...from watching "March Of The Penguins:"
Penguins are cuter than I ever imagined.
Penguins are fast, like little black & white bullets shot from some sort of, uh...big ol' penguin-cannon (I'm sure I had a great metaphor going there, but I'm distracted right now) underwater. They can control their breath for 15 minutes and dive to depths of 1700 feet.
Seals--NO LONGER CUTE. Seals are to penguins as killer whales are to seals, for whom I used to feel sorry until I saw them coming at me (via the camera, not actually ME, you understand) with their gaping jaws of death, full of big, sharp, penguin-shredding teeth. They kinda glazed over that part in that cute little seal movie with cute little Tina Majorino (waaay before her "Napoleon Dynamite" days).
I could never, ever, in a bazillion years make a living as part of a National Geographic wildlife camera-crew. The whole passive-observation business would just kill me. I'd get fired when they came back to base-camp and found me there, huddled around the fire with every spare blanket and every penguin who stumbled on the "march" and was left for dead, all of us snuggled up and sipping cocoa. If not then, then when I ran screaming out onto the tundra swinging a boom-mike at the vicious albatross attacking the poor, defenseless, fuzzy little penguin-baby.
When Morgan Freeman, narrating, uses terms like "fade away" or "disappear," he means they DIE. Lots of penguins DIE. And lots of people watch. It sounds like there's some kinda penguin mafia, but it's just nature. (As I hypocritically eat my chicken breast--what is penguin, after all, except tundra-chicken?)
If I were an Emperor Penguin, I would be in the FIRST wave of penguins to "disappear." The very first.
It's a gorgeous, amazing film. Watch it if you haven't yet. I will dream of fuzzy penguins tonight, and hopefully not marauding seals and albatross-especially the latter. Alex is apparently cleansing his palate now by watching "Stripes." ...And from Bella:
She may very well get her father in big trouble one day. I watched a while ago, as she rough-housed with Delta and rolled off the bed, then when I asked what happened, cried, "DADDY knocked me off the bed!" He was nowhere near her; She just had a hunch I'd believe it.
She has inherited the gene (through both Alex and my dad) for making up ridiculous lyrics to traditional songs. Witness today's samples, "Jingle Bells, My Hiney Smells," and "The Bear Went Over The Mountain...To See Run DMC."
Daddy is a Boogie Monster. (Well, I can attest to that.)