My favorite Christmas present

I'll forgo a laundry list of my yearly haul, but I can't resist extolling my favorite gift. So quick background, I like to cook on occasion. I really don't know what I'm doing but hey often times it's quite good. In my amateur culinary endeavors, I have developed a deep loathing of cheap dull knives. This Christmas my wife gave me a Zwilling J.A. Henckels "Professional S" Chef's knife. When she bought it the sales person asked if she was going to culinary school. It's not just sharp, it's absurdly sharp, and will easily stay that way longer than any other knife I own. It makes me want to cook just for the excuse of cutting cutting up a big pile of vetables.
Sadly, it has become apparent that not everyone understands my excitement over a peice of bifurcating iceharded stainless steel. That's fine; if they're happy with their Ronco specials, that's their business , but in my house we apreciate fine cutlery.

Cat lady of pet peeves

I'm starting to worry that I'm to easily annoyed. Little things just really rile me up sometimes. My new laptop for example (to be correct its the university's new laptop which I have the privilege of using) has the delete key up next to the F keys instead of down next to the arrows like my old one and it drives me nuts. And I really hate how smokers throw cigarette butts every where. And don't get me started on gap closers. I digress. . . why? because I am the Old cat lady of pet peeves. I've got loads of them; I hoard them and I'm getting more and more as I get older. Sure, I need to relax, let go of things I can't change before they fill up my house full of feces and urine, until I and die leaving my home to be cleaned up by hazmat and my children thinking it was all there fault and they should have stopped by more. Sorry maybe I took the metaphor a little far. But maybe I sould let it be, live and let live and all that serenity blah blah.

No! I say, nothing will ever change unless someone like me makes noise. Would we have this great nation if the founding father just decided, ah I can't change things the British aren't that annoying. Would we have air conditioning if people just thought " it's hot but I can't change that". Would we have disposable diaper because someone was annoyed with washing cloth diapers which is definitely gross. Or would we have easy cheese if someone didn't get annoyed with cutting up lots of little pieces of cheese for their crackers. Or would we have Velcro shoes it old people didn't get tired of tying their shoes? Or would I have death ray on my car that gives a severe sun burns to anyone that attempts to close the gap when I changing lanes? . . .wait still working on the "death ray" but one day people will think twice when closing gaps mark my word mooohohohohwaahahahah.

But then again, I guess all this whining just makes ME annoying or move the delete key on my computer.

SPAM idiopathic animal product and mail box fodder

Okay I'm really writing about email spam but how could I resist a reference to our favorite canned protein source, (I know everyone one prefers soylent green but that's not canned and it gives me gas). Ooo shiny!

Okay Internet spam. To generate most spam the little social deviants send out computer viruses that turn your computer into an email sending zombie. These silicon powered drones then fill our mail boxes with offers of various forms of enhancements, cheap medication, or fake emails from your bank. So people ask why do they do it? Simple, there are enough people that respond to these things that you can make a great living. Simply put, its stupid peoples fault. If no one answered they'd quit and move on to better schemes.

This is also tied to identity theft. Because it's also how they steal credit card numbers and so on. One article I read said the going rate for all the information you need steal someones identity and empty their accounts is $20. Obviously there is no shortage of supply, and also speaks to the sad state of most of our bank accounts.

Throughout history no society has been able to eliminate stupidity. So long as Spam and Identity theft depend on it they will have ample supply. Since you can't fix stupid, I propose an alternative approach. My solution depends on a group effort (yes I know it's an inherent flaw). Since cutting off the flow of information is unfeasible, we should flood the spammers with bad information. I declare a processed meat war, let us fight fire with fire, give them a taste of their own medicine, and spam the spammers. If everyone replied to two or three spam emails a week with bogus credit card numbers and fake names the vermin would be so overwhelmed they could never actually find the poor saps looking to enlarge their manhood. Banks should leave laptops with whole databases full of fake accounts in cars just waiting to be stolen.

So am I a genius that has found the first viable solution to both unsolicited emails and identity theft or should I go back to Immunology?

Hula hoops Mascot to Bueracracy

So I get paid through grants. Either through the department I'm in or my mentors research grants or is the case now and NIH training grant. No to get a training grant is really an honor. I had to do interview and get letters of recommendation ect. What this means is, is that while I get paid the same the money comes from somewhere else. Additionally my Mentor doesn't have for the bill for pay me and we have more money to do fun stuff and by cool equipment.

While there is a small army of very competent secretaries sorting out the rubrics cube that is academic research funding, the government is involved and so therefore complecated. To make matters worse the taxability of each funding source differs and the title of my position for which I am being paid differs.

Let me attempt to explain the circus that surrounds my paycheck. I entered graduate school in a feeder program called CMB. That money is not state or local taxable, but is federally taxable. However the University will not withhold any money for taxes. In Aug. I became an member of my degree granting department (Microbiology). Money from them which is paid by my mentor is fully taxable except FICA, and they do withholdings. But late Aug. I get a training grant, yah. Money from them is like the CMB program. But they didn't get the paperwork in fast enough and they paid me for Aug. out of the Micro. dept. which one would think would be fine but. They money from the training grant is extra. Grant money if not spent soon enough goes away. They needed to get me started by Aug. or the money to pay goes back to Uncle Sam. In the middle of this my tuition and health insurance which is paid by the same source as my stipend what ever it be at the time didn't get paid and I got a late fee. Now I go in and they pay the tuition but not the insurance. I was told to pay the insurance and they'd pay me extra. But at the time they thought the Micro. Dept. was paying for Aug. so then they realize they have to post date my apointment into the training grant (or the money goes away) So now they are going to pay my insurance and the university will give me a check. But I also need to pay them for my Aug. stipend (which was from the micro. dept.) (yes they are paying me and then I'm paying them) and then they'll pay me for Aug and Sept. from the training grant.

Makes perfect sense, right?

Gordo the "little pitty

So I'm getting ready for bed, and while I'm waiting for my wife I'm checking my toe nails to see if they need a trim. During the inspection my wife with fresh mint breath declares, " That is the Fattest pinky toe I've even seen!" I was a bit shocked, first this was not her first view of my feet. Next I don't think that my toe is even big boned. But according to my wife the littlest pitty that goes wee wee wee all the way home needs to spend some more time in the gym. Frankly the insensitive way that she said it worries me that my poor dimmunitive digit will develope self esteem problems and maybe even an eating disorder. Then I'm sure my wife will laugh when I fall over because my outermost support is to weak from only eating iceburg lettus to hold me up.

What is the difference between a duck?

In the first ever what's the difference between a duck survey, the winner is . . . drum role please. . . okay I'll skip the drum role due to budget constraints. . . "Hydrophobic fishsticks!" "You lied to me!?!" came in a close second. I'd like to thank all of the contributing silliness, inside jokes, and comic anecdotes.

The winner will be signing autographs after the award ceremony. My understanding is, there will be an after party, but I've apparently not been invited.

Are you a doctor, a doctor or both?

As a graduate student in the biological sciences on a campus with a medical school, I live near the collision of two very different worlds. Every day I am surrounded by Doctors of Medicine and Doctors with a Ph.D. and even, for the highly motivated multitaskers, people with both. Now there are some great research scientist with M.D. but many M.D. in research just dabble in my world. Luckily for patients I do not ever dabble in clinical work(mostly for those pesky legal things called laws that and respect for human life). Certain attitudes differ between there two circles. For example medical students and residents are expected to accrue large amounts of debt and temporarily abandon their families to pursue their education. Graduate students are paid a livable (though not luxurious) stipend and our schedule is dictated by our infrequent class, how long a given experiment is, deadlines for abstracts, but mostly how late we can show up and still find a place to park.

No where are attitudes more divergent than concerning the indispensable lab coat. For my clinically inclined counterparts a lab coat is a badge of honor and respect. There are even meanings placed on coat length. They are worn to distinguish themselves from the non M.D. masses. During lunch the local eats are filled with white coats enjoying a high trans fat meal. In lab a lab coat mean something entirely different. It is an apron for science nerds. It's sole function is to keep crap off me and my clothing. Traces of mouse feces, blood and urine, various carcinogens, caustic chemicals, and possibly, if I've been sloppy, some low level radioactive tritium could be found on my coat. I have a long coat because it keeps the above list from finding it's way onto my pants while I'm sitting. So when I see doctors in there bright white unstained coat eating together, I think, "I could where my coat feel important too", but it's about the last thing I'd want to wear while eating (carcinogens and mouse poo give me gas).

Rainy days

Today is a beautiful gorgeous day. That is if you like rain. Most everyone around me is glum and bummed that they can't see the hot, hot August sun. I have a different view. I love rainy days. Sure two three weeks of non-stop rain will get me down. But I love the naturally relaxed feel of slow gentle rain. There's no pressure to go out and do something; it's perfectly acceptable to sit and watch a movie, read, or one of my favorites, sit on the deck and just watch. I'm often reminded that we pray for days like this(Alabama is coming out of a drought) and when they come we whine.

I also find comedy in watching people holding newspapers over their head in a vain attempt to stay dry. Here in South, the rain is warm, most of us spent 10-20 min in the shower this morning. But, maybe these people are the descendants of Dorthy's nemesis?

For the rest of us have fun and jump in a puddle.

Trees, Babysitters, and a Fire truck.

Firemen are heroes, anyone who doubts this is a commie a fascist, or maybe just dumb. I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for a brave fireman that rescued me way back in the fall of 91.

Now we all see the firemen rescue the poor frighten kitty from the tree, least on the news. Now I've talked to firemen, they have better things to do then pull a cat out of tree that will most likely come down by itself, but if bored enough they take the call. Pulling 9 year old out of trees, they don't mind doing. I was never much of a tree climber in my youth, but I did dabble. So one day while my the babysitter was over I decided to climb the pine tree in the front yard. It was a rather large tree that forked only a few feet from the ground. The plan was to use the fork to get the the branches some twelve feet above. So I put my knee into the fork to begin my ascent, and that is when my plan fell apart. I was stuck in a tree, two inch from the ground. I could just barely touch the ground with my toe. Now the comedy of the moment didn't strike until several years later.

I was stuck in a tree and Despite ten to 15 minutes of effort I could not free myself. So I yelled, figure hey the babysitter will come, pick me up and we'd laugh at my foolishness over a root beer twin pop. (They should just sell the rootbeer and banana pack I far as I'm concerned) I yelled, and yelled, and yelled took a break and yelled some more. Apparently, as we later learned, our vigilant babysitter thought it was my then infant sister crying in bed, and didn't think it important enough to miss watching Melrose Place on our 13" black and white TV, or what ever it is that babysitters do while the children in their care are stuck in trees. After more than hour a passerby on our quite suburban street noticed my childhood distesstitude. Finally, my hero has come in the form of a rather tall skinny man driving a comically small car. About this time the babysitter seeing stranger in the front yard decide maybe all the yelling was important.

It is my recollection that a small crowd of 3-4 people then gathered. Funny, that an hour of yelling and I had been ignored by the world, well at least the entirety of my neighbors, and now people take notice. The observant and tall man stepped forward to extricate me from my coniferous prison, when a voice from the crowd said, "Wait he could be hurt!" My heart sunk; I protested, and assured all that freeing me would not result in my exsanguination, paralysis or boo boo. My pleas fell on deaf ears.

So while stuck in a tree mere inches from the ground, the fire department was called. To my joy their response was quick. The arrival of a firetruck in our relatively quite street captured the attention of much of the neighborhood. The faces of the same people who an hour before had turned a deaf ear, now peered through half opened doors and parted blinds. It is my hope that maybe, just maybe they felt a little chastised for ignoring a child in need. But, more than likely the impact of such an important lesson has faded with time and the shear asininity of the event.

So after an hour and half my hero had arrived. Confidently he strode forward, looked at my entrapped limb, firmly grabbed my torso and picked me up. He asked to see my knee. Raising my pant leg I displayed my uninjured knee. After expressing my gratitude to my hero, he smiled and returned to fire truck shaking his head as the drove off into the sunset, and I sure had a good laugh with his buddies on the the way home. I scowled a look of disappointment at the faces surrounding me, chastised my sitter for her negligence and went to get myself a well earned twin pop, root beer of course.

My life as a lab monkey

As as undergraduate I was working on a project that required that I rinse a large rack of test tubes between processing of 20 or so protein samples. During this rather boring and repetitive process I mentioned to the graduate student, whose project I was working on, "I wish I could train a monkey to do this . . . Wait I'm the monkey aren't I. " To which he laughed at my moment of clarity, mentioned he'd trained me well and he left to get his morning coffee.

As a graduate student, I'm merely a better trained monkey with a stipend(thank you tax payers), and fewer classes. But few of my friends and family really understand just exactly my day is like. Despite what PETA thinks I do not spend my days torturing our genetically modified vermin.


It's really kind of sad to watch a bunch of scientist getting excited talking about some black bands on X-ray film. As exciting as results to experiments is performing the experiments is dull and boring. Results are like a pep really that gets psyched up and ready for the next month until you get more data.


First misconception, experiments work.
If experiments worked the first time every time, we'd have had a cure for cancer decades ago, most of us baring war or stupidity would expect to see 100, there would be no bald men, and you'd be able to grow a good tomato in Antarctica. I've been trying to get the same experiment to work for 2 months and no one is questioning my future as a scientist.

Second, Time
One day while in Lab during some free time, I logged onto Facebook. Every person I know at UAB was also logged on. But I doubt if any of us was wasting time. From the I time I start in the morning till I go home, there is probably a timer running. Any step less than 2 min or longer than an half and hour are the best. For the short steps you stay busy, the longer wait times you can play games, check Facebook, sometime I even watch TV on Hulu. The worst are the 5 to 10 min waits. They're long enough you get bored, but to short to take your gloves off and do something else. So usually I just stare out the window and hope someone does something funny outside (stupid drivers provide most of the entertainment). So one of the most used and most hated tools in a lab is your timer. Heck if things worked as fast as they do on CSI, we'd cure cancer in the next 10 years, expect to live to 90, there would still be bald people but you'd be able to grow a good tomoato in Idaho.


Third cellular and molecular Immunologist are really smart
Let's face it I'm not stupid . . . most of the time. But if I was really smart I'd be a pharmacist or other profession that was less frustrating, paid better, (time out my timer went off got to go back to work) and required less education.

Break
70% of molecular biology consists of these three lab methods
1st you stick something to something else. Usually we use antibodies, because why work hard when nature will do the hard part for you. If you can stick stuff to it you can do all kinds of fun stuff like make it glow pretty colors.
2nd you centrifuge. We love to spin stuff around and around really fast(8000-15000 rpm wish the engine in my car could do that). Basically we separate stuff that floats from stuff that sinks. I far as I know cells don't get dizzy, but I've not tested that hypothesis.
3rd we zap it through a gel. Fun fact: some of the "jello" we make is from a mild nuerotoxin. The idea is we use electricity to push stuff through the gel. Small stuff goes fast, big stuff goes slow. Then we can guess how big it is.
So I'm usually mixing up stuff to do the above three steps or waiting for the above steps to finish.

End of break.


Fourth getting a PhD
people ask me all the time, how long is your program. First program is assuming more regularity than exist. I'm here till I'm done, the average is 5 years after six years they start dropping hints and around 7 they might declare you a lost cause and toss you out with a masters. I will probably never fill out another time card in my life. I can wander in anytime of day that I want. No one cares when I'm here so long as I make lab meeting. The only thing that matters is results. If I buckled down, brought myself to the brink of caffeine poisoning, temporarily windowed my wife, and forfeited my weekends and my experiments worked my way (see first misconception) they might even let me out in 3-4 years. Most of us strike a balance, vacations can be had when needed, you can sleep in if you want, but there are far to many 10 and 12 hour days and I'm here usually 1 Sat. a month.

So for those of you who sit there and stare blankly back at me as I ramble on about my uninteresting life thinking, "I wish he'd shut up", I sorry and I won't be offend if you tell me you don't care. I get excited, and forget I'm a science nerd and most people don't care about the molecular mechanisms for the activation and survival signals of the immune system and it's implication in autoimmune disease.

Bathroom graffiti

I have often been puzzled by the actions of those around me. On this personal list of sociological enigmas, near the top, are the vandal restroom word smiths. I have been on many road trips and so have see a great many public restrooms. Without fail all but the newest restrooms were adorned with profanity, references to genitalia and means by which a "good time" could be obtained. Boredom is often associated with acts of stupidity, so possibly these people have a diet wanting in fiber. I am also continually amazed at how little these people have to say. I enjoy reading while in the bathroom and personally own several bathroom readers. It would be nice to sit down and have a bit of poetry on the walls to occupy myself while occupied. Sadly these men (maybe the vandalism is different in women's restrooms) are not the poetic type, nor are politics or philosophy subjects for their vulgar engravings. The fish painted on Deer Creek Dam is an excellent example of how, though illegal, artistic vandalism can be tolerated and edifying to the community. Unfortunately, it's seems that the public restroom has been chosen as the medium for a blog used by those that have the least to say, to people who really don't want to hear it.

Pictures

Most of my family and I consider ourselves amateur photographers. Which means we all drool and dream about pro gear that we can't afford, and take lots of pictures that mostly don't turn out because we don't know what we're doing (except my wife who just makes me mad because all her pictures are better than mine). But if you take enough pictures every once in a while you get a good one. This a collection of some of the better ones (least I think so and since this is my blog it's all that really matters)

Randomnosity

Anticipation

I've often heard that the anticipation of something is worse than the actual event. Now for the normal means of suffering this can often be the case. I am currently dredding a long thousand mile oddessy to Omaha. While I'm sure that the family reunion will be an over abundance of bonding, love and good times, the drive there and back will be my own private CIA interogation. Many might say it won't be as bad as you think it will be. As a veteran of more than my fair share of long car rides, I can assure you that my current dread will be nothing compared to the drive itself. From the momment you get in the car you are waiting to get out. I am quite literally anticipating the anticipation. While there are distractions like music or conversation with my carming wife, I will be for 14 hours be waiting to get there. It is anticipation amplified to levels forbidin by both the Constitution and the Geneva conventions. Most of all I'll be driving most of the way. Kristin she'll sit back, sleep watch a movie, read. The only movie I get to see will be 942 miles of dotted lines. To add to this are the rather disturding mental games one plays with ones self. My personal favorite is trying not to look at the milage signs indicating distance to your destination, only later to catch a glipsm of the sign and have the reality of how much longer you have come crashing down on your thinly stretched psyche. Or when you're tired you convince yourself that if you close one eye you can rest half your brain. Only 30 sec later to realize your eyes couldn't dicide which got to go first so they both closed. While ocationly I've found that I can't remeber the last 30 miles this is the brain defending itself from boredum.
So I object to any journey that can safely contain a Lord of the Rings or Star Wars marathon and still leave time to do a crossword puzzle as inhumane. But since video confrencing just doesn't seem to cut it, wish me luck and may the seat of my corolla have mercy on my backside.

The day was bright and crisp. The temp was a balmy -39 which happens to be the same temp in Celsius and Fahrenheit. It couldn’t be a better day to celebrate saint lizisprettysmartforagirl day. Two thousand years ago on this day beloved saint lizisprettysmartforagirl introduced the art of chest sledding. It is the greatest day in recorded penguin history. Though some of the young fledglings of today dismiss this story as a myth. Some say it was a happy accident like the discovery of penicillin. They say a clumsy lizisprettysmartforagirl tripped one day on the top of a hill and happened to slide down. But a few faithful to the old ways say that it was a message meant to spread peace, sent from penguins that lived in the stars and that lizisprettysmartforagirl will come again riding on a giant orange tuna fish.
Me being the narrator and therefore knowing everything can say that none are true. Basically lizisprettysmartforagirl was just really bored and was trying to come up with fun things to do and is really quiet peeved that people pray to her instead of to God.
But all agree that sledding was a good idea and has brought joy to the entire penguin nation for two thousand sixty-four years three month two days and six to twelve hours depending on when I (the all knowing, wise, wonderful, and all around great guy) post this.
So it just so happens that on this beautiful day there was a young penguin near the tip of South America practicing his inverted 360 in honor of the sledding festivities. This young penguin’s name was Squeeker. He wasn’t particularly the best sledder but he wasn’t bad and even won some amateur competitions last year.
After a couple of good runs he decided to take a break and get a drink and a snack.
“Hey Squeeker what’s up your looking good on the slopes today”
“Mark were you been, I haven’t seen you in three months”
“Okay so three months ago I was out getting a bite to eat you know, and this crazy storm like totally blew me almost to the east side. I’ve never been to the east side I thought hey why not, so I did, saw the sights, met some cute chicks.”
“Hey now what have I told you about going after younger penguins,” Squeeker playfully interupted.
“You know what I mean”
Just as Squeeker was about to give his friends a firm slap across the back of his head. He saw something out in the distance coming in from the sea.
“Hey what’s that?”
“Aw its probably those silly human from up North. Who knows how they live in that heat. They’re just coming here to cool off.”
But these ships were nothing like the human exploration ships that frequented the coast during the summer. As the Polar bear landing craft hit the beach it would soon be clear that something terrible was starting. This was just the first wave, thousand more were just off shore.
“That’s no human its way to furry Mark.”
“Maybe they just came for sledding day it is the greatest day of the year.”
But when the snow ball cannons started firing there was no doubt, that they weren’t interested in sledding. The penguin police were no match for the trained polar bear army. Of course the entire penguin military wasn’t a match for an angry gerbil with a tooth pick, but against this army the seen was horrific.
Panic immediately set on the gathered crowd. The lucky ones managed to jump into sea. But most just ran into each other in panic.
Squeeker was at first just as scared out of his mind as everyone else. However these are the times that heros are born. He gather himself.
“What do I do What do I do What do I do What do I do!” Mark yelled in a near catatonic state.
Squeeker delivering the belated slap across the back of the head that was interrupted by the landing and yelled, “get yourself together.”
“They’re attacking us . . . icy snow balls of death and doom. We’re doomed. The horror the horror.”
“We can’t stay here, we need to get to the ocean. Quick up the hill”
“ But Squeeker that’s away from the ocean”
“Trust me!”
As they turned to run up the hill ( as well as a penguin can run) Squeeker ran right into Kristy a rather attractive penguin that he had known and . . . noticed for about two years. He lay on the ground next to her
“Uh uh uh uh”
“Squeeker let’s go, or have you decided against what ever your crazy plan is.” Mark yelled from a little ways up the hill.
“Kristy come with me I’ll get you to safety.”
“The top of the hill is safe?”
“Trust me”
“Sure Mr. I’m a hero when facing the Icy snow balls of death and doom, but when he sees a pretty female he has a crush on he goes to peices.” marc muttered between breaths.
Down below the polar bears were beginning to round up the rest of penguins. They, in their wildest dreams, never believe it would be this easy. In the confusion none of the polar bears had noticed the three young penguins scurrying away from the crowd. But just as Squeeker, Marc and Kristy had scurried to the top they were spotted by the polar bear colonel
“After them, let none escape.”

“What now Squeeker.”
“Slide down the steep side into the ocean then we’ll swim away”
“Swim were,”asked Kristy
“North. . . were else is there?”
With that he started his slide to safety. On foot they didn’t stand a chance of getting through the polar bear lines. Sledding they quickly picked up speed, with snowballs exploding all around them they slid past the bears to the ocean and their escape. Once in the water they easily made in though the Polar Bear fleet.

Concerning Penguins

Many ages ago My sister mentioned the Polar Bear oppression of Penguins and the plight of the Paraguayan sloths. Considering at the time the rise in popularity of the creature I decided that the world was ready to hear this harrowing tail.

Unfortunately due to the rigors of Graduate school the story was never finished. I intend to repent of my sloth(no pun intended) and resume my writing.


Polar opposites (a working title)
The young penguins played in the waning sun light. Soon the summer would be over and all the penguins would begin their yearly march back to the ocean for the dark cold winter. Things had been good these past few years. Little did these harmless flightless birds know that this would be the darkest winter in penguin history.


The great chronicles of the penguin nation are in fact the second longest in existence. The longest being the cockroach histories that was began when the penguin’s ancestors were still soaring above their private continent on which they had a very nice tropical resort.
The penguin chronicles were began by a rather large penguin by the name of Lizsmellslikeoranatangmoles. His friends just called him Lizsmells for short. As the legend goes as Lizsmellslikeoranatangmoles was sitting on the egg of his fourth child near a smooth ice cliff. Not having anything to do he took a rock and scratched these words,”weather cold, wife laid egg, sat on egg till hatched, went and ate fish.” This being about all that penguins do each subsequent entry is a ditto mark.
All the other penguins thought this was such a great thing to do that they made him emperor. Not wanting to leave any of his posterity out Emperor Lizsmellslikeoranatangmoles declared that all of his posterity would be co-emperors. This was fine because the stated principles of the empire was every penguin has the inalienable right to eat fish and lay and hatch eggs. This being what penguins do best, no decision or organization was needed; so the thousands of the emperors decedents really couldn’t botch things up like they’d seen countless times in dodos, armadillos and (my person favorite example) humans.
This was the summer the Year of emperor Lizsmellslikeoranatangmoles (y.e.l.) 10365. Not that any of the penguins new that; they were busy eating fish and complaining about the way the youngin’s slid on there stomachs these days and the best types of snow to sit on while hatching an egg.
Half a world away the polar bears plotted. Soon their summer would begin. Each year they must leave the ice that would melt away. And to make thing worse the stupid humans and their stupid cars had made the ice melt more and more each year. Soon they feared the ice would melt completely. For millennia they had looked with envy at the southern most continent. With rock far below the ice the penguins were not the mercy of the unpredictable sea ice.
Soon they would be free from their melting prison and soon they would be rulers of the south.