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November 14, 2005
Second-Hand Kids Books
Clara "Bookworm" Jane's a reader. Well, she can't actually read yet but let me tell you, this kid loves books. Not surprising, since B. and I are big nerds and always consumed by a stack of books. I honestly think we could get rid of all of Clara Jane's toys, except for the books, and she wouldn't mind. Much.
Kara and Jess can vouch for my claims. They've both been trapped spent time with my child during three-hour road trips, catering to her demands to "Read a-read-a-read-a book. Again."
As a matter of fact, as I typed that Clara Jane came to me with her copy of Fox in Socks, open to this page:
Clocks on fox tick.
Clocks on Knox tock.
Six sick bricks tick.
Six sick chicks tock.
When we first started reading this particular book to her, this page always turned into an indavertant bit of porn involving women who have body parts you wouldn't expect women to possess.
Give us a break! It's a really hard tongue twister, especially for someone with an inborn potty mouth like mine.
Since Clara Jane plows through books so quickly, and she's read the entire board book collection from our neighborhood library, we've taken to buying large stacks of used books for her from Goodwill. It's the only way we can keep the supply steady with her demands. Besides, books get a little pricey, and we're probably going to have to start spending money on her college incidentals sooner than expected. Because of all the damn reading, my grandmother has predicted Clara Jane will graduate with her first degree at age 16. We're preparing in every way possible.
Problem is, many of the kid's books at Goodwill are there for a reason. Because they're horrible. Really, really bad. The worst? Big Silver Space Shuttle by Ken Wilson-Max. This book? It makes no sense whatsoever!!! I think it might have been written in another language, and our version possibly underwent several translations.
I cringe whenever I see this book in the current rotation. But Clara Jane loves it, so it stays. I just let her father read it to her. He used to work for NASA; maybe it makes sense to him. B. and Clara Jane are welcome to read the space shuttle book and massage their overgrown brains all they want. I'll be sitting on the bathroom floor, playing that game where your light matches and see how long you can hold them before they burn my fingers.
Today, she cornered me with the space shuttle book and her demand to read-a-read-a-read-a-book. Again. So I read it. And I discovered something ... something disturbing:
Hmm. That orbital maneuvering system looks familiar. Where have I seen that before? Oh, yeah ...
I'm taking this abhorrant book away from my child immediately. If anyone wants to behold this abomination, it'll be in my nightstand drawer. You know, for safekeeping.
Posted by Robin at November 14, 2005 09:37 AM
Comments
nice illustration...
Garage sale it...I've seen tons of books and then tend to be there for being out grown instead of being leftover crap books. You can come over and read my childrens books to her anytime. We have a collection of the newer hoity toity ones..(no david, stinky cheese man, etc)I had a place I could get each for 5 bucks so they were little gifts to each other for a while.
Posted by: mindy at November 14, 2005 10:20 AM
And then there's this...
http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2005520728,00.html
Posted by: Joe Greenlight at November 14, 2005 12:56 PM
greenlight, i'm not sure that was work-safe. you should really warn a girl before you do that. :)
Posted by: kara at November 14, 2005 01:15 PM
You two are completely incapable of keeping your smutty, dirty banter to yourselves, aren't you?
I thank you for that.
Posted by: Poppy at November 14, 2005 01:25 PM
Damn, somone beat me to it. I had that idea a while back. Even did some rudimentary searchs to try to refresh my memory about signal amplification worked.
4 years of college down the drain.
Posted by: B at November 14, 2005 01:34 PM
It was going to be a surprise. :-)
Posted by: B at November 14, 2005 01:37 PM
Leave it to the professionals, B. I'd be afraid your version would cause certain parts of my body to burst into flames.
Posted by: Poppy at November 14, 2005 01:50 PM
Poppy, I'm going to go, if not off-topic, then at least...quasi-related topic? Okay?
Like you, I've read any number of books to my son, listened to countless books on tape, guided him through several pounds of educational software, and seens weeks worth of footage with him, be it small screen, big screen, drive-in screen, or computer monitor.
And in that five-plus years of edutainment, only one item really, really perplexes and frightens me--one DVD, a theatrical release in these United States, that simultaneously shames and confuses me, which, like your Goodwill book, I plucked from the 3 for 10 dollar bin at WalMart and thought "Hey, he likes this character--it can't be that bad."
I'm talking, of course, about the big screen adaptation of Britt Allcroft's "Thomas the Tank Engine."
Now, my son looooooves Thomas. I don't know why--one video from a loved one on his second Xmas, and he was hooked. We have the table, the engines, puzzles, games, countless videos and sing-along CD's--and while I'm fine with the teddible Britishness of these morality tales ("Percy was feeling cheeky..." Cheeky is to Thomas videos what teen sex is to a slasher film), the slightly creepy facial expressions of the engines, the inherent limitations of making your lead characters constrained to railroad tracks, nothing compares to that fucking movie.
Alec Baldwin, who ably narrates some of the videos, stars (?) here as the Conductor, who brings in his Aussie nephew to help track down gold dust for their magic whistles, because otherwise they are stuck in a place where Diesel 10 (this film's Predator, if you will) threatens not just them but the other small engines, particularly Thomas, who, with the help of no-longer-adorable child star Mara Wilson (whose lack of acting ability wasn't noticable when she was a cute, lisping lil' pixie in Ms. Doubtfire) and her dog, tries to locate a missing, mystery engine named Lady who produces gold dust but who has languished in rust because of a major depressive episode experienced by her owner/inventor, Peter Fonda (yes, THAT Peter Fonda), who stumbles around as if in a David Lynch movie, mumbling about having lost it all.
DiDi Conn from "Grease" is on hand too, but I honestly couldn't tell you why. I swear this movie was filmed on the site of an ancient Indian burial mound.
Luckily, H. is starting to develop his Dad's snarky taste, and he hasn't requested to watch it in about six months. I'll post the pics when I finally get to burn it, though I feel a little weird about putting it into the atmosphere. I may need a HazMat team.
Posted by: robert at November 15, 2005 08:42 AM
