Posts Tagged ‘whit honea’
There’s something about penguins that just feels right. Like all things it starts with fashion, which, in their case, is fabulous. Their look is equal parts pious nunwear and twinkle in their eye, dapper man about town. They are full of innocence and mischief, have terrible table manners and bladders the size of, well, penguins. They’re like well-dressed children.
Except they are not children. They are wild beasts that look great in a bow tie. No matter how easy they make it look in the movies, caring for wild animals is a lot of hard work. Also like children.
And then there are the conspiracies.
Do you have your tinfoil hats on? Good. Here are some theories that I have about penguins:
Penguins like people that pop. What does that mean? It means that the two greatest penguin movie moments to date, with all apologies to Morgan Freeman, involve central characters with those letters, “popp” to be exact, in their name: Mr. Popper and Mary Poppins, respectively. (Sorry, Happy Feet, you’re too preachy, even for a liberal elitist like me. You’re like the Michael Moore of animated family films. Honorable mention to Madagascar.)
Coincidence? I think not.
Penguins like to dance. Let’s look even closer at the two films in question. In Disney’s classic Mary Poppins we are treated to one of my favorite scenes in any movie ever, when Bert, played by Dick Van Dyke, dances with animated penguins.
In Mr. Popper’s Penguins we are treated to a scene, albeit too brief, where the title character, played by Jim Carrey, does a similar soft-shoe with CGI penguins.
Thanks to 20th Century Fox I was able to sit down with Carrey, so I pressed him on the issue (because that’s what conspiracy theorists do).
Whit: I thought there was a little nod, in Mr. Popper, where you were dancing with the penguins, that was very Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.
Jim Carrey: Well, exactly. That’s not a mistake. That comes from my love for him. And I invited him to the premier and he’s coming to the premier.
Jim Carrey: Pretty cool.
And then I got to dance with the penguins. Where dancing is kind of a strong word. Yet it was a moment for me because of the moments above, and I was a little nervous and a little hungover, and the one penguin kept falling on his ass, but it happened.
The boys, especially the youngest who loves penguins and Mary Poppins like other kids love penguins and South Park, are beside themselves. They don’t know the difference between a Dick Van Dyke, a Jim Carrey or their dad. They only know what they like, and they like penguins.
The other suspicious thing I was going to discuss about penguins is the similarities between Mr. Popper’s Penguins and Mr. Holland’s Opus, because Opus, obviously, is a penguin. But I think that’s the only similarity, so I’ll stop there.
And I won’t even go into this:
Bottom line, I go for penguins. I bet you do, too.
Want to know more about Mr. Popper’s Penguins? Please see these posts that I have written elsewhere because that’s where I get paid:
How to Raise Penguins in the City at JoeShopping.com
Mr. Popper’s Penguins Giveaway at BabyCenter
Mr. Popper’s Penguins: A Review at BabyCenter
Meet the Cast of Mr. Popper’s Penguins at BabyCenter
Know Your Pole From a Hole in the Ground at UpTake (coming soon)
In Which Jim Carrey and I Talk Parenting at DadCentric (coming soon)
I was a guest of 20th Century Fox in Los Angeles for an overnight trip which featured a screening of Mr. Popper’s Penguins, a copy of the book and quality time with the cast. No penguins were hurt in the making of this post.
I don’t usually do Wordless Wednesdays on this site, but I’m tired of looking at that Admiral Hills story in the post below. That said, here’s the family at an apple orchard over the weekend. Nana was in town. It was fun. Yes, there are words on here. Do I strike you as the kind of guy that gives a shit? Besides, it’s Tuesday.
But seriously, we had a great weekend.
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I knew a man in the military. He was an Admiral. His name was Hills. He loved a good tune. You might say that Admiral Hills was alive with the sound of music. He loved art and he worked mostly in oils and Garfunkle. His presence was a thousand glasses toasted and his absence whispered in the sounds of silence. He rose above the world like a bridge over troubled water. Some people loved him like a rock.
I haven’t seen the man in over 40 years. I thought about sending him a message in a bottle — an SOS, but my bottles are full of ships and beer and sink heavy when empty. I’ve thought about taking a trip to wherever he lives — an ultimate vacation of old friends and their families. But where would I go? What would I do? What family members would I bring along?
I don’t know.
I could climb every mountain, search high and low. Would I find him in Belize, floating in a warm sea and sipping drinks made with exotic fruit and sweat-laced liquor? Would I search for him in Switzerland, skiing the Alps and being more or less neutral about all of it? They are so many silver white winters and so much melting into spring.
I could follow every highway, every path I know.
Any of these places would be perfect for a man and his wife, two boys and their dogs. Admiral Hills was a man of good cheer, and he always said that a family vacation is in the dreams and the plans, and the journey of maybe getting there. We should all pack accordingly.
We’ll get there someday.
Don’t forget to enter the “Do What You Love” Sweepstakes, for a chance to win your own ultimate family vacation. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.
Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to ash instantly. – Cormac McCarthy
When we left the sunrise was at our back. We drove through dark and ice and the sound of boys falling in and out of sleep. The tundra was frozen and redundant. The sky was lost and forgotten.
The airport was alive with the non-dead. Sleepy travelers boarded dreams. Weary passengers stumbled through gates like so many sheep. I stood there and tried not to count them.
My wife kissed my cheek and peeled the children from me. It took a little skin. I watched them walk away until they turned from sight and then I walked to the car and into the darkness. It was exactly like I had left it but slightly more so.
When I returned the sunrise was my horizon. I drove through twilight and ice and the sound of emptiness traveling just over the posted speed limit. The mountains glowed gold and bright. The sky stretched and yawned and rubbed sleep from its eye. I started to say something but there was no one there to hear me.
All that was left was time and an eastbound highway. I thought of a plane somewhere behind me, turned on the radio and like a moth to the flame I followed the sun until it engulfed everything but the shadows.
It ain’t the Fantastic Mr. Fox, but it’s a wild animal(s) for a neighbor.
Please note, on the other side of that door are two very loud and anxious dogs (owners of the food bowls, pictured). Raccoons. Do. Not. Care.
Remember kids, if a raccoon knocks on your door and it isn’t wearing clothing it is most likely REAL and therefore DANGEROUS. If it is wearing pants you can let it in. Enjoy your absinthe.