On Saturday I attended the second installment on the "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash" series at the Museum of Television and Radio. I became a member there during the first episode as it's cheaper than individual admission to each of the events. I'm clearly messing up their demographics, though. Most of their members are looking for the Jack Paar retrospectives or the Mr. Bean marathons.

Unbeknownst to me, Saturday also happened to be the second weekend of the International Children's Television Festival. I arrived with about five minutes to get to my screening only to be accosted by a phalanx of costumed television characters. Everyone was there. Scooby-Doo insisted on shaking my hand. Barney wouldn't move out of the way. Some big, yellow Pokemon thing was jumping up and down in my path. Droopy moped directly in my way. What you can't comprehend, though, is that they all felt the need to acknowledge my presence.

A boy in a wheelchair seems to be the fuzzy character's weakness. I'm their Kryptonite. They're powerless with the other children in my presence. When I was twelve this was pretty cool. When I took my friends to Disney they were always impressed with the attention we received. At 34, however, it's just flat-out disturbing.