Just read over at Ain't It Cool News that 20th Century Fox is looking to make a big screen adaptation of my favorite kids book ever, Walter the Farting Dog and are hoping to get the Farrelly Brothers to direct it.
That sounds pretty perfect.
However, the not-so-perfect-sounding part is that the script for this film is by the guys who wrote Evan Almighty and Daddy Day Camp. (Mmmm... Daddy Day Camp.)
Oh, and Fox is somehow looking to use the film as a vehicle for the Jonas Brothers. As long as they get farted on a lot, I guess even that would be okay.
Find all of Variety’s story on the matter here.
Showing posts with label Walter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Walter. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Actual Conversations Heard in Actual Libraries #88
SETTING: My "liberry." Fellow "liberry" ass., Ms. M, approaches the desk leading a five-year-old boy and his grandmother. Ms. M passes me our copy of Walter the Farting Dog.
MS. M— This young man would like to know if this would be a good book for him to read.
(I look down at the little boy, who beams back up.)
ME— You have somebody who can read this to you?
BOY— Uh huh.
(I look back to the grandmother to make sure she's seen the title and is still willing to read it. She smiles and nods)
ME— Then it's perfect.
(Go with God, my child.)
MS. M— This young man would like to know if this would be a good book for him to read.
(I look down at the little boy, who beams back up.)
ME— You have somebody who can read this to you?
BOY— Uh huh.
(I look back to the grandmother to make sure she's seen the title and is still willing to read it. She smiles and nods)
ME— Then it's perfect.
(Go with God, my child.)
Monday, April 03, 2006
First words
While reading Tedd Arnold's children's book Parts for last week's OUAW session, I came to the page where the main character complains that something wet and gray fell out of his nose, a substance he comes to believe is part of his brain.
"I don't think it's part of his brain," I said, turning to my audience of one five-year old boy. "I think it's a booger." Now I said that because, while the book never actually spells out what the gray substance is, I'm not the kind of guy who passes up the chance to say "booger" to a five-year old. It's a guaranteed laugh line, or so I thought.
"A what?" the five-year-old asked.
"A booger," I said, grinning. Realization did not dawn on this kid's face, though.
"What's that?" he said.
Aw hell, I thought. This kid doesn't know what a booger is! And if he doesn't know what a booger is at age five, this can only mean that his mom, who was sitting right there beside him, has kept him sheltered from the knowledge or has taught him some euphamism for boogers that she finds preferable. Now I'd just gone and warped his fragile little mind with secret knowledge—ironically, the very kind of parentally hidden secret knowledge that the main character of Parts is railing against in the first place!
"Uhh," I said, afraid of what words to choose next. While I don't think booger is the sort of word that should be kept from children, (nor from the airwaves; thank you, Dr. Johnny Fever), I didn't want to crap all over this mom's choice to do so. I felt like I'd just accidentally ruined the ending of The Sixth Sense or the Usual Suspects. The kid sensed my trepidation and glanced up at his mom for help.
"You know," she said, "like when you blow your nose?"
"Oh!" he said with a smile and a laugh. Well, at least he found the concept of boogers funny.
So I proceeded with the story until the page where the main character finds a loose tooth.
"Have you had any loose teeth, yet?" I asked the kid.
"No."
"Well, that's on the way for you soon," I said. Then, I thought of an illustrative example from my own childhood that would make for a fun mid-story aside. "Just be sure not to trust your teachers," I began. "Cause when I was in the first grade I had a loose tooth and my teacher told me to come up so she could feel how loose it was. She told me she wasn't going to pull it, she just wanted to feel it. But then she pulled it anyway." Only then did the meaning behind my words start to sink into my skull. Oh, hell! I had just told this kid not to trust his teachers, implying heavily that they were out to get him! In front of his booger-paranoid mom, no less!
"Um... It didn't hurt, though," I lamely tried as a save. I didn't make eye contact with his mom for a while after that, for fear of a dirty look. She didn't yell at me and haul her child away, either, and eventually I was able to reign in my subversive mouth and just read the stories with no added commentary.
I'd been planning on breaking out >Walter the Farting Dog in OUAW, but now I'm pretty sure it would result in some kind of mental distress for that family.
"I don't think it's part of his brain," I said, turning to my audience of one five-year old boy. "I think it's a booger." Now I said that because, while the book never actually spells out what the gray substance is, I'm not the kind of guy who passes up the chance to say "booger" to a five-year old. It's a guaranteed laugh line, or so I thought.
"A what?" the five-year-old asked.
"A booger," I said, grinning. Realization did not dawn on this kid's face, though.
"What's that?" he said.
Aw hell, I thought. This kid doesn't know what a booger is! And if he doesn't know what a booger is at age five, this can only mean that his mom, who was sitting right there beside him, has kept him sheltered from the knowledge or has taught him some euphamism for boogers that she finds preferable. Now I'd just gone and warped his fragile little mind with secret knowledge—ironically, the very kind of parentally hidden secret knowledge that the main character of Parts is railing against in the first place!
"Uhh," I said, afraid of what words to choose next. While I don't think booger is the sort of word that should be kept from children, (nor from the airwaves; thank you, Dr. Johnny Fever), I didn't want to crap all over this mom's choice to do so. I felt like I'd just accidentally ruined the ending of The Sixth Sense or the Usual Suspects. The kid sensed my trepidation and glanced up at his mom for help.
"You know," she said, "like when you blow your nose?"
"Oh!" he said with a smile and a laugh. Well, at least he found the concept of boogers funny.
So I proceeded with the story until the page where the main character finds a loose tooth.
"Have you had any loose teeth, yet?" I asked the kid.
"No."
"Well, that's on the way for you soon," I said. Then, I thought of an illustrative example from my own childhood that would make for a fun mid-story aside. "Just be sure not to trust your teachers," I began. "Cause when I was in the first grade I had a loose tooth and my teacher told me to come up so she could feel how loose it was. She told me she wasn't going to pull it, she just wanted to feel it. But then she pulled it anyway." Only then did the meaning behind my words start to sink into my skull. Oh, hell! I had just told this kid not to trust his teachers, implying heavily that they were out to get him! In front of his booger-paranoid mom, no less!
"Um... It didn't hurt, though," I lamely tried as a save. I didn't make eye contact with his mom for a while after that, for fear of a dirty look. She didn't yell at me and haul her child away, either, and eventually I was able to reign in my subversive mouth and just read the stories with no added commentary.
I'd been planning on breaking out >Walter the Farting Dog in OUAW, but now I'm pretty sure it would result in some kind of mental distress for that family.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
New Addition (a.k.a. Gassy Dogz II Men)
Last summer, we received a mysterious donation in our book return drop box. It was a bright yellow children's book called Walter the Farting Dog,
written by William Kotzwinkle and illustrated by Audrey Colman. It's
the tale of a dog named Walter, who is rescued from the pound by a kind
family, only to find himself in danger of being returned to the pound
due to his uncontrollable and graphically illustrated flatulence (which
persisted even after a heavy application of Low-Fart Dog Biscuits).
We loved it. The entire staff thought it was one of the funniest things we'd ever read. We passed it back and forth amongst ourselves, crying with laughter. Then we were forced to show it to some of our patrons, who had inquired as to why we were all standing around crying with laughter.
None of us had any idea who had bestowed this gem of gassy brilliance upon us, but it was in pristine condition and we were grateful to have it.
However, when it came to actually adding this work of joy and light to our library's collection, Mrs. A put her foot down. It's not that she was offended by the book--far from it, she thought it was fantastic. Instead, Mrs. A was afraid the first parent whose child came up wishing to check out a book about a farting dog, no matter how well-told, would be deeply offended and begin raising a very different kind of stink.
We begged and pleaded with Mrs. A to add it anyway, pointing out that as much as we the adults adored fart-humor, kids adore it ten times as much and would get an even bigger kick out of it. Besides that, if patrons truly wished to be offended, there are plenty of other books in the children's room they could find that were far worse, (though, granted, most of these are in the Young Adults section and many were added at my suggestion, but the point still stands). Mrs. A remained steadfast in her refusal.
And so Walter the Farting Dog remained on a shelf behind the counter, with no call number, date due slip, book-wrap, nor bar code...
...that is, until last Thursday.
When I came into the liberry on Thursday, I found our copy of Walter lying flat atop the hold bin cabinet, fully processed and added into the system. I was ecstatic. When I inquired about Mrs. A's change of heart, Mrs. C explained that one of our local highschool English classes is requiring its students to choose a children's book to read in class and one of those students had heard the legend of Walter and called to request it. Mrs. A had no choice but to enter it into our system, as it would be utterly unthinkable to simply loan it to him otherwise. (Librarian logic, you see.)
When the kid arrived to pick it up, I thanked him profusely for his choice of books and told him that he'd helped expand our collection with quality material as a result.
Now I have to start a lobbying campaign to see if I can get Mrs. A to order the sequel, Walter the Farting Dog: Trouble at the Yard Sale, which was recently published.
We loved it. The entire staff thought it was one of the funniest things we'd ever read. We passed it back and forth amongst ourselves, crying with laughter. Then we were forced to show it to some of our patrons, who had inquired as to why we were all standing around crying with laughter.
None of us had any idea who had bestowed this gem of gassy brilliance upon us, but it was in pristine condition and we were grateful to have it.
However, when it came to actually adding this work of joy and light to our library's collection, Mrs. A put her foot down. It's not that she was offended by the book--far from it, she thought it was fantastic. Instead, Mrs. A was afraid the first parent whose child came up wishing to check out a book about a farting dog, no matter how well-told, would be deeply offended and begin raising a very different kind of stink.
We begged and pleaded with Mrs. A to add it anyway, pointing out that as much as we the adults adored fart-humor, kids adore it ten times as much and would get an even bigger kick out of it. Besides that, if patrons truly wished to be offended, there are plenty of other books in the children's room they could find that were far worse, (though, granted, most of these are in the Young Adults section and many were added at my suggestion, but the point still stands). Mrs. A remained steadfast in her refusal.
And so Walter the Farting Dog remained on a shelf behind the counter, with no call number, date due slip, book-wrap, nor bar code...
...that is, until last Thursday.
When I came into the liberry on Thursday, I found our copy of Walter lying flat atop the hold bin cabinet, fully processed and added into the system. I was ecstatic. When I inquired about Mrs. A's change of heart, Mrs. C explained that one of our local highschool English classes is requiring its students to choose a children's book to read in class and one of those students had heard the legend of Walter and called to request it. Mrs. A had no choice but to enter it into our system, as it would be utterly unthinkable to simply loan it to him otherwise. (Librarian logic, you see.)
When the kid arrived to pick it up, I thanked him profusely for his choice of books and told him that he'd helped expand our collection with quality material as a result.
Now I have to start a lobbying campaign to see if I can get Mrs. A to order the sequel, Walter the Farting Dog: Trouble at the Yard Sale, which was recently published.
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