Toys "R" Bust

Beloved toy retailer, Toys "R" Us, is soon to be but a memory.

My brother Dane notified us in a group text message:

*Peenaponatuna is the name I selected for my brother, Dane, when my parents asked me what I wanted to name him. I was 2 and change at the time. The spelling is still disputed to this day.

We ended up going to the Wayne Hills Mall location that Sunday. I had a lot of grand ideas about the items I would purchase while we drove there, passing the brushed silver sign for Toys "R" Us headquarters in Wayne, NJ. I imagined board games and the family game nights that would follow. I imagined rolling around on my bed nude covered in Lego minifigures, like I was Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal (Indecent Legosal, if you will). My mind raced with visions of Mario Brothers plushies and Pop Vinyls. Ninja Turtles and Nerf guns.

The parking lot wasn't as packed as I thought it would be. Not surprising really since the Wayne Hills Mall is all but abandoned, a relic of a time before super stores and online shopping.

Wayne Hills Mall entrance. (Photo credit: goodrob13 on flickr)

Mom taking a picture of the storefront.

My dreams of board games and Legos were immediately dashed upon entering the building. People were rummaging through the aisles which were stocked haphazardly. Obviously, the plan was to get every item out on the shelves as quickly as possible. We approached the board game area which was desolate. But there were plenty of these:

Fig. 1.1 the dreaded Silly Sausage

Fig. 1.2 #pokeme

I can only assume that the Silly Sausage's predecessor was the Bop It. I'm not sure exactly why they made it into a sausage. In fact, I find the transformation rather perverse. See for yourself...

Truly edifying. And horrifying.

We hurried around the corner to the Lego section and the wind was knocked out of me.

Not a single item remained. They must have been among the first things to go. Suddenly we were filled with dread. We all came to the same panicked thought next. Nerf guns!

We dashed through the store and were lucky enough to find Star Wars themed Nerf dart blasters and several packs of 100 darts. These blasters also made the signature Star Wars blaster sound when you pulled the trigger. We had lucked out. This was not good news for my mother, however, as she bore the brunt of most of our Nerf gun attacks.

Moving through each remaining aisle, dodging our fellow vultures picking the bones clean from this once great toy behemoth, I couldn't help but feel sad. It was sad.

We didn't have a lot of money growing up, so when we got to go to Toys "R" Us, it was usually for our birthdays or as a special treat. There was a sense of awe walking through the aisles, seeing all the games and toys, making a Christmas list in your head. Our family made an art out of window shopping. Sometimes we would go to stores just to look at things. People think that's sad when I tell them that, but really it was fun for us. The fantasy of having everything you wanted was better than not having it.

As an adult the feeling was very different, especially given the circumstances.

I am, by nature, overly sentimental - I'll save a scrap of ribbon or a ticket stub if it reminds me of something lovely. In that sense, I'm glad we took our last trip to Toys "R" Us together, and I'm sad to see it go not because of the company itself but because of the wonder that it will take with it. Maybe kids now and in the future will get the same feeling wandering the limited toy aisles of Target and Walmart. Maybe it's being a kid that brings magic to places and not the other way around. Dane was right, it was a funeral, but not for our generation's toy store - it was a funeral for our childhood.

What now?

Armed with their Nerf blasters, the three brothers stared off into the sunset not sure of where to head next. What adventures awaited them in adulthood?

"Are we ready?" David said, plucking the solitary white hair from his beard.

Dane stuck the shovel into the ground having just buried Geoffrey.

They looked at him, slightly younger but already feeling the sharp pain of growing up. They smiled.

"Locked and loaded, bro." said Dylan.

"Cowabunga." said Dane.

Science Fairs and Underwire

I attended my first 3rd grade science fair today. You're probably thinking, "But you don't have children. Isn't it a little creepy to be going to a 3rd grade science fair?" Yes. But, I do know a 3rd grader.

That sounds creepy too; allow me to clarify.

I helped my boss's daughter, Bennie, with her science project. She made nebula jars and painted a picture of a NGC 3132. Naturally, I was delighted to be invited to the science fair to see her in action. I also met an interesting young man that used lemons to conduct electricity. So there's that.

Fig 1.1 Nebula Jar. Thanks, Pinterest!

Fig 1.2 NCG 3132. Thanks, Hubble Telescope!

* * * 

Interesting fact: When Bennie was 6, she told me she was going to wait until I was asleep and shave me without shaving cream.

Once, I absentmindedly said something was "fugly" in front of her because, being in jewelry design, that's a word we throw around a lot. If you are unfamiliar, it is a portmanteau of f*ck and ugly. Fugly. It's an industry term.

She smiled at me like a child of the corn and said, "What does that mean? Fun and ugly?" She was clearly toying with me because after a beat, she said, "The F word?"

"You didn't hear that from me. I was never here." I said, before fleeing.

Some kids are too smart.

* * *

Back to the Science Fair!

As I toured the auditorium, there were a number of impressive displays, none of which were made by these children. I appreciate a sloppy project that was clearly done by an actual child. What I cannot abide is a project that was obviously done by a parent. As a child that always did his own projects, I take issue.

That's a pristine space shuttle made of milk cartons, Megan. Too bad you don't have the motor skills necessary for the construction of such a vehicle.

I'm very impressed by your expertly crafted polymer clay scale model of the solar system, Chastity. But I highly doubt you have a steady enough hand to paint Jupiter with such accuracy.

Oh, Blake. You aren't fooling anyone with your perfectly aligned phases of the moon poster. Look how straight these lines are! I know grown men who can't draw a straight line! I know grown men who can't pronounce the word "gibbous"! 

I'll take a shoebox full of  badly painted foam balls and scotch tape any day of the week. I don't want stenciled, perfectly spaced, letters and battery powered water features! I want chicken-scratch and potato lamps!

The adorable Lemon Boy obviously had help from his Dad, which he mentioned during his absolutely heart-melting presentation. But it was messy and clearly he did it with his father. And it worked! He flicked a switch and a light went on! WITH LEMONS! Thanks, citric acid!

I used to want to have kids. Then I didn't. Now? The jury is still out. Because it can go a few different ways. Village of the Damned seems like the most likely scenario, but you never know. Might get lucky and get a lemon kid. Or a kid that will wait until I'm asleep and shave me without shaving cream.

* * *

Later today, on our way to lunch, I found a lonely piece of underwire on the floor of my co-worker's car. I didn't realize that's what it was at the time, but still I picked it up and positioned it under my boob and said, "What's this?"

Lucky guess.

She wasn't sure how it ended up there. #mysteryoftheday

How did a solitary piece of underwire manage to free itself from it's bra prison? Naturally, we all assumed it was some kind of sordid nude encounter that took place in the car, but she assured us that was not the case. Some kind of struggle? Surely not. Perhaps we will never know.

* * *

For one reason or another, I refer to a naked breast as a "raw breast". I didn't realize this was wrong until it was pointed out to me. I persist in my terminology unhindered.

"G, do you have to try bras on?" I asked innocently.

"Yeah, you have to." She replied patiently.

I immediately panicked, imagining hundreds of women trying on the same bra.

"You mean you put your raw breasts in it?"

"My raw breasts? First of all, who calls it a raw breast? I'm not a chicken. It's the same thing as you trying on a shirt."

I relaxed, "Ok, I see your point."

* * *

Today, I got very cold and wet in a hideous slop storm. I went to an elementary school that smelled like all elementary schools smell - industrial cleaner and tempera paint. I danced around my office with a hank of beads on my head like a wig. I watched an Egyptian themed stripper video with a coworker recovering from ass-augmentation surgery. I designed some bracelets. I ate a hamburger.

What is the moral of today's story? All that glitters isn't gold? A stitch in time saves nine? A closed mouth catches no feet?

I'm not sure. Lemon Boy probably knows.