Blank Slate

NARRATOR:
In the museum, toys do not age the way people age.
They don’t get older, exactly.
They get… remembered.
And on the last nights of December, the museum feels like a giant attic— 
full of objects that once felt brand new…
and now feel like proof that time is real.

NIGHT WATCHMAN (to mic, mock-host):
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Late Night at the Toy Museum—

Tonight we’re approaching New Year’s.
That magical time when everybody vows to “turn a page”…
even though most of us haven’t finished the last chapter and are actively using the book as a coaster.

And speaking of turning pages—

Ladies and gentlemen—please welcome… Etch A Sketch!

“Tonight’s featured toy didn’t start in America. It started in France, in the late 1950s,  My first name was the Magic Screen—and in 1959 I was
NIGHT WATCHMAN (to mic):

Watchmen
So, basically… our guest is European royalty.

ETCH A SKETCH (light French accent, offended-proud):
Mais oui. I am not “a red toy.” I am ze Magic Screen. I am art… contained politely in plastic.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Contained politely… with two knobs.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Two dials. One for horizon… one for destiny. Try to keep up, mon ami.
I accept your applause, your awe, and your immediate apology for ever calling me “that red thing.”

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
He’s already offended. We’re going to have a great night.

ETCH A SKETCH:
I am not offended.
I am… misunderstood.
I am an instrument. A gallery. A discipline.
A tiny rectangle of destiny.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
A tiny rectangle of destiny with two knobs.

Transcript

CELEBRATE CREATIVITY
CONVERSATIONS WITH TOYS
This episode is called Blank Slate.

Now before we go any further, I have to apologize for any misconceptions you might've gotten from the previous episode about tonight being New Year's Eve - you know the toys are so excited! I am very sorry if you tuned in expecting tonight to be the New Year's Eve podcast. Actually the toy museum will celebrate New Year’s Eve tomorrow night. Don't miss it!

Setting: Metropolitan Museum of Toys & Childhood Artifacts — Late December, near New Year’s

DISCLAIMER (host/narrator reads)

This podcast is a dramatization that blends historical research with fiction, satire, and imagined conversations between people, toys, and other objects. It is not a documentary and not professional advice of any kind. No character, toy, product, or brand depicted in this podcast is authorized by, endorsed by, or officially affiliated with any company, manufacturer, museum, or organization; references to specific names are for storytelling only and do not imply sponsorship or approval.

I’m George Bartley… now let’s have some fun.

NARRATOR:
In the museum, toys do not age the way people age.
They don’t get older, exactly.
They get… remembered.
And on the last nights of December, the museum feels like a giant attic— 
full of objects that once felt brand new…
and now feel like proof that time is real.

NIGHT WATCHMAN (to mic, mock-host):
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Late Night at the Toy Museum—

Tonight we’re approaching New Year’s.
That magical time when everybody vows to “turn a page”…
even though most of us haven’t finished the last chapter and are actively using the book as a coaster.

And speaking of turning pages—

Ladies and gentlemen—please welcome… Etch A Sketch!

“Tonight’s featured toy didn’t start in America. It started in France, in the late 1950s,  My first name was the Magic Screen—and in 1959 I was
NIGHT WATCHMAN (to mic):

Watchmen
So, basically… our guest is European royalty.

ETCH A SKETCH (light French accent, offended-proud):
Mais oui. I am not “a red toy.” I am ze Magic Screen. I am art… contained politely in plastic.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Contained politely… with two knobs.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Two dials. One for horizon… one for destiny. Try to keep up, mon ami.
I accept your applause, your awe, and your immediate apology for ever calling me “that red thing.”

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
He’s already offended. We’re going to have a great night.

ETCH A SKETCH:
I am not offended.
I am… misunderstood.
I am an instrument. A gallery. A discipline.
A tiny rectangle of destiny.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
A tiny rectangle of destiny with two knobs.

NARRATOR:
For anyone who hasn’t seen one in a while:
Etch A Sketch is a mechanical drawing toy with a gray screen and two white knobs.
Turn the knobs and a stylus inside moves—left and right, up and down—leaving lines as it goes. 

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
For the record, it’s basically an analog computer.

ETCH A SKETCH (icy):
Do not reduce me to “basically.”

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Okay, okay. Explain how you work—without starting a war.

ETCH A SKETCH (proud):
Inside my body is shimmering powder—like Z dust of fallen stars.
Z stylus shifts that powder to reveal a dark line.
I draw by subtraction.
I create by uncovering.

NARRATOR:
The classic explanation is that fine aluminum powder coats the inside; the stylus scrapes it aside to make dark lines appear. 

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
And the reason you’re perfect for New Year’s is the “reset,” right?

ETCH A SKETCH (solemn):
You mean Ze ritual.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
The… shake.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Z cleansing.
Z thunder.
Z merciful earthquake that returns Z universe to silence.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
You mean… when you shake it and it erases.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Say it with respect.

NIGHT WATCHMAN (grand):
When you shake it and erase.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Better.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So what’s your relationship to creativity?
Because I’m told you’re—how did the Director phrase it—
“a beloved educational icon.”

ETCH A SKETCH:
I am Z teacher with no batteries.
I offer you constraints and say:
Create anyway.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Constraints. Yes. Like how you can’t do diagonals unless you… sort of… fake it.

ETCH A SKETCH:
You can do diagonals.
You simply must learn patience, micro-movements, and suffering.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So the diagonals are a character-building exercise.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Exactly.
I train Z hand and humble the ego.
NIGHT WATCHMAN:
And yet you’re not humble.

ETCH A SKETCH:
I said I humble others.
Pay attention.

NARRATOR:
The Night Watchman looked down at the Etch A Sketch the way a man looks at a tiny therapist who bills by the minute.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Okay, Maestro.
If you’re an artist, what kind?

ETCH A SKETCH (instantly):
Minimalist.
Line-based.
Severe.
A poet of grids.
A whisperer of architecture.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
That’s a lot for a toy that spends most of its life drawing a crooked house and a sun.

ETCH A SKETCH (hurt):
A house is a human dream.
A sun is a promise.
And your crookedness—
that is your signature.

NIGHT WATCHMAN (softening):
That’s… actually kind of lovely.

ETCH A SKETCH (quickly):
Don’t get sentimental.
I have a reputation.
NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Let’s do the museum thing.
Origin story.
Where were you born?

ETCH A SKETCH (with European dignity):
France.

ETCH A SKETCH:
OUi. Originally, Z Magic Screen.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
You think “Etch A Sketch” is beneath you?

ETCH A SKETCH:
It sounds like a carpenter with stage fright.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
But it’s catchy.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Catchy is not sacred.

NARRATOR:
Your inventor showed you at the 1959 International Toy Fair in Nuremberg. 
You were later licensed and marketed in the U.S. by the Ohio Art Company, launching for the 1960 holiday season—famously priced at $2.99. 

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Two ninety-nine.
Can you imagine?
Now a “nostalgic experience” costs you forty dollars and a monthly subscription.

ETCH A SKETCH:
I require no subscription.
Only devotion.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Alright.
Since it’s almost New Year’s Eve, I’m going to do what everyone does:
write my resolutions.

ETCH A SKETCH (delighted):
Yes. Inscribe them. Commit them to Z universe.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Okay—Resolution #1: “Go to bed earlier.”

ETCH A SKETCH:
A fine lie. Begin.

[SFX: Knobs turning—tiny internal scratching.]

NIGHT WATCHMAN (reading as he “draws”):
“G… O…”
Oh, this is going to take… my entire remaining lifespan.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Good.
You cannot rush a vow.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Alright, #2: “Exercise.”

ETCH A SKETCH:
Draw a noble figure. A runner.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
I’m drawing a blob with ambitions.

ETCH A SKETCH:
That is most runners.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
#3: “Be more organized.”
ETCH A SKETCH (grave):
Z eternal human prayer.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Okay. Done.
Now—what does everyone do when they look at their resolutions?

ETCH A SKETCH (whispers, reverent):
They tremble.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Zay panic.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Z realize Z gap between intention and habit.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
And then—watch this—
Say erase.

ETCH A SKETCH (like a priest):
Proceed.
[SFX: The Watchman shakes the Etch A Sketch: a soft rattle like sand in a small storm.]

NARRATOR:
The sound is unmistakable—
a little thunder inside a red frame—
as if the toy itself is weather.

ETCH A SKETCH (exhaling):
Ah.
Z clean slate.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
That felt… weirdly good.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Because you are addicted to second chances.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Excuse me?

ETCH A SKETCH:
Everyone is.
The New Year is a culturally-approved “shake.”

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So you’re saying: New Year’s Eve is just humanity grabbing the universe by the edges and going—
“Alright, everybody, reset!”

ETCH A SKETCH:
Exactly.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
That’s… honestly brilliant.

ETCH A SKETCH:
I am often correct.

NARRATOR:
But anyone who has used an Etch A Sketch knows the secret:
Even after you shake it clean…
sometimes, if you tilt it just right…
you can still see faint traces of what came before.

NIGHT WATCHMAN (quiet):
Hey…
Do you ever get… ghost lines?

ETCH A SKETCH (soft, unguarded):
Yes.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Like… a memory of the drawing you erased.
ETCH A SKETCH:
Nothing is erased completely.
Not in art.
Not in people.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
That’s… a little heavy for a toy.

ETCH A SKETCH (recovering, brisk):
It’s only heavy if you have depth.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So even when we “start fresh,” we’re still… us.

ETCH A SKETCH:
You are the hand that turns the knobs.
The line is only the record of your choices.

NARRATOR:
For a moment, the museum didn’t feel like a building.
It felt like a journal.

[SFX: Footsteps—efficient, familiar. A key ring like authority.]

      (pleasantly stern):
Night Watchman.

NIGHT WATCHMAN (startled):
Director!

DIRECTOR:
Why do I hear… shaking… in my museum?

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
It’s a controlled shake, sir.
A ceremonial shake.

DIRECTOR:
There is no such thing as a ceremonial shake.
Now listen carefully.
No shaking near the glass cases.
No shaking on the mezzanine.
And absolutely—absolutely—no shaking that could be mistaken for an earthquake drill.

DIRECTOR:
And Night Watchman?

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Yes?

[SFX: Director exits.]

ETCH A SKETCH (awed):
Is the director gone?
He is strict.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
He’s a good guy.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Alright, philosopher-toy.
Explain the knobs like it’s life advice.

ETCH A SKETCH (instantly in lecture mode):
Gladly.

Z left knob is horizons:
Z day-to-day, Z errands, Z practical path across the page.
Z right knob is aspiration:
Z climb, Z effort, Z reaching upward.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So one knob is “laundry,” the other knob is “dreams.”

ETCH A SKETCH:
Yes.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
And to draw anything recognizable, you need both.

ETCH A SKETCH (pleased):
Now you’re learning.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
But here’s the trouble:
Most of us turn one knob too much.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Exactly.
Some live only in horizons—busy, busy, busy—
and never climb.
Others climb so hard they forget to eat dinner and call it “ambition.”

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So what’s the solution?


ETCH A SKETCH (simple):
Small turns.
Frequent corrections.
And forgiveness.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
That’s… suspiciously healthy.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Do not compliment me.
I will become unbearable.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
You already are.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Thank you.

NARRATOR:
The Etch A Sketch has been a companion for decades—
a drawing toy that became a cultural symbol:
of creativity, of frustration, of patience, of the strange human belief that if we just try again… we might get it right.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So you were invented in the late 1950s, you got shown at the toy fair, and then you hit America in 1960.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Yes.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
And you’ve basically stayed the same.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Because I was correct from birth.

NARRATOR:
One widely noted change: after child-safety concerns about the original plate-glass screen, it was replaced with plastic. 

ETCH A SKETCH (defensive):
I did not choose glass.
I was young.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
We all did things in our youth.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Speak for yourself.

NARRATOR:
Etch A Sketch was inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame in 1998. 
The Strong National Museum of Play

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Hall of Fame!
How do you feel about that?

ETCH A SKETCH:
Like a misunderstood genius finally receiving recognition.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So… normal.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Exactly.

[SFX: The distant clock becomes more present. A few slow ticks.]

NARRATOR:
Time presses closer to midnight.
And with time comes the desire to leave a mark—
even if you’re going to erase it later.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Okay, Etch.
Let’s draw something for the new year.

ETCH A SKETCH (serious):
A symbol.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
What kind?

ETCH A SKETCH:
A door.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
A door?

ETCH A SKETCH:
A door is a promise:
there is something on the other side.
Even if it’s Z same room with better lighting.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Alright. Door it is.

[SFX: Knobs turning. Slow, careful. A longer stretch of “drawing” sounds.]

NARRATOR:
The line appears.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
But steady.
Like a thought becoming real.

NIGHT WATCHMAN (concentrating):
Okay… vertical… horizontal…
This is harder than it looks.

ETCH A SKETCH (quietly):
Yes.
So is becoming who you meant to be.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
That line is going in Z episode.

ETCH A SKETCH:
It belongs there.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Okay—door complete.
Now what?

ETCH A SKETCH:
Now we wait.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
For midnight?

ETCH A SKETCH:
For courage.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
I knew you were going to do this.

ETCH A SKETCH:
At midnight, people celebrate with noise.
But the real change happens in silence—
when you decide what you’ll do tomorrow morning.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
Tomorrow morning I will—
(beat)
…probably sleep.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Then decide what you’ll do tomorrow afternoon.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
That’s fair.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Not everything needs erasing.
Some things deserve to remain—
at least long enough to be honored.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
So we keep the door.

ETCH A SKETCH:
Yes.

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
And tomorrow… if we need to—

ETCH A SKETCH:
We begin again.

NARRATOR:
The Night Watchman looked at the small drawn door on the gray screen.
A doorway made of patience.
A future made of tiny turns.

NIGHT WATCHMAN (smiling in his voice):
Okay.
One good habit.
One good line.

ETCH A SKETCH:
And if you make a mess?

NIGHT WATCHMAN:
I shake.

ETCH A SKETCH:
With respect.
NIGHT WATCHMAN (grand):
With respect.

[SFX: A gentle shake—just once—like a soft snowfall inside plastic.]

ETCH A SKETCH (peaceful):
Ah.

NARRATOR:
And that was the museum’s oldest promise:
Not perfection.
Not a spotless slate.
Just the willingness…
to try again.

[Music cue: Warm theme. Fade.]

ETCH A SKETCH:
We begin again.

Join celebrate creativity tomorrow night for our special new Year's Edition. My name is George Bartley and thank you for listening to this podcast.