Other than celery and foaming handsoap, there is little I feel more strongly about than the societal significance of Spongebob Squarepants. He is, by far, the only post-pubescent kitchen accessory I would want with me at my mailbox while I’m waiting to hear from grad schools. Or when I sit down in a fancy restaurant and I get treated to a wine sampling and I say, “Thank you, young man,” and I realize that I just called some very good-looking waiter a young man and didn’t make googly eyes at him or anything because here I am swishing fancy alcohol in my mouth and, sweet mercy, I’m old. That’s when I want to have Spongebob around.
First, the ceremonial put-downs of the competition: In a few years, Zoey of Zoey 101 (who is coincidentally Britney Spears’ kid sister in real life) will secretly start experimenting with shrooms and Mary Jane, and maybe even Hannah Montana will too. The Rugrats will be feeble 30-somethings trudging through loveless marriages. Phil and Lil will be battling obesity, and Chuckie, in some misguided moment of weakness, will have turned into a black man. If we’re lucky, they might get together every few years for some two-hour St. Patrick’s Day reunion special on Lifetime. And finally, Dora the Explorer will be exploring Amsterdam and its many celebrated alleys with Steve from Blue’s Clues (where DID he go?). Only Spongebob, we know for sure, will still inhabit his pineapple under the sea. Spongebob Squarepants is a dedicated wingman, an award-winning fry cook and a beacon of youthful exuberance. There are lessons that can be taught only by this absorbent and euphoric man-child, and he teaches by doing.
An entire ocean full of dinglebubs surrounds Spongebob. His neighbor Squidward, that incompetent fool, would be jealous of an empty tube of toothpaste. Mr. Krabs, Spongebob’s parsimonious crustacean boss, would choke to death at the idea of a 401(k) plan. Spongebob might be gay, or maybe it’s just guy love he shares with Patrick, and people talk about it, but Spongebob is still remarkably moist at the end of the day. He’s also been the employee of the month since the sinking of Atlantis and works hard, so very hard, at being good and honest and takes very good care of Gary, his pet snail. He cries at the sight of a Krabby patty gone wrong. He makes his eyes big and pitiful, quivers a little and cries buckets and laughs at everything else. Spongebob gets embarrassed for some time when his grandma kisses him in public, and he gets jealous when Gary leaves him for Patrick. But Spongebob, who is normally part of an inanimate species that inhabits Aisle Seven at the grocery store next to Mr. Clean, has more sense than most of you.
You get your hands on a credit card, and suddenly you lose your cool. Oh, my, my, adulthood is knocking at the door and you kick out Mr. Rogers to let it in. Does being a big kid mean you don’t want the Happy Meal anymore? That’s nautical nonsense – you just upgrade to the Mighty Kids Meal. If you think you’re old, you’re not. If you’re 40 you’re really 25. If you’re 60, you’re just 30. Oldness is not coldness. It’s not weird to make mistakes. It’s not silly to cry at what’s sad and laugh at what’s not. Give hugs, wave to strangers, leave more pennies than you take.
Spongebob lives like a champ. His pineapple home is going to rot one day, and Spongebob will weep uncontrollably and then hop to it. He’ll find a new pineapple, he’ll enlist the help of Sandy the squirrel, he’ll work overtime at the Krusty Krab. He’s 24, I think, or maybe 18 or 32, but that’s unimportant. He is a timeless ideal of what you should strive to be, a saintly sponge that regularly flouts the Sermon on the Mount, and then runs back to do it over. Spongebob is also a single-minded hero – he would have found Nemo in a 30-minute TV special.
Nandini Jammi is a freshman English major. She can be reached at jammin@umd.edu.
