character. But it took just one look to realize he is obviously a heartless, vile caricature of our friends in the mentally-disabled community.
From the poor complexion and overenthusiastic grin accompanied by a large overbite, to the high-riding short pants and knee-high socks, all topped by the bulging cross-eyes, the creators of this so-called "toy" couldn't have made their intentions more clear if they had named it Spongebob Differently-AbledPants.
But whatever profit they've reaped so far, I refused to participate. I dropped the doll, and decided to buy my niece The Lombaire Collection (Trividion; $4.95) and the memoirs of Susan Strasberg.
Neither Kayla nor her parents were very happy but I have a feeling that some day they'll thank me.
