Last night I went to an Usborne Books party at a friend’s house. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking ‘Oh, no! Not a home party!’ and I get that. The thing is though, I actually enjoy home parties. You get to see people that don’t require you to feed and clothe them. You get to see where people live. Home parties rock! I don’t know. I guess I’m just quirky like that. Plus, I love Usborne books. They are really nice, not too expensive, and I enjoy reading them.
Something was said at the party though that really got me thinking. The Usborne Rep was explaining to us that Usborne was an alternative to Scholastic for Book Fairs.
Hold up. How much did you LOVE the book fair in school? I used to be manic when it was book fair time. I remember sitting in class thinking, ‘when are they going to let us go to the book fair!’ See, I told you I was quirky.
One of her selling points was that ‘we don’t carry books like Sponge Bob.’ When she said this there was a general sense of ‘Oh, good! Saved from the dreaded Sponge Bob!’ I wouldn’t remark on it but she said it three times ‘we don’t carry books like Sponge Bob.’
The very next sentence though she was recommending a book of art with Van Gogh’s Starry Night on the cover. Obviously, a great work of art. A great artist.
Plus, how great is the Dr Who episode that features Van Gogh. So good!
But…I don’t know. It just struck me as kind of funny that we are rejecting Sponge Bob, I assume from a moral standpoint, but we are accepting Van Gogh. Or maybe it’s being rejected from a ‘its low brow’ humor thing.
Now, I know that cutting off the ear and mailing it to a prostitute story may be a bit embellished but I’m still not sure I want to base my morals on Van Gogh. Or Spongebob.
Can’t we just look at both and say they are art without placing a moral value on it.
As I’m writing this I see my argument kind of falling apart. Expose a kid to Sponge Bob and he may learn the word ‘butt’ – expose them to Van Gogh and he just sees swirls.
I don’t know. Personally, I like Sponge Bob. It’s funny. It’s art.
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I saw Starry Night in Paris when I was eighteen and teared up. It’s art, obviously, it’s art. No one would say it isn’t.
Just seemed strange to reject the one outright and trumpet the other.
My, aren’t I the opinionated one today! What’s up with that?
Let’s just chalk it up to Friday.