Waddle waddle

Earlier this week I went to see that penguin movie.

[Side Note: I went to see the penguin movie at the coolest movie theater in Seattle, The Big Picture. To enter The Big Picture you open the doors to El Gaucho, hang a right and go down the narrow steep stairs. A nice man in a suit will give you your tickets ($5 on Monday and Tuesday!) and then you are free to order a drink from the full bar and find a cozy place to sit until the movie starts. And by "cozy place to sit" I mean pick from any of the private little alcoves in the lobby- perhaps the settee in the corner sectioned off by gauzy curtains or the velvety couch in the back room with the zebra print pillows or the circle of sofa and chairs with the low candlelit coffee table. If you've got a big group you can hang out in the room with the big conference room table and comfy chairs, but I prefer the tinier private spaces with the fancy upholstery. The owner will walk around right before the movie to make sure everyone knows it's time and you are very welcome to bring your gin and tonic into the theater. And if you'd like another? Just write down what time you want it brought to you in the theater. The whole place reeks of Swank and I love it.]

So anyway. I sat there watching the penguins without the benefit of a G&T because I have to choose between drinking or eating my carbs and at that moment chocolate won out. I could have used one though, because during the entire first half I could only think of one thing: To be a penguin in Antarctica is to define the word Futility. Why, I berated God, did you curse these penguins so? They go MONTHS without eating! They spend MONTHS huddled together trying to survive the wicked Antarctic winter! If the penguin eggs are exposed to the regular old cold for longer than ten seconds (or so it seems), the egg will crack in painful slow motion and the penguins will wail. It's HEARTBREAKING.

The cold is not the only thing that will kill a penguin. If you are a little penguin you must constantly scan the skies for giant predator birds that mysteriously appear in time to sweep you up in their sharp scary beaks. If you are a big penguin you must constantly scan the water for slimy looking sea creatures that can snap you in their pointy jaws. You'd think that Antarctica is enough to kill any living creature, but apparently not. And it wasn't a penguin filiming those harsh winter huddles. Horrible.

Then the baby penguins start to hatch (though you have no idea HOW because they live in ANTARCTICA and again, how anything survives in Antarctica I have no earthly idea) and you start to think the world is not such a horrible place after all.

Sort of. Nature continues to horrify me on every level.

I don't believe in reincarnation, but if I am wrong I really really really hope that I do not come back as a penguin. I'm sure there are worse things to be, but if I get to pick, I will not pick a penguin. Even if they're adorable when they waddle.

(My coworker and I have been waddling around our office. Because we find ourselves hysterical.)

This is all I have to share today. Reflections on why I am glad I am not a penguin. I have been busier than All Get Out (what IS all get out?) lately and you would not BELIEVE how full my TiVo is. I haven't see the season finale of Laguna Beach- THAT BUSY. BOOOOO.