Double post! Book review: 'The Knock Knock Joke Book', and Balloon Animals of NZ: Low Hanging Fruit Edition

I love joke books! I used to anyway. I had so many growing up, and they were all better than the sorry excuse served up in The Knock Knock Joke Book, at least through my roses spectacled nostalgia. I've a vague recollection that Jase 'the Ace' Gunn even compiled an anthology of his own, presumably as part of intensive therapy to help him get over the trauma of Thingee losing an eye on national television. Unfortunately I'm unable to find evidence of this book of classic gags, so have resorted to a few last ditch measures.

Firstly, I have followed the sage advice of our prime minister, offered in reference to an equally scarce commodity: the Auckland house under $500,000. Unfortunately, going to trademe.co.nz and googling 'Jason Gunn Joke Book' did not return the 'quite a few' hits promised.

So secondly, I have tweeted the great man himself. I'll keep you updated. I feel my chances of a reply are somewhat higher than when I tweeted Frank Bainamarama about KFC.

Anyway. I bought the Knock Knock Joke Book in the hope I might be able to interest the 3 year old in humour, given his history of publicly rejecting my excellent gags and puns. And he loves the book! That's not necessarily a good thing. Normally I love forced jokes. The contents of this book aren't  forced though, so much as they are rammed down your throat with crudely drawn cartoons to explain exactly why the contrived situation you just read was funny: oh, I see, the person at the door was a carpet salesman, trying to draw maximum drama out of his arrival! How droll!

Granted: a few jokes are tireless classics. In fact, I think this one was even in Jase's anthology:

But too many rely on visuals to appeal to use in any real life situation. Like: why has this man got a seal on his head, and how am I going to convey that when I regale the joke during witty banter with chums down at the pub? Maybe prefaced by, 'hey dudes, wanna hear a gag that would be super chill if you had a seal on your head?'

Still other jokes just don't work at all. WTF is an island doing knocking at someone's door. Especially if it's landing on the roof with a parachute. FFS.

Fittingly, the last entry ends with a young lad running away (Omar goodness!), a strong metaphor for what anyone should do should they encounter this book.

0.5/10

And another thing!!! A week and a bit ago I presented John Key's finest career moment, sculpted in balloons. May I present today, modelled out of inflatable rubber, the climax of Minister of Business and Innovation and loads of other crap I can't be arsed googling Steven Joyce's time in politics. It is, of course, the Waitangi Dildo.

I was going to make some penis jokes at this point, but I think they've all been made already. So here's a picture of another phallus that Steven Joyce has the misfortune to be often associated with.

Children's book review: Dinosaur Rocks

I loved dinosaurs as a kid, so much so that the highlight of my childhood was probably the release of Jurassic Park, a film title my three year old now uses interchangeably with the cartoon series Dinosaur Train. One a terrifying genre defining thriller where a team of scientists, capitalists and children are systematically hunted down by velociraptors or eaten off the toilet by a T. rex, the other a load of talking reptiles on a train. Easily confused.

I feel, however, I may have been born before my time, given the sheer volume of dinosaur themed picture books presently in publication, each slightly more ridiculous in concept than the last. I've already reviewed one bizarre tome where a group of prehistoric reptiles are taken to the doctor. I haven't touched the frankly preposterous The Dinosaur who Pooped Christmas, nor the smililarly titled yet wholly differently stupid Dinosaur Poop. 

I had higher hopes for Dinosaur Rocks. Sure, it had that ludicrous juxtaposition of dinosaurs and humans again, but the illustrations of the dinosaurs at least looked more authentic.

Dinosaur Rocks is a book with the noble aim of getting Australian children interested in Australian dinosaurs, a task that may otherwise require a trip to Canberra (aka Aulstralia's Palmerston North, but with added politicians). Unfortunately, even these desperate measures may end in futility: on entering the National Australian Dinosaur Museum, a 2 year old Luke freaked on being roared at by a small animatronic carnivore, and fled in tears, refusing to return.

The book tells the story of a small lad, named Tim, packed off to spend some time with his BORING grandparents, presumably whilst his parents head off for a dirty weekend of romance of their own. His grandparents, used to raising children in a time when health and safety acts and child protection orders where non existent, send Tim off into the local forest, which, as it is IN AUSTRALIA remember, is probably home to snakes, spiders, crocodiles, sharks, drop bears, Ned Kelly, and bushfires. But they send a dog with him, so all good I suppose.

Against all odds, however, Tim avoids these dangers, instead falling down and hitting his head. 

And that's where things get strange. Tim presumably loses consciousness, and when he wakes, he starts hallucinating dinosaurs. Initially a small, golden dinosaur, which might conceivably be mistaken by his dog. I mean, once I ran 85km, and several tree stumps turned into my dog, so I know that feeling. But then he starts dreaming he is riding on a dinosaur, past some pretty massive prehistoric lizards that could not possibly be stimulated by any local visual input. And so it goes on...

Anyway, Tim eventually comes around, and returns to his grandparents.  Immediately he starts babbling about seeing dinosaurs. But rather than show concern for their grandson's delusional outburst and apparent hallucinations, Grandma's first two concerns are that Tim has lost his hat, and he smells like fish. He needs a bath. Later, his grandfather continues to neglect Tim's need for a doctor, instead going so far as to humour him, showing him pictures of dinosaurs and asking which he has seen.

Parents. grandparents. Childhood head injuries are serious. Seek medical attention if you suspect one.

2/10.

Classic Children's Book Review: How Do Dinosaurs Get Well Soon? By Jane Yolen and Mark Teague

This blog has hit a snag that surely we all knew it would eventually, when Emily lost interest in eating baby food, and started eating what we do. Frankly, I don't think I can really do a banana true justice in a review, so I've had to turn my hand to other pastimes, like work, and spending quality time with my beloved family. We go to the circus, to which Luke asked if I would run away with him. We watch Fireman Sam (my favourite episode is the probably the one in which Station Officer Steel stays in his office all day polishing his helmet). And tonight, Emily and I live tweeted The Bachelor NZ (warning: shameless cross platform plug contains some strong language and adult themes).

But now I find myself with the kids asleep, Rachel out, and some time on my hands, and what else do I have to do but some reviewing? Well... Paperwork, fitness, wash the dishes... But anyway.

I find the premise of How Do Dinosaurs Get Well Soon, albeit well meaning without a doubt, still to be a troubling one. The story follows, in simple rhyme, the exploits of a group of parents whose offspring contracted probably upper respiratory tract infections, and their trips to seek medical attention for their young. But the fruits of the loins of these mothers and fathers aren't your regular snotty nosed kids, no, somehow, these mums have given birth to dinosaurs. And not just any run of the mill T-Rex or stegosaurus, but some quite exotic dinosaurs at that. Here, for example, is the universal childhood favourite the Tuijiangosaurus pretending to read Vogue magazine whilst waiting to be seen, while their GP has presumably suffered a catastrophic sudden loss of vision in being unable to find them in the room.

And herein lies the next problem, as on the next page, the young reader is told that a sickly dinosaur would listen to the doctor as doctors know best. 

Now, as a training general practioner, I feel qualified to comment on the accuracy of this statement. If  a petite young mother were to bring a sneezing, fully grown dilophosaurus into my office, my first reaction would very well not be 'stand back, I know best, here's a lollipop for you, you adorable non-opposed-thumb bearing dinosaur, now you go get well.' First would likely be a sharp explanation to the point of 'JFC there's a giant carnivorous reptile in my room.' Secondly, I would probably express surprise that such an obvious humanoid young lady could be related to such a hideous prehistoric beast. And thirdly, I would unfortunately have to point out my degree is in human medicine, so no, I would not have the first clue in how to treat your offspring's cold.

But unfortunately, there's more, as it's not just the human/dinosaur interaction trap that HDDGWS has fallen in to. Jurassic Park and its inferior sequels have unfortunately a series of serious questions to answer when it comes to their influence on dinosaur taxonomy trends. For this is not a picture of a velociraptor, it is a deinonychus. 

But I suppose, however much we may wish it so, scientific accuracy isn't the end goal of this book, and in the end the dinosaurs do tuck themselves up in bed, take their medicine, and in deed get well soon. So maybe I am just being harsh when I give it a 6/10 for the storyline, but 2/10 for the science. 

Classic book review: The Munch Bunch Series

I loved the Munch Bunch as a kid. Before the age of seven or so, my two go to series that never failed me were the Mr Men, and the group of anthromorphic fruit, vegetables, and later a few select nuts who had escaped from certain doom at the green grocers, and lived at the bottom of the garden around the shed. Part of the allure was the almost unattainable aim of collecting the whole series, but
just as you thought you'd  completed the set on the back of the book, the publishers would release
more!

Anyway, Luke discovered all my old books at my parents' house today, so we've been having loads of read alongs. I'd forgotten so much, but generally the rules seem to be:

1. All the berries are naughty, but don't pay much in the way of consequences.
Billy Blackberry and his friend Scruff Gooseberry decided to build a tunnel for the purposes of stealing the stock of the local confectionaire in order to fully stock their own shop. Despite the seemingly incriminating evidence of the entire inventory of one shop turning up in the only other similar outlet in the neighbourhood overnight, it actually takes several days for local constable Merv Marrow to overhear a confession. But instead of arresting him on the stop, Merv puts together an elaborate plan involving secret tunnels and diversions to land Billy and Scruff directly in jail for a lengthy sentence of... 'Not long.'

Rozzy Raspberry got it a little bit harsher, though her punishment could have been labelled slightly more inappropriate and dangerous when she was locked out of her house overnight for playing a few pranks on her friends.

2. Racial stereotypes are OK 
The Munch Bunch have no difficulties making sweeping stereotypical generalisations of whole populations. To start off with, there's Ollie the cowardly French onion, who's always crying.

Pedro the Orange, who wears a sombrero and strums an oversized mariachi style guitar.

Lizzie the Leek, meek, subservient and wearing a Welsh hat.

Supercool the cool cucumber, who seems to be a caricature of a Rasta, with his oversized hat and glasses, though appearances can be deceptive I suppose.

I guess it probably took all the restraint the author and illustrator had when they created the New Zealand spin off character Charlie Kumara (pals with the other Kiwi special releases, Kiri Kiwifruit, Ted Tamarillo and Patty Passionfruit)

3. So are inappropriate fancy dress costumes
Olly hosts a fancy dress party, presumably one of those frat-house-style ones with a bad taste theme. Tom Tomato decides to try on some cultural misappropriation with a Native American headdress. But, holy crap, is that Professor Peabody behind him, one upping the inappropriateness in a Ku Klux Klan hood?

4. Quackerry is all the rage, medically
Nurse Plum is the resident medical staff, keeping a small hospital to treat any injuries or illnesses which may strike the Bunch. There's no doctor in sight, but that's OK, some nurses are plenty competent enough to manage on their own. Nurse Plum, however, does have an approach to medicine which could be  described  as unconventional, at least.

Rozzy Raspberry, who as you may remember is a bit of a trickster, presents with an arrow through the head, having been 'shot by Indians' (there's that cultural sensitivity being laid on thick again). It's a trick, of course, but never mind that for now. Rather than preparing for neurosurgery, or, you know, examining her patient adequately, Nurse Plum is quick to lay Rozzy Raspberry up in bed and prescribe a course of  milk and sweets. You may think this is just the good nurse being kind, but no, she does actually say 'this will make you better in no  time'. Of course, th injury being a cruel jape, the worst thing that happened was Rozzy got locked outside for the night, but were an actual traumatic brain injury to present, the moral of this story would be a lot darker than 'be nice to your friends'.

5. The Munch Bunch diet is awful
You may have noticed this already. Obviously, any attempt to eat a healthy diet with five plus fruit and vegetable servings daily was going to end in grim canibalism.  So the Munch Bunch turn to sweets. A new sweet shop opens, with 'every type of sweet imaginable', and the whole town has turned out. Not only that, but when sweets start going missing frim said shop, it's a tragedy  that resonates throughout the township, enough to bring several townsfolk together to thwart the thieves to end the biggest local crisis since  the last spring harvest.

And we've already addressed the sweets as medicine fiasco.

This sort of book may have been OK back in the loose eighties, but you're probably safer sticking to reading your toddler Game of Thrones these days. That said, at least the skateboarding Rasta cucumber isn't too cool to use appropriate safety gear.

Classic children's book review: Where's Spot?

Here's something a little different today. As Emily eats more and more real food, and develops already-reviewed favourites, there are fewer opportunities to write about purees. Fear not, however! A few exciting opportunities and projects are on the horizon over the coming months... Vegetable lasagne in a jar, several flavoured crackers, meat, and to top it off, can I run a 60km trail race fuelled only by food designed for under one year olds? Only one way to find out, stay tuned for January 26!

But today, I thought it might be an idea to review some of the varied literature available for the infant market. I thought a good start would be one of Luke's current high rotation book, Eric Hill's classic psychological thriller Where's Spot?

When reviewing a book, the first step I usually take is reading already existing reviews. Hill's publisher, Puffin Books, makes this easy by including two on the back:

I'm not sure how to take the London Standard review. Clearly, if this is Hill's debut offering, it is a solid book, hinting at the heights he will later hit in Spot's Christmas and Spot Visits His Grandparents. However, the other read of this phrase also rings true: if you had not read a book previously, this would be an ideal start. Not so lengthy as to be a daunting prospect, yet with enough of a plot to draw the novice reader in. However, it is Child Education's review that intrigues me. 'Cleverly designed! Irresistible!' Steady on there... I assume the clever design refers to the flaps within the book, in which this strikes me possibly as a superlative too far... If this is clever design, just wait until Child Education sees pop-up, talking books, or, heaven forbid, iPads! 

The book itself serves as a salutary warning to parents not to be so distracted as to let your infant go missing. Sally, the main protagonist, becomes distracted from her parental duties by her dinner, only to discover that her son, spot, is nowhere to be seen when it comes to eating his. Not only this, but her house seems to have been invaded by a sinister gang of foreign animals. She journeys from room to room, but at each turn is met by a creature of varying threat. Early on, a boa constrictor is found hiding in a grandfather clock. Clearly a future influence for the popular Samuel L Jackson film Snakes on a Plane, this serpent appears to have either been whipped into some sort of hallucinogen-fuelled frenzy by some illicit substance, or suffering from a nasty bilateral conjunctivitis.

Fortunately, Sally is able to escape the maliciously drugged-up reptile, but is confronted by several other terrible fiends. There is a  hippopotamus sequestered in a presumably heavily strengthened grand piano, a crocodile underneath her bed, three cloned identical penguins in a random box, and a lion who, clearly finished with snacking upon adolescent wizards, is looking forward to a canine-sized desert.

Finally, Sally finds a presumably friendly, helpful, but terrified ally: a tortoise, who in clear defiance of the laws of physics is occupying a space much smaller than that of his own body mass under a floor rug. With a look of abject terror on its face, it screams instructions as to where her son is hiding.

Soon, mother and son are reunited. They trot off to complete their evening meal, ignoring the menagerie of doom now occupying their house, and thus setting up the perfect premise for a sequel, which has alas not yet been written.

I found Where's Spot to be a strong, enjoyable read, with strong, thoughtfully created lead characters in Sally and Spot, the unnamed tortoise providing good support. Where the plot is let down is the reasoning behind the hostile takeover of Sally and Spot's home... Who has sent these creatures, and what is their aim? This minor criticism aside, however, Where's Spot provides enough suspense and action to keep readers of all ages entertained for five minutes on end. Overall, a solid 7.5/10.

I'll endeavour over the future weeks, when not writing about food, to review further books, possibly even including my current favourite Maisy Makes Lemonade, number two in a trilogy which also includes Maisy Makes Milk, and Maisy Makes Chocolate Around The Corner.