Friday, July 17, 2020

Fish Updates 1-12 (1991-1992ish)

My first "real" job was as an IT trainer at the Los Angeles Air Force Base. It was a ridiculous job -- teaching people how to use WordPerfect and Lotus 1-2-3 and, later, Windows -- but I enjoyed it, partly because I was part of the IT support team so I got to learn a lot of other things, but mostly because the "office" was a large room filled with about 40 cubicles. The cubicle walls were about six feet tall so you could only see your immediate neighbors, and I was in a corner so nobody could see me. Since my parents didn't have a basement, it was the next best thing for a would-be hacker like me.

Because of the way the cubicle was oriented, the corner of the office was wasted space, so I decided to set up a fish tank. What possessed me is a mystery -- my only previous experience with fish was when I was about eleven, I kept a dojo loach in a 1-gallon iced tea jug, but I had no idea what I was doing and he didn't last terribly long. (And who sets up a fish tank at work?!)

For my 21st birthday, my girlfriend gave me a tall 4 gallon (!5 litre) hex tank that was perfect for the space. One of my co-workers said he raised angelfish and he would be happy to give me some once my tank was cycled. I had no idea what "cycled" meant so he dragged me to a fish store and we bought (for a quarter, I think) a feeder goldfish. The owner told me to bring the fish back in a month and he'd feed it to an oscar (a large freshwater fish). That's how the goldfish got his name, "Oscar Appetizer."

Oscar was friendly, alert, and totally hyper. All of my co-workers loved him, but when the tank was cycled and the angelfish were ready to move in, I couldn't keep him. (He was already too big for the 4 gallon tank.) I was going to return him to the shop but another friend happened to see a 30 gallon (115 litres) tank at a garage sale for $25 and decided to "surprise" me with it. I didn't really want it but I set it up at home (not at work!) and took Oscar home. A co-worker had been inspired to get her own goldfish, Horton, and she "loaned" him to me to help cycle the big tank.

Meanwhile, the two angelfish (named Mephestofeles and Lucifer, or Mephe and Lu for short) and an upside-down catfish (originally named "hsiftac" with a silent-h) moved into the small tank at work. A month later, the office was scheduled to be painted so I took the fish home. I then started sending "Fish Updates" to the team to keep them apprised. It was, effectively, my first foray into blogging. (And believe me, it shows.)


Fish update 1
(Around January 1991)

Well gang, it's been an exciting weekend in the Fish Zone. Noting how enthusiastic most of you have been regarding the fish, and since you haven't been able to get your "Oscar fix" (that early morning rush that came knowing that an animal with a brain smaller than a pea was thinking harder than you were at seven in the morning), I thought I'd keep you posted.

It's been six weeks since I bought my thirty gallon tank at a garage sale, with appropriate assurances that it didn't leak. When it leaked, the tank spent a week at a recommended aquarium dealer. I then took Oscar and Horton home to cycle the big tank, and then I took the small tank with the two angelfish and upside-down catfish home while the office was painted. One weekend, I swapped tanks: Oscar and Horton were moved back into the four gallon tank, and the angelfish and the upside-down catfish were moved from into the 30 gallon.

Now, you must understand that Angelfish are fairly finicky eaters, and in my exuberance I tended to overfeed them. They wouldn't eat the leftover and decomposing food, and so it collected on the bottom of the tank, which I would attempt to clean out occasionally, but not very successfully. Well, I didn't realize just how unsuccessfully until I dropped the two golds in the tank. They ate for three days without my adding a drop of food. The tank is now spotless, and both Oscar and Horton are twice as large. This is a problem, because the tank is still the same size. (By the way, I'm thinking I could set up a children's pool in an empty cubicle for a "koi pond"--what do you think?) Horton has been returned to his mom, Julie.

Meanwhile, the thirty gallon tank housed two small angelfish, one catfish, an inch of gravel, and a rock. It was not the most impressive sight, and my father's attempts to improve things by adding a can of Coke were not appreciated. I added another upside-down catfish. He was temporarily named something I couldn't spell, so it was changed to "Kermit" (from the front he looks a great deal like a brown version of the muppet. He and the other cat got along swimmingly, and I've actually seen them on a couple of occasions!

My girlfriend chose a black lyretail molly and a white lyretail molly and named the former "The Unsinkable Molly Black" and the latter "The Unsinkable Molly White." When first introduced, the Angelfish chased the black molly all over the tank, but left the white molly alone. Since then, the Angelfish have become known as "The Foothill Division."

On Sunday, another trip to the fish store resulted in a net loss of about a hundred bucks, but in the net gain of two red-tailed sharks (which have orange tails) and six neon tetras, all of which remain unnamed as of this morning. I also purchased another rock, a piece of wood, and some plants, all resulting in a much more pleasant-looking aquarium. Unfortunately, none of you can see it, as Polaroid pictures of moving fish through water and glass do not seem to come out very well.

I decided to try my hand at hatching some brine shrimp. The instructions called for water, epsom salt, and aquarium salt. I used water, eight-year old epsom salt, and Morton rock salt. (The recipe called for two teaspoons of salt, but the smallest bag was five pounds--anybody need some rock salt?) Nevertheless, the brine shrimp still hatched, so I dumped maybe a teaspoonful of shrimp into the tank. BLOOM! Within moments, that tiny amount of shrimp and blossomed and filled the tank, clouding it completely. I thought I'd asphyxiated the fish! Fortunately, an hour later, the fish were just fine. Still, I don't think I'll try that again -- I'll stick to frozen bloodworms and TetraBits.

One of the neons died. It was my first fish loss. Imagine how much easier everything would have been if I could've let Oscar go as easily. I thought about taking the fish store up on their three-day return policy, but I wouldn't have been able to go until tonight, and I don't think many of you would have appreciated my bringing a dead tetra to work and letting it sit on my desk all day. I know I wouldn't have.


Fish update 2
(Between February and April, 1991)

Less you lose touch with my fish, here is another exciting fish bulletin!

"Flushed" (aka Spike) was taken home last night amidst complaints he was dead. Initial attempts to transport him in his bowl (with no lid) were quickly abandoned, and he was transported home in a manner befitting his station -- in a Taco Bell cup. On the way home I stopped off at the fish store again and dropped another seventy bucks or so. There will be a "Save the fishes" fundraiser taking place in the back corner of the room until further notice. Cash or check contributions, in any amount, are always welcome.

Surprisingly, "The Foothill Division" did not bother Flushed. Therefore, one of the red-tailed sharks beaned him immediately. That shark has since been moved to Oscar's tank as punishment.

The "neon massacre" mystery continues to rage. A quick re-cap of events surrounding the deaths of two-thirds of my neon tetras while the remaining third seem perfectly healthy:
  • Sunday, day 1. Six neon tetras are added to the tank. One is found lying on the bottom of the tank later that night, and is flushed down the toilet without inspection.
  • Monday, day 2. Nighttime. The remains of one of the neon tetras are found in the mechanical filter. It is impossible to determine the cause of death because of the severe mutiliation, probably caused by the filter.
  • Tuesday, day 3. Morning. One of the neon tetras is missing. His body has yet to be found.
  • Wednesday, day 4. Morning. One of the neon tetras is floating at the top of the tank. He has a slight depression over one eye, but otherwise appears healthy. Dead, but healthy.
If you or anyone you know has any information regarding this case, please proceed immediately to the "Save the fishes" contribution corner and report your suspicions. Your anonymity is guaranteed. Cash reward if you can state the number of remaining tetras. Amount of your reward based upon the amount of your contribution (required).

Horton and Oscar should be returning tomorrow, depending strictly upon how I feel in the morning.

Next fish update at anytime. Next scheduled fish update when I feel like it.

If anyone would like to be removed from my "fish" group, please visit the "Save the fishes" contribution corner at your earliest convenience.Contribution required.


Fish update 3
(Between March and May, 1991)

You will all be thrilled to know, the "neon massacre" ended as abruptly as it began, without rhyme or reason.

I went to the fish store again (I gotta stop doing that if I ever hope to be solvent) and added another four neons (to replace the lost ones), four guppies (see paragraph after next) and another betta splenden. I'm calling the new betta "Freebie" because the cashier didn't add him to the bill, and I didn't correct his error. I considered putting the two bettas in the same tank, but I didn't have the heart. (Males bettas always fight to the death when put together. Must be too much testosterone.)

A plant broke free of the gravel a couple of days ago and was floating on the surface of the water. When I went to remove it, I noticed quite a few fish were enjoying its presence. Therefore, this weekend, I bought four guppies, who are all top-water swimmers, and some floating plants. Need I say more? The guppies are quite pretty when you can catch a glimpse of them darting in and out of the plants. I also had to anchor the plant in some airline tubing to keep it from bashing the brains out of the guppies.

The mollies may or may not be mating. Several people have expressed their desire that I do not use the babies as a treat for the rest of the fish. I've expressed my desire that if they want the babies, they can have them, but not in *my* tank.

The two red-tailed sharks are still unnamed. It's kind of a cross-up at the moment between "Snidely Whiplash" (referencing the quasi-barbels on the snout which resemble a pencil mustache), "Red Skelton" (noting their white mouths compared to their charcoal bodies, giving them a clown-like appearance), "Charlie Chaplin" (due to the twitching of the mouth while eating), or "Albert Einstein" (because of the general facial characteristics). I'm not particularly sold on any of these; I'd much prefer two names which take into account the fact that one chases the other all day long, and that they look like they're swishing mouthwash after they eat. Any ideas?

One last comment: I thought I'd try my hand at breeding the next-best thing: Turquoise discus. California Aquariums has a pair for $175. The "Save the fishes" contribution corner will have a special account set up all this week entitled "Breed the fishes," where your donations will be used for the purchase and maintenance of these discus.

Also, you'll be glad to know that the "Save the fishes" contribution corner, while still not accepting major credit cards, will now allow you to deposit your paycheck (or any other check you have) directly into the "Save the fishes" checking account.

Tomorrow I'm going to dump Spike, Horton, and Oscar into a six gallon garbage can and bring 'em back to work.


Fish update 4
(Around May 1991)

Remember back to the first neon massacre? Of six neon tetras added to the tank, one died or disappeared every night until only two were left. If all of them had died, I would have given up on that fish (for awhile, at least) but two survived. Unfortunately, this is a schooling fish, and I felt guilty, so I bought four more, all of which died, three on the same day Spike committed suicide. But the original two (or what look like the original two) survived!

... So I decided the cause of death was pH shock and this Saturday I bought six more (from a different shop, just in case) and put them in a plastic bucket with water at a strict pH of 7.0, just like the water they came from. (My tank hovers at about 7.2, which shouldn't have been enough swing to kill them, but I don't know...)

I had also bought some more gravel for my tank, so I drained out half of the water and was adding the gravel, when I heard a noise which sounded like a TV turned to a dead station. I glanced up and noticed I'd left the heater plugged in, and it was out of the water! I quickly unplugged it but a moment
later --

The glass heater cracked asunder, sending shards everywhere and generally freaking me out! It was late but I jumped in the car, flew down to the only fish store open at 9 o'clock, bought a heater, stuck it in the tank, and cranked it up. Then I went to bed, completely forgetting to check the tank's temperature. I realized this when I woke up out of a sound sleep. Normally, fish should be kept at between 72 and 74 degrees, but more important than the actual temperature is the stability. My tank was 86 degrees and it had gone from 72 to 86 within six hours. I spent two hours getting the temperature under 80, and was not a happy camper the next day.

To add insult to injury, the next week I went to do a water change and I remembered to turn off the heater, but when I was finished I forgot to turn it back on!

One morning, my girlfriend and I went to the swap meet, hoping to find some equipment (both fish and computer) for a decent price. HAHAHAHAHA. If you want brand-name merchandise for less, don't go to the swap meet. If you want cheap, illegally-imported products which don't look like they'd last until they got to the car, then you go to the swap meet. Fortunately, we were able to pick up some cow hooves for the dogs.

That night, two of the neon tetras were floundering, one was leaning, and one had disappeared! This makes two missing neons! I think I have Cheshire Fish! Three neons survived. Fish update 5 when they've all died, and then a special "Fish Auction" for two indestructible neon tetras. Let's see, I've lost 11 neons (with the probable addition of 3 more) at an average cost of about $1.99, so we'll start the bidding for the indestructible neons at, say, $14? I just want to break even, you understand....


Fish update 5
(June 5, 1991)

Mephistopheles and Lucifer Angelfish, of Thomson Hatchery, are dead. When I left for work one morning last week, they were fine. When I returned that night, Mefi had passed away and Lu was struggling. I isolated him and he survived until morning, but left us sometime the next day.

The large tank seems very empty nowadays, and watching it is often painful.

I almost wish I had left well enough alone and kept the two angelfish cramped in the four-and-a-half gallon tank. I bought three baby discus, and though they despise beef heart with a passion, they are growing quickly. Looking on the bright side, in a few months I would have had to buy another large tank to house the discus. Now I don't. Some bright side.

The remaining fish appear quite healthy. Someone keeps nipping my guppies tails, and Red keeps chasing Al (the two red-tailed sharks) unrelentingly, but they're all fine. The live plants I had put in the tank never really seemed to take root, and they developed snails, so I finally just threw them all out. I'll pick up some plastic plants one of these days and stick with that until I know more about that aspect of aquatic life.

The turquoise betta has finally stopped chasing The Unsinkable Molly Black around the tank. I would be hard pressed to make a "Foothill Division" joke about this, everything being what it is. The Unsinkable Molly White is, presumably, gravid (or extremely fat) and has been for nearly a month now. If she's waiting for "greener pastures" before she gives birth, she's got a long wait. I've already set my mind that this batch is going to replace the frozen food I usually feed the fish. Anyone want to start a pool on how many will survive? The guppies also seem pregnant but they'll eat their own, anyway, so don't bet on any survivers. (I wonder if they eat their own on the assumption that the ones they can catch wouldn't make it anyway, or if it is strictly a "culling" instinct which they only practice in cramped quarters...? If it's the latter, why can't Man follow the same practice?)

Well, it is extremely difficult for me to write about the other fish's minor problems with Mefi and Lu gone. Also, it is simply impossible to be light-hearted about fish at the moment. Thank goodness Oscar is still kicking, despite the recent passing of Horton and Who.

Look for Fish update 6 when I can keep more than 15% of my neon tetras alive more than four days, learn to douse plants in salt water to kill snail eggs which may be hiding on them, remember to turn off my heater when it's out of the water, quit introducing fish carrying deadly diseases, etc., etc., etc.


Fish update 6
(June 10, 1991)

Thursday night, while saying good-night to my fish, I noticed some dark, flitting motion at the top of the tank. At first I thought it was some ugly insect I was going to have to remove, but instead I discovered about a dozen tiny fish swimming about. Judging from their size, and the fact that some were white, some were black, and most were grey, I quickly surmised that the gravid white molly had finally given birth.

At first I thought it was some cosmic activity which had caused, in the shadow of Mefi's and Lu's death, this re-juvenation within my tank, this show of life overcoming death. But then I realized that these babies, while too large for any of the other fish to eat, would have been just the right size for Mefi and Lu. So much for a cosmic consciousness.

Anyway, I counted thirteen mollies and then left them there for the night, partly because I didn't have any other tanks to move them to, and partly because I didn't care what happened to them. I did, however, feed the other fish a little more food.

In the morning, I counted thirteen fish, so rather than go and buy a new tank, I just bought a breeding trap. This is a plastic box you put on the side of the tank (presumably in the water) with slits to allow water to circulate. I put the fry in, only to find within seconds they were all over the tank again! Now it was time to read the directions....

It seemed the trap was actually supposed to expel the fry into the main tank, but keep the mother away. This isn't what I wanted at all! There were lots of little plastic pieces in the box that the directions didn't bother to mention, but I finally pieced together how you were supposed to cover the slits in the breeder trap, and I tried again. Within seconds, the fry were all over the tank again, and I realized they were swimming under the plastic piece!

In desperation, I took my thermometer, shoved it against the bottom plate, and suctioned it to the side. It held! I scooped up the fry and dunked them in and they stayed! For a little while at least. By morning, two were free, a third one that night, and another the next morning. Ad infinitum. I still don't know how they're escaping, but I've still got thirteen.

In other news, I had great fun (read: not) when I tried to take the top off my undergravel filter tube, and the entire tube came up! Gravel immediately filled in the hole, so I couldn't just shove it back down. Instead I had to drain some

of the water so I could reach the undergravel plate, and it wasn't until too late that I realized the mollies, trapped in the breeder near the surface, had been beached! I quickly dropped the entire trap in the water, and they all swam out into the tank. That's okay; I'm becoming quite the expert on rounding the little guys up.

Other than that, all of my live vegetation has now been replaced by plastic. I had too many troubles with the stuff, first not rooting, then just rotting, then finding a snail. Maybe in a couple of months, when I am settled in my new apartment, I'll try again.

Well, that's it. No heaters exploding, no fish dying, just thirteen new editions. I think I'll hatching some more brine shrimp for the babies...


Fish Update 7

One, or possibly both, of my guppies gave birth a few days after the mollies. Unfortunately, while the molly fry were too large for anything currently in the tank, the guppies were "just right." Trying to save them was like trying to take candy away from a baby -- easy in your mind, difficult in reality. I only had a shot at four, but I threw them in the nursery where, of course, they swam right out again and got eaten. My biggest concern was not for the guppies, however; I'd heard about discus getting a hold of live food and never returning to powdered/frozen food again. I don't want to deal with live food, mainly because I would more than likely raise it instead (see "Oscar Appetizer"). Fortunately, they had their little party and then ate the frozen bloodworms and frozen water fleas when they were proferred, so we're okay.

In the confusion, I lost track of one of my baby mollies. It was nowhere to be seen, so I gave it up for "eaten." For the next solid week I consistently counted 12 mollies every day. Then, a few days ago, I counted 13, and it has been 13 ever since. Clearly, I have a David Mollyfield in that batch! Anyway, the mollies are becoming much better defined. They no longer look like strings with eyes.

By the way, the white molly, after having her fry, has stayed as plump as the day she gave birth. It has been suggested that she is simply an old fish and not capable of "snapping back" like these young fish. I do not know. The black molly is clearly still interested in her, but then again, she is still the only other adult molly in the tank.

Cory and Kermit have slowed down quite a bit since I removed the live plants. I guess they just don't like imitations.

The discus are becoming bluer (if that's a word) by the day. Perhaps in a couple of months, when I'm settled in my new apartment, I'll invite y'all over to see the tank. Tanks, I suspect, by then. Of course, I'll probably have to sneak them in using 10 gallon water jugs.

And Oscar, good old Oscar, often overlooked in these fish updates, is keeping me company in my corner. If you haven't seen him recently, perhaps you should. People who saw him three days ago come over and say "Wow has he grown!" Unfortunately, his tank still hasn't. It's getting kind of scary.


Fish update 8

Well, of my original thirteen molly fry, less than half survived. My second fry were the guppies, of which none survived. If they ever become pregnant again, however, I've got a nursery and everything. They'll live, or else! (What the heck am I talking about--the last thing I need is more fish!) My third fry was the molly's second, and estimates placed it between 25 and 30. (Do you know how hard it is to count thirty strings-with-eyeballs in a fast current??) We'll see how these fare. And if they do fare well, they'll still up for grabs. No choosing, please.

In other news, the discus were finally officially christened: Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear, respective of their size. I had been contemplating Steven, Tom, and Harry, in honor of the Chapin brothers, but A) I didn't think I could keep track, and B) Nobody knows who the Chapin brothers are.

A little over a week ago I saw Cory (one of the upside-down catfish) with a swollen abdomen. I assumed he/she/it was pregnant, and so subsequently panicked. The next day I noticed Kermit (the other upside-down catfish) had a similarly swollen belly. I figure the odds of having two females who had been able to hide their pregnancies for over seven months was a little too unlikely, and that they'd just had a really good feast after I went to bed.

Sightings have since borne this theory out.

Beyond that, one of the neon tetras looks pregnant. However, it is an egg-scatterer, and I vacuum the tank gravel every other weekend, so unless it has a really short gestation period, and have very large fry, don't hold out much hope.

Oscar bids you peace. And asks you for a handout. I pray you do not feed him; I worry about coming in one Monday and finding him wrapped around the inside of the tank, biting his tail, without enough room to move.

I've been thinking about investing my life's savings to develop, produce, and market a fish tank for the automobile. I can't decide if it should rest on the dashboard or hang from the interior light. Anybody want to go in on this with me?

Finally, the Save the Fishes Contribution Corner has been renamed the Save the Fishes Investment Corner, where you can buy stock (small fish) that are guaranteed to grow! See me today!


And when I kissed a cop down on 54th and Vine, he broke my little bottle of
FISH UPDATE #9

For Lennon fans: Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...
Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...
Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...
Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...Number 9...

Well, first off, I'd like to thank all of my kind supporters, as well as my constructive detractors, for making the Fish Update series one of the most successful ventures ever attempted about my fish. We're up to #9 and there's no telling when these fish stories and anecdotes will ever, if ever, stop. Kudos to everyone who has refrained from threatening me with bodily harm as a result of having read the first 8 fish updates.

It's been a hard couple of weeks in the fish corner, almost as bad as the time we lost 16 neon tetras. Almost as bad as losing Mefi and Lu, the angelfish. Almost as bad as losing Horton, although there is still an investigation going on as to whether or not Horton died of natural causes, or if someone took out some hostility in a really inappropriate way...

Three guppies died last week, one after the other, with no apparent cause nor reason. The fourth one, a male, is just as healthy as can be, although noticeably less happy than when there were two females in with him. One of my teen-age mollies also died. Apparent cause of death: Choking. I found him with food hanging out of his mouth. I've got to teach those guys the heimlech (sp?) maneuver...

I brought Oscar home with me on Saturday, because everyone kept saying he was too big for the tank. As a temporary measure, I put him in the 30-gallon tank, with the baby mollies and the discus, none of which are too happy with me at the moment. Surprisingly, though, Oscar hasn't bothered anyone. He's just as hyper in the big tank, but he doesn't bang his head nearly as often. Current contributions to the "Save the Fish corner" will be dedicated to a pond for Oscar.

I rinsed out the small tank which, of course, is a terrible idea if you want to keep the good bacteria alive, but I was more interested in getting the brown algae dead. I then started to move the teen-age mollies into the small tank, when I noticed a smaller-than-usual molly. I checked the momma molly -- svelte.

Uh-oh. I pulled the top off the tank -- hundreds of mollies everywhere!! Aiiiiiigh! A third batch!

I started collecting baby mollies, which wasn't easy because I hadn't fed Oscar. It wasn't that he was eating the mollies; he was just his usual rambunctious self, he'd nip at the net, bump against the nursery, rub against my hand, and wriggle at the top of the tank, splashing water everywhere! I'd estimate this batch to be well over 50!

The five teen-age mollies (as opposed to the pre-teen and baby mollies) went with me in the small tank to work, where they will be hanging out until further notice. Two have been claimed; the other three are free to good homes. Good homes means, of course, that they are not to be used as feeder mollies, that they receive heat and filtration, and they are regularly fed. If you don't have a home, please feel free to visit, but kindly refrain from feeding them -- I don't want another full-blown brown algae attack going on in there.


Fish update 10

What a week it's been in my life, never mind the fishes!

I am now, for the first time in my life, living alone. I can do things like play the radio all night, throw the towels in a canadel (sp?) on the floor, have dirty dishes scattered about the apartment, and leave the toilet seat up!

I can also sleep right through my alarm clock, watch my towels evolve into another life form, spend hours scrubbing my dishes, and put the toilet seat down to avoid a mess.

That empty apartment that looked so small suddenly shrank to half its size. And that closet which I thought was way too big for my needs -- well, let's just say that you might be able to squeeze in there now, but I wouldn't place any bets on your ability to squeeze out.

(Look, if I'm not funny, it's because I mangled my right-hand middle finger in the move, making typing difficult.)

(Look, I realize I have a track record of not being funny, but THIS TIME I would have been funny! Really, I know I would have been hilarious, had it not been for the death complaints.)

So I moved in, and all of my stuff moved in with me. Then I went out and blew most of my savings on more stuff. My fish have been lacking so I could have such amenities as towels, and pots, and some beach chairs. I'm telling you, convict me of fish abuse and lock me away!

As I mentioned, this was the first time I've lived by myself, and so I had to buy all the "little things" in life, and I missed a few things. First, I forgot to buy shampoo. Of course, I didn't realize this until my hair was completely wet. Second, I forgot to buy a comb. 'Nuf said.

When I started writing this, it wasn't going to be a Fish Update. It was going to be a Gregg Update. But I know that if I labelled it "Gregg Update," nobody would read it. So I called it Fish Update and, serendipitously, I went and picked up my fish last night and moved them to the apartment. I'll cover that just as soon as I tell you all of the neons and the betta are dead. I'm pretty sure Oscar ate all of the neons, and I think the betta died of obesity. At least it didn't commit suicide like the last betta did.

First, poor planning was evident from the start. All I had was a six gallon garbage can, a two gallon jug, and a car. I drained the water from the tank into the garbage can, realizing (again) that I'd "beached" the mollies that were trapped in the nursery box at the surface. I put the whole nursery into the garbage can which, in hindsight, probably caused most of the carnage. (I know how sensitive most of you are, and so I'm trying to lead up to this tragedy in a gentle way, only occasionally dropping subtle hints like "carnage" and "tragedy.")

I then proceeded to terrorize all of the fish with a net, and throw them into the garbage can. Imagine three discus, two sharks, two catfish, an adult molly, a dozen pre-pubescent mollies, and about fifty baby mollies in a small garbage can. Then I threw in Oscar, and everybody freaked.

The fish waited while I drained the thirty gallon tank using the two gallon jug. After about twenty gallons, I decided that was enough, and with muscles that were going to make me pay later, I was able to hoist to my car. What I'd forgotten was that when I first moved this tank, I had to lay it on its side in the back. Well, now I had five gallons of water in it, and that wasn't an option. What I finally ended up with was the tank perched precariously in the passenger seat, threatening to go through the windshield every time I hit the brakes, the fish in the back seat, and the stand sticking out of the hatchback. Incredible, that I can summarize forty-five minutes of back-breaking agony into such a short and pleasant paragraph, isn't it?

When I arrived, I pulled the utility can off the front seat and found there was a baby molly in the puddle I used to call my back seat. I picked it up with the intention of making friends with a local alley cat, and the darn things leapt from my fingers, did a double-pirouette, and landed squarely back in the middle of the seat! Not too bright, these baby mollies. I picked him up and threw him back in the garbage can (I overcame my aversion to touching fish a long time ago -- last week, I think). I smuggled the fish into my apartment because, while the manager doesn't care, I think if my neighbor downstairs found out, it would strain our relationship.

I set everything up and started filling the tank, in two gallon increments. The sink wasn't large enough to accommodate the jug, so I had to use a piece of tubing to redirect the water. Twelve-odd trips later, having soaked two shirts, the entire floor, and my toaster oven, the tank was full, and I started to plug in the appliances.

I get the filter and the air pump and the heater going, finally. I go to transfer the fish and that's when I saw the mass of non-wriggling bodies at the bottom of the utility can. I dumped everything that moved into the big tank, and then started to total the bodies. Fifteen baby mollies and one pre-pubescent molly, died in transit and were given a burial at sea. (I wonder which sea I was dumping them into, now that I'm south of Santa Monica bay?)


Fish Update 11
(...and Bachelor update 2)

Commute update: My commute takes almost exactly as long now that I'm living 28 miles away as it did when I was living 41 miles away, which is about an hour. The only difference is that before I was averaging 41 miles per hour, and now I'm averaging 28 miles per hour. That additional 13 mph was apparently a critical part of my mental health; I no longer have any.

If you guys have ever taken the 405, there is one thing you'll find lacking: Trucks. Relatively few big trucks take the San Diego freeway. While I had noticed this before, I hadn't realized its significance until I started driving a truck-commuter freeway. Monday, there was a car involved in an accident between two trucks; the car was missing most of its outer body panels. You know, you see a steel skeleton rotting in a junkyard and it isn't very interesting. But to see a steel skeleton and realize that Friday you may have passed that car on the way to work...it's a whole other story.

Warning: Readers who may be offended by strong language and graphic situations should not read the following passage. Parental discretion is definitely advised.

Bachelor update: While I've never actually lived by myself before, I believed that I'd learned most of the lessons. Wrong. Tuesday I realized I needed some clean underwear (there! I said it!) but it wasn't enough to fill the washing machine, and I couldn't wash my polyester clothes in the same temperature, and my sheets didn't need cleaning, so I thought I'd wash my towels with my underwear. Now, don't think me stupid, when I first bought the towels last week I immediately washed them, by themselves, in hot water. Thus, I assumed it was safe to wash them with my whites. Wrong again. I am now the proud owner of a complete set of pink socks, underwear, t-shirts, and even a pink business shirt, though I'm sure I don't know how that got in there. ...

As a bachelor, I'm proud to say that I already have food rotting in my refrigerator! Yesterday, I threw away some ground beef (unopened) which had passed away on the 25th or so. Yesterday my milk expired, but I have yet to throw it away. Then again, I have yet to open it. I always wondered why powdered milk had been created, and who used it. Now I know.

The only sore point is my bathroom. I keep the toilet clean, the lid down, the towels hung up, and the cap on the toothpaste. What do you expect from someone who goes home every night and has to desperately fight the urge to alphabetize my paperbacks? I finally threw away all of the boxes that the dishes, the toaster over, the clock radio, etc. came in. So it shouldn't be long before they start breaking down. I'm still in search of a sofa, so if anybody has a brand-new, never-been-used sofa they'd like to sell at a decades-old, worn-to-the-nub sofa price, I'm your man! I'm also looking for a hide-a-bed, in consideration of all the people who have expressed interest at crashing at my place rather than driving all the way to their home. Of course, not as many people have wanted to crash at Buena Park as they did in Valencia, but I suspect that is a result of the hamburger and milk incidents.

Fish update: I bought another copy of Aquarium Fish Magazine along with a couple of cow hooves for my pets. Even though I've never gotten a single bit of useful and accurate information from AFM, I keep buying copies, probably because of all the articles they have on koi ponds. Speaking of which, I've already got the sight of the koi pond set; I'm just waiting for my landlord to go on vacation before I build it. I tried convincing them that the pool would make a nice showpiece if we converted it to a fish tank, but they shot that down pretty quickly. Anyway, the magazine stated that synodontis nigreventris (the common upside-down catfish) did better in schools, and in African lakes they could often be found schooling by the thousands.

Now, much as I love my cats, at six bucks a pop I wasn't about to buy a thousand more cats just to make both of mine happy. Still, I was flexible: Monday I bought two more. They're making a brief appearance at my corner tank, but they're almost acclimatized to local water conditions now, and will therefore be disappearing home soon (where they will undoubtedly hide under a rock and never be seen again, just like my present two cats). If you've never seen a fish swimming upside down, clearly you've A) not had enough to drink, or B) ought to make a beeline for my corner.

Other than that, the discus did something this morning they haven't done before: Actually come to the surface when I fed them. Maybe I'm starving them, maybe they're just getting comfortable, maybe they prefer the significant lack of fish in my tank (although one Oscar makes up for a whole lot of baby mollies, guppies, bettas, neons, and whatever else has died in there).

Meeting update: This will be in a separate message, as I plan on inviting everyone, not just my aquatic aquaintances. (i.e. the .Fish group) Also, I understand some members of the .Fish group do not read the Updates in a timely manner. (This wouldn't be you, would it?)


Fish Update 12 -- The final chapter

Once again, it's been an exciting week or two in the underwater realm!

About two weeks ago, I decided to acquire another tank. A friend of a friend suggested charity shops and Sundays at Harbor college.

I went to my local Salvation Army but nobody spoke English well enough to understand "Do you have any fish tanks?" so early Sunday morning I drove to Harbor College. For some reason, I assumed he'd suggested this because some local fish group got together and sold equipment on the side. However, it turned out it was a flea market.

I HATE FLEA MARKETS!

Still, I was already there so I wandered all : One a large, empty forty gallon tank, another a small, dirty, twenty gallon tank. The latter I didn't even bother bartering for, but I offered $30 for the forty gallon tank. He accepted immediately, so I know I made a bad deal.

One quick note: The tank was designed for snakes and did not have a glass top. Instead, it had a screen which slid out the side of the frame, rather than lifted off. This becomes important later.

I loaded it in the car and brought it immediately to the base. (This was over the three-day weekend, which was a four-day weekend for me, so I had to feed my mollies sooner or later). My plan was simple: Fill the tank, see if it leaked or burst, empty it into the plants, and take it home. I placed the tank on some paper towels on the table out back (the one with the astroturf), slid open the top and inserted the hose, which immediately fell out. I turned the tank around, shoved in the hose, then shoved the tank against the umbrella pole so the sliding lid would hold the hose in. (Got a good mental picture of this? You'll be quizzed on it later.) I started filling the tank, and stopped it just below the top and checked it. Not a leak or a bust in sight! Wonderful!

I decided to fill it to the top then, and here's where that mental picture comes in handy. Because the lid slid out, the top lip of the front glass was not attached to anything. I didn't think of that as I attempted to fill it to the top of the wood frame. Only when the water started cascading off the table did I think, "Hmmm...maybe something's wrong?"

I spent the next half hour and most of the towels in the men's bathroom (I don't know if I would have resorted to the ladies' bathroom if I needed to) soaking that up. Then I went to empty the tank. How was I going to empty the tank? Well, I hadn't thought of that. It held 40 gallons and one gallon of water weighs roughly 8 pounds...picking it up and pouring it out was not the most realistic possibility. Okay then, how about scooping out the water? No problem, except I'd shoved the tank against the center umbrella post, and it was too heavy to even slide over, leaving me with roughly an inch of access. I could deal with that. I got one of my plastic cups and started in.

Half an hour later, I'd removed about ten gallons and could slide the table out far enough to use Tanya's orange scoop. Another half hour went by and almost all the water was gone, so I leaned the tank against a flower pot and collapsed in a heap. When I'd recovered, I collected my belongings and went home.

I didn't have any place to put the tank at home, of course. In fact, the only table I had was where my borrowed TV was sitting. Good enough; I removed the TV, hoisted the fish tank, and then worried over the fact that the fish tank hung out about four inches over each edge. Let's see, that was 40 gallons at 8 pounds each, if that were suddenly dumped on the downstairs apartment...?

I spent roughly $150 over the next two days buying support equipment for the $30 tank, installed it, poured in about twenty gallons of water, and then went to get Oscar to cycle it. I couldn't do it, though. I couldn't just throw my precious Oscar into an unknown body of water! I threw in a baby molly and, when it was still kicking the next day, -then- I threw in Oscar.

Two days later, the molly was missing. While I was scolding Oscar, I saw Red, the aggressive red-tailed shark, pegged Al, the submissive red-tailed shark, so I grabbed a net, snatched up Red, and dumped him in with Oscar.

Then I remembered Red had been the one terrorizing Oscar for the past couple of weeks! Oh, well...

The next morning, Red was dead. Another apparent suicide, although at least this time his body wasn't found across the entire room! (You do remember Flushed's (aka Spike's) suicide, don't you?) Also the last remaining guppy was dead, for reasons which remain shrouded in mystery.

I had been gradually adding water and was now up to the thirty gallon mark when someone pointed out this 250#+ fish tank was balanced on a sewing machine table that it didn't fit on, which had four spindly legs which, furthermore, were designed to collapse! I grudgingly agreed and we moved it down to the floor, where it currently waits for a new home. (Anybody have any coffee tables they want to distribute freely (or at least very cheaply) which are a minimum 36" wide by 16" deep, and preferably around 24" high? The appearance of the table top is -not- important.)

On Friday, I decided I wanted to restock my supply of neon tetras -- the kind Oscar ate before. It wasn't until Sunday that I found a fish store with tetras in stock, and I bought 4 neons and 4 glow-light tetras, which are roughly the same shape but have a neon orange line down the sides. One died in transit, so I opened the bag and removed it. The rest were dropped, still inside the bag, into Oscar's tank, and hooked onto some airline tubing to keep it from drifting. (I needed to gradually equalize the waters they were in with the waters they were going to be in). About two hours later, someone told me the tetras were escaping! Sure enough, the bag had worked its way free and Oscar was having a field day chasing neon tetras around the tank! Everyone immediately pitched in to save the tetras (save for a few individuals who shall remain nameless that were cheering Oscar on), and dumped them in the other tank. Several people say they saw Oscar eat a neon (and another neon was already half-dead from natural causes, so we fed that one to Oscar), leaving 5 in the small tank. All were accounted for and the party, perhaps a little sadder and wiser, continued.

After the party, when I was collapsed on the day-bed, I noticed a flash of movement in Oscar's tank. I leaped to the tank and there was a neon tetra swimming about the tank! A-ma-zing! We had five people actively searching the tank previously, so I find it hard to believe this neon could hide in the tank anywhere other than Oscar's stomach. But, regardless, he was alive, so I flipped him into the small tank. On Tuesday morning, the remaining 6 were alive and healthy. Must be that adrenaline rush they got which helped them survive. I should try that with all my new fish!

Finally, this afternoon I was sitting in my cubicle, talking on the phone, watching my fish, when I noticed a small speck drift past in the tank. I looked closer and discovered it was a very small fish. I glanced up and saw lots of very small fish swimming at the top of the tank. The mama molly had given birth to the fourth batch of babies, right here at Small Computer Support! I guess that makes most of you Aunts and Uncles!

I whisked a few people over to the tank to see, and they politely pointed out that Julie's betta and my mama molly were quietly munching away on the fry. I grabbed Julie's recently-abandoned tank, added some water, and dumped in as many babies as I could, while the other fish ate as many as they could. In the end, though, I had quite a few babies in the tank. They're available for viewing anytime you are. We may even organize a "Guess the number" lottery to see who can come to the closest to the number of babies there are.

Of course, the tank was hardly suitable for life forms, so I rushed off to various pet stores and dropped $25 on miscellaneous stuff. I should be able to squeeze the rest onto a ten-spot. Remember: The Save the Fishes Contribution Corner is going strong. The Fin and Tuna Bay Taker television show is currently being produced to bring our message to everyone who's ever had the urge to reach deep into the pockets to keep someone from being "called home," so that same-said person can continue to preach about how wonderful it will be when we are all "called home."

Well, that's it for this week's edition of the Fish Update. Hope it was enough to satiate your appetite. And you don't have to worry about that "Final chapter" bit -- I'll never stop inundating you with mindless and meaningless fish anecdotes. But then again, you pretty well knew that, didn't you?

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

Canary Islands Tour (November 1999)

It was August 15, 1997, and I was desperately worried about November 17, 1999. I often worry about the future, but not usually with so much accuracy.

The Perseid meteor shower had just passed and the Leonids were coming.  Normally, the Leonids are a minor shower, hardly worth staying up for, but every 33 years they put on an incredible fireworks show.  The last outburst was 1966.

The best place to view the meteors would be the Canary Islands, off the coast of Morocco. A friend, who’d just watched a total solar eclipse in the Caribbean, recommended we go by boat, so Dawn and I took a three-day cruise to see if we even liked cruising. Except for the smoking and a little motion sickness, we had a great time.

Several tours were going to the islands, but none on boats. In fact, I only found only one cruise ship that would be in the area, and their website didn’t even mention the meteor storm. Thankfully that also meant their prices were still reasonable.

One day I telling my neighbor, John, about the trip and jokingly asked, “Wanna come?” To my shock and horror he said, “Sure!” I considered faking my own death to get out of it (Dawn didn’t think I should fake it), but I'm the end we booked an extra ticket.

In seven days we saw five cities in three countries. The first indication we were out of the country was on the flight to Gran Canaria, where they served a breakfast of cheese and cold cuts.  The second was the “exit” signs in the airport, which read “Way Out.”

The catalog pictured a small, sleek ship with a black hull and a pointed prow, revealing its original purpose as a mail ship.  We were ushered onto a bulky, white, stub-nosed ship, announcing its new purpose as tourist transport.  Our cabin was “swinging-70s” (orange, green, and yellow, in that order).  There was a small, inoperable window that overlooked a lifeboat; air came from a single duct that could be opened or closed, but which only carried cold air. It might as well have been labeled “Stuffy” and “Freezing.”

The buffet operated sixteen hours of the day but the food was always bland and boring – clearly they were catering to the British, who made up about 70% of the register. The entertainment was painful with the exception of the lounge act, a quartet of young Brits playing American standards.  I fell in love the first night when they took my request for “It's Only A Paper Moon,” and I listened to them every night. Dawn developed motion sickness and was usually in bed pretty early, so it was nice having John's company. Fortunately, he never asked me to dance.

There were only 700 passengers on a ship that could hold 1,400, so while it was hardly a ghost ship, there was plenty of elbow room and we could generally get away from the smokers. It also meant we kept running into the same people, which was a problem because I didn’t like most of them. The worst was “the Troll,” who complained about to everyone. She sat next to us on the airport shuttle and, presumably because we didn't tell her to shut up, she considered us friends and always sat near us.

Dinner was pre-arranged so we always ate with the same people—three American women from Philadelphia, plus a really nice couple from New Jersey.  Since Dawn was also from Pennsylvania, we tried to engage the women in conversation but they embodied the worst of American tourists—no interest in the local culture, no desire for understanding, no respect. They'd never heard of the Leonid meteor shower and weren't interested; they were only there for sun and some cheap souvenirs.

All of the Canary Islands are of volcanic origin, and on Lanzarote a magma chamber only 1½ miles beneath the surface kept the ground temperature a toasty 200 degrees Fahrenheit.  While comfortable to walk on, it was too hot to touch.  The amazing thing was, there were no barriers; the place hadn’t been “Disneyfied.”  Strictly for the tourists, they would throw a bush into a hole in the ground and watch it catch fire; then they’d pour water down a shaft which responded with an intense geyser of super-heated steam. The most original idea was the restaurant, which barbecued meat over an open pit in the ground. I, of course, leaned over the pit to get a better look and promptly seared off my eyebrows.

Morocco was amazing. My guidebook listed a number of scams to watch out for, and we saw them all.  The first man we met introduced himself as an “official” guide.  With a little haggling, the price of a taxi into town dropped from $40 to $5.  (Then I found out the city was only five minutes away, so even $5 was outrageous!) We asked the taxi to take us to a bank so we could withdraw cash -- he drove past three banks before dropping us off at “his” bank, where he personally introduced us to the banker. Then we were passed off to a merchant who had an uncle who could get us a great deal on a Moroccan rug.

My guidebook also said to avoid asking about two subjects: religion and the royal family.  My first question was about the king, and my second was about Islam.  This was not intentional—the banker, like everyone else, had a picture of King Hassan II on the wall, and I asked if that was the person on the currency.  I found out that Hassan II had died four months ago, and that soon all the money would be changed to have the picture of the new king, Mohammed VI.  Then I remembered the guidebook said Islam forbids the portrayal of any living thing, so I asked why they used a drawing of the king.  The banker was very patient but clearly agitated, and I never got an answer.

Beyond that, the people were all very pleasant, not at all the militant guerillas set on the destruction of everything American, as seen on TV.  We even saw a McDonald’s, although the menu was in French. (History lesson for the day: Morocco became a French protectorate in the 1920s, much to the dismay of the Moroccan people.  They finally regained their independence in 1961, but French is still the second-most common language, and the language of business in Morocco.)  There were no fantastic sights—each new ruler completely destroyed everything that existed before him—and the city was dirty and overcrowded, but the people were lively and spirited.

This was quite a contrast to the tourists I was with. Everyone was either hungry or cold or tired; nobody was happy, excited, or interested.  Dawn and I had always traveled alone, never in a large pack of gaudily dressed tourists intent on making a spectacle out of another culture, and so I was completely surprised by how violent my reaction was.

When the tour bus pulled up to the Koubadi Mosque.  I was actually embarrassed standing outside snapping pictures. (Non-Muslims were not allowed inside.)  At our next stop, a “traditional” Moroccan meal that no Moroccan would be caught dead at, I felt humiliated. On the way back, we stopped at the Hassan II mosque, which is supposed to be the largest religious building in the world. The inside is supposed to be even more spectacular, with artisans from around the country working on it for over six years.  It was one of the few mosques non-Muslims are allowed to enter, but it was closed for the night.  I was really disappointed, and it took all my strength to keep from beating the crap out of the guy on the bus that said, “You’ve seen one mosque you’ve seen ‘em all.”

Maybe I’m just being romantic, but the locals seemed to smile and laugh much more than the tourists.  Maybe they were just smiling and laughing at the tourists.

I also had another revelation. In Morocco, stop signs and lane markers are only suggestions; every person drives according to his whim. But in Morocco, I did not see any “road rage.”  If a car was in the way, you went around; if you couldn’t go around, you waited until the car moved.  There were no rules, so nobody demanded that you follow them, and there seemed to be this quiet acceptance of everyone else.  About ten years ago I had been to Italy, and I absolutely detested it for exactly the same reason—they didn’t follow the rules.  I think maybe I’m ready to visit Italy again.

Madeira could not have been more of a contrast than the volcanic desert of Lanzarote or the impoverished Morocco.  Portuguese by nature (compelling yet another currency conversion), the capital city of Funchal is built on a steep mountain and covered in evergreens and grape vines.  The steep roads led to an innovative tourist attraction: “basket rides.”  Two people sit on a rattan love seat with sleds and are pulled down the hillside and through the city.   Obviously, no liability insurance here, either.)  We purchased six bottles of Madeira wine in total disregard for customs limitations.  (The only other things we'd bought, besides food, were two t-shirts, a pin, two candy bars, a Pez dispenser with a camel wearing a fez, for a grand total of $72.)

Santa Cruz, back in the Canary Islands, was probably the island I was looking forward to the most—its volcanic crater was the tallest mountain in Spain, and the tram ride to the top was supposed to be spectacular.  We rented a car and our tablemate, Mario (half of the nice couple from New Jersey) joined us. Unfortunately he wanted to see the “Black Madonna” (legend had it the Virgin Mary appeared over the ocean as a black woman; historians think it was the prow of a sunken ship that had washed up on shore) and the “pyramids” (two years ago, a developer discovered pyramids very similar to the Mayan ruins, and nobody knows what they are doing here). I didn't actually want to see these - I wanted to drive to the crater - but I was being nice so we saw those first, then dropped Mario and John back at Tenerife, the capital. There was three hours of daylight left and it would take 90 minutes to get to the crater, so it was perfect, as long as everything else went smoothly

We immediately got lost in the city—the road that looked like it led out of the city only led to the docks, so we turned around and got on the main road, which only took us to the other side of the city.  It turned out the first road was correct, we just hadn’t gone far enough.

That had wasted 45 minutes and we were running low on fuel, but I decided to head over the first mountain range and get gas in the next town. The mountain was quite steep on the city side, but the other side was almost a sheer drop into the sea, with a small village nestled between the slope and the surf. Navigating some extraordinarily tight switchbacks, we finally arrived at the village only to be told the nearest gas station was back in Tenerife!

There was no choice but to abandon the crater and return to the city. All the way up the mountain I kept imagining having to walk over the mountain to get gas, then over it again to get back to the car! Somehow we made it and we ended up touring the city instead. While clean and bustling, it lacked the excitement of Morocco and the culture of Madeira, and could have passed for any cosmopolitan city.  It was certainly an anti-climax to the end of our cruise.

The problem I have with books is I fancy myself a closet-author, a pretense I can only maintain while reading trash. To pick up a Tom Robbins novel is to admit defeat. I took John Steinbeck’s, “Travels With Charley,” which not only forced me to accept failure as a writer, but as a traveler as well.  Steinbeck asked the big questions—why are we here, what are we doing, where are we going—and while he may not have found the answers, he both extended his understanding and exposed his ignorance.  I asked the small questions—why are they here, what are they doing now, why won't they go away—and all I came home with were six bottles of wine and a cheap pin.

Oh, I almost forgot the meteor shower. The ship turned off all the lights in the front of the boat at night, which made it perfect for stargazing.  (They also put up little signs that said the deck was closed but we ignored those.)  The entire trip had been cloudy, especially in the evenings, plus the wind picked up and it became quite chilly.  We spent two full nights huddled in coats and blankets, mostly watching clouds. When I got home, I checked the web sites and found that the shower had peaked at about 25 meteors per minute, a far cry from the 2,500 meteors per minute in 1966.

One web site, which predicted this year would be lackluster, also predicted that next year would be good and 2001 would be the best. If they’re correct next year then I’ll try again in 2001. Dawn should be an easy sell; the best viewing will be from Australia.

Tuesday, July 14, 2020

Albuquerque (October 1998)

I'd bought an SLR camera for the 1996 New England Tour, and this was before digital cameras when you still had to buy film. I took 6 rolls with me but I ended using 15--in one weekend! One package I bought included a pin badge for the balloon fiesta, which I stuck on my camera bag. That little freebie lead to me to buying dozens of pin badges from everywhere I went and covering my camera bag! 

I told a friend I wanted to go to the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta and she said she'd always dreamed about going to New Mexico on her birthday which, it turned out, was October 2nd, the day before the Balloon Fiesta. It seemed like fate so I booked plane tickets, a hotel, dinner reservations, and a balloon ride (against my better judgement) for three of us.

I changed jobs right about that point and they sent me to two weeks of orientation in Boston, followed by a week of training in San Francisco. The Friday I returned from San Francisco was the Friday we were leaving for Albuquerque. No problem: The class ended at 2, I could get a flight at 4, I would be home at 5, and the Albuquerque flight was at 8. What could go wrong?

On Tuesday, Dawn called me: Our friend couldn't go. We went over the list of people we might want to spend a weekend with, and then decided to try and cancel the extra seat. Fortunately it wasn't a problem for the airline or the balloon flight (who admitted he was overbooked anyway).

On Friday I got to the airport to find my flight to LA was delayed by an hour. I tried to get on stand-by for an earlier flight, but no luck there. Fortunately I was able to catch Dawn and rearrange the schedule: Instead of picking me up on her way home from work, she would go home and pack, then pick me up at terminal 7 and drive to terminal 1. (LAX is a nightmare.)

Dawn got to terminal 7 and found my luggage, but not me. It turned out my flight was delayed another 30 minutes, but my luggage had taken the earlier flight.

I finally landed, we drove around the airport a few times before finding short-term parking, checked in about 10 minutes to spare. We were ying Southwest Air and they don't assign seats; instead, you board according to the order you check in, and since we were the last to arrive, the only seats available were the ones next to sumo wrestlers and screaming babies.

We arrived in Albuquerque and I went to the car rental desk, who said they'd never heard of me. While I went through our luggage trying to find the confirmation number, Dawn checked with all of the other rental agencies, and discovered that I'd made and cancelled reservations with all of them. She found out something about me that day that I would have preferred she never knew. I finally found the reservation number and the clerk pulled up my record.

The clerk was really nice; he even offered to give us directions to our hotel. This forced me to admit that I didn't know where the hotel was. After he finished laughing at me, he got their address from the phone book and gave us directions. I found most people in Albuquerque were very friendly; I think I could get used to being treated like a human being. The clerk also recommended that we get to the balloon park around 5am to beat the traffic.

We got to our hotel around midnight (Albuquerque is very small and very well laid out on a strict grid, so I only got lost twice) and I set the alarm for 4am. Needless to say, we blew that off. (The alarm clock was across the room so I had to get out of bed in the freezing cold, walk across the room to hit the snooze button, and then get back in bed. I did that four times.) We finally got on the road around 6am, both tired and hungry and grouchy. We followed the traffic until we came to an absolute dead standstill. After 15 minutes we'd moved about 30 feet. Normally, I'd be a screaming maniac at that point, but that morning I was captivated by the "Dawn Patrol." About half a dozen balloons had gone up in the dark, presumably to test the weather. You couldn't see them until they "fired off" (or whatever the correct terminology is) and then they would glow like little light bulbs in the sky. Dawn said they looked like fireflies.

I finally got off the freeway, only to find the surface streets were *much* worse. I parked at a nearby Burger King and Dawn and I hiked about 3 miles to the park. We got there just before 7am, which was when the "mass ascension" was supposed to occur. We watched a few balloons set up, which was pretty interesting: They used a large industrial fan to fill the balloon with air, then they fired the propane to heat the air and cause the balloon to rise. The entire process took only 10-15 minutes, which was amazing considering many of the balloons were over 100 feet tall. There were dozens of balloons and they started taking off one after the other. I was actually a little disappointed because I thought they were all going to take off at once.

However, more balloons filled up and lifted off, and then more, and then more after that! Everywhere we looked, balloons were setting up, and wave after wave of balloons lifted off. Before long there were hundreds of balloons in the sky! It was absolutely magical. If you haven't gone, go--it's an awe-inspiring moments that just makes you deliriously happy.

Most of the balloons were the standard, uh, balloon shape, but there were some wild ones--Pepsi and Mountain Dew in can-shaped balloons, J&B and Early Times in bottle-shaped forms, the Canadian flag in both a box and a maple-leaf shape, a daisy, Mrs. Butterworth, bears, pigs, ducks, a huge cow, and--my favorite--a Canadian mountie, complete with horse! Dawn and I went through 9 rolls of film in an hour and a half. (They estimated that 25 million pictures would be taken during the 10 days of the fiesta--Kodak even had vendors selling rolls of film on the field!)

The balloons just rode the currents back and forth over the city--in fact, that's why the balloon fiesta is held in Albuquerque in October. The winds are usually just right to create a "box" over the city and you can steer the balloon just by changing your altitude. We got to watch some of the balloons land, but most landed outside of the park. (An announcer warned people to get out of the way of a balloon landing because they have the inertia of a two-ton truck.)

Everything was just about finished and I glanced at my watch--it was only 10:30am! We drove to Santa Fe, hit three museums, browsed innumerable stores, and ate dinner. It was not a memorable city, and certainly did not live up to my expectations as an artist's mecca. It certainly had its share of "Santa Fe style" buildings, but they were mixed in and around regular buildings, so on the whole it was pretty uninspiring.

While listening to the radio, we heard an announcement that Badfinger (the 60's band) was playing at Camel Rock, which was an Indian casino just north of Santa Fe. This didn't interest me in the slightest until they mentioned the concert was free, and we went right after dinner. Unfortunately, we soon found out that Badfinger wasn't playing until 10pm (or whenever bingo finished). Since we had to get up at 4am for the balloon ride, we decided to pass.

We woke up at 4:50am (the alarm had been going off since 4:00) and got to the launch site by 6. The morning was cold but calm and we were really getting psyched for the flight. At 6:30, the owner came out and commented on how beautiful the morning was...and that he was canceling the flight. Apparently the winds off the Sandia mountains were gusting at 35mph.

I think Dawn burst into tears. I did a little back-of-the-envelope calculation and realized that he was walking away from about $22,000 dollars for about 4 hours worth of work, so I knew he was pretty serious. (He commented that one balloon cost between $65,000 and $210,000 so risking it for one flight was not in his best interest.) If anyone was paying attention to the news, the next day a balloon did crash and one person was killed. (Not from this outfit, I might add.)

I wasn't terribly upset about the balloon ride--we could always do that somewhere else--but I was upset that the mass ascension and the balloon glow were also cancelled. The balloon glow, which is only held two evenings during the festival, is when the balloons are filled with air and the fire is turned on, but the balloons are sitting on the ground. The pictures look absolutely spectacular, but I guess we'll have to wait until next year to get pictures of our own.

We spent the day in Albuquerque (after a proper breakfast) looking at petroglyphs in the volcanic rubble on the west side of the city, then browsing in shops in Old Town, and finally we took the aerial tram to the top of the Sandia mountains. The tram ride is about 3 miles long, the ascent is nearly 4000', and the vistas are just spectacular. We concluded the day by going back to the balloon park (I was hopeful, but the balloon glow was still cancelled). I also hoped to get some nice sunset pictures, but no such luck. Devastated, I was walking back to the car when we happened to notice the full moon was just rising against the Sandia mountains. It was an awesome sight in the crystal clear skies and I finished off another roll of film.

We are definitely going back next year. We're going to plan earlier, as a lot of hotels book up months in advance; we're going to fly out earlier, so we get a decent night's sleep; we're going to stay at least four days, so if the weather doesn't cooperate one day we won't be stuck; and we're going to bring twice as much film!

Saturday, July 11, 2020

Halloween

Halloween is a big thing in the US - according to the National Retail Federation, it is now the second-largest commercial holiday, just behind Christmas. In 2019, adults spent an estimated US $8.8 billion on costumes, candy, decorations, etc.

When I moved to the UK, Halloween wasn't a big deal (you couldn't even find carving pumpkins) so I gradually lost interest. However, for ten years I hosted an annual pumpkin carving party, inviting friends to make a mess on the deck. (I didn't do anything in 1993 and 1994, 2001 we were on a cruise and I don't have any photos from 2002. In 2005, Dawn moved to Pennsylvania to start the B&B restoration and I don't think I held a party that year. I moved to Pennsylvania in July 2006 and unexpectedly moved back to LA on Halloween that same year. I may have hosted something in my downtown apartment in 2007, but I can't find any photos. Then I moved to the UK in May 2008.

1992

1995

1996

  

1997

1998

1999

2000

2001

2003

2004


I moved to New Zealand in September 2014 and tried to do something with the kids, but they weren't really into it and we had to use food pumpkins, so it just felt wasteful. In 2015 we had an international student staying with us and she'd never carved a pumpkin before so we did it one more time.

2014

2015


I keep talking about growing my own pumpkins but I tried that once and they weren't ready by the end of October, so not only did I have to buy pumpkins but then I had a bunch of pumpkins left over! (I actually carved them to create the 2003 invite, so it wasn't a total loss.)

Friday, July 10, 2020

Christmas 2009-2019 newsletters


 After 2008 I started posting the newsletter to the blog, and you can see them here:

However, I never published the "2016 year in review" (it was in draft form) so here it is for the first time:

I wrote the 2015 newsletter a bit prematurely -- December 10, to be precise -- because just before Chistmas our landlords told us they would not be extending our lease! (They had been living in China and had decided to move home.) We had been thinking about buying a house but I was still out of work and with only one month to find another property, we had no time. Fortunately, the house we'd tried to rent the previous year had just come back on the market and so we were able to immediately make an offer and we ended up renting it. The new landlords were also overseas and they didn't ask for a lease, just a month-to-month contract, so I was a bit concerned they were thinking about moving back but they assured me they had no plans to do so. Our plan was still to buy a house so we were happy leasing month-to-month.

About the same time I was approached by an old co-worker who was starting up a company and asked me to join. I was employee #4 and I started on the same day we moved into the new house. (It was also the day our Internet provider screwed up and it took two weeks to get Internet!) Employee #3 quit after a month so it was just the three of us -- one in California, one in Oxford and me in New Zealand -- trying to build a new concept from scratch, and it has been very intense with crazy hours, but quite exciting.

Things were going really well...for about six weeks. That's when an estate agent showed up at our door to let us know the owners had put the house up for sale! They didn't even have the decency to let us know themselves.We were livid but there wasn't much we could do. Property prices in New Zealand had been on fire, going up 15-20% every year, which was pricing us out of the market. The owners were asking top dollar so we were hoping it wouldn't sell, but at the last minute they got an offer, which turned into a month of negotiating, then the bank submitted its own list of requirements. When it was finally settled, the new owner told us he needed to sell his current house before moving in, so we could stay until the end of November.
My partner is one of those people who hates doctors, hospitals, medicine, etc. She's not into crazy alternative therapies (though we've had heated discussions over the merits of manuka honey), nor is she a stranger to western healthcare (she's had three kids and sliced open her foot once in a freak pane glass window issue) but generally speaking she takes care of herself and keeps away from doctor. However, she started having abdominal issues and the doctors couldn't figure out why. They finally sent her for a CT scan of the entire abdomen which discovered...breast cancer.

Of course that wasn't related to the abdominal issues, but it took immediate precedence. It was a miracle they even found it because the CT scan just happened to catch the corner of her breast, where it was located. Thankfully, the NZ health system is actually quite amazing when it comes to cancer and she quickly had a succession of scans to see if the cancer had spread (it hadn't) and in less than a month she had surgery to remove the tumor.

Unfortunately, she then developed a series of infections which resulted in her being in and out of the hospital several times.The nurses and ED* doctors were great. In fact, two of the ED doctors belong to our synagogue so we got VIP treatment. :-) It was almost two months before my partner was feeling human again and able to go back to work and, more importantly, start the radiation therapy. (As the cancer was localized, they decided to do local radiation rather than chemotherapy.)
Of course all this meant we couldn't search for a house and our deadline was fast approaching. Now, I don't believe in divine intervention, but in mid-November I got a call from the new owner saying he'd just been offered a job in Brisbane so they were moving to Australia and asked if we wanted to stay in the house. It was a Hanukkah miracle.
Around the same time, the eldest daughter decided to move back in with us. The kids' father, who worked overseas and had never been around much, decided it would be funny to alienate the kids from their mom, so every time he visited he would tell the kids outlandish lies about their mom. Being kids, they lacked the rational capacity to see through his nonsense, but every time the kids would come home we'd spend hours calming them down because whatever he told them had freaked them out. (He also had a history of mental illness.) The younger two weren't as susceptible but the eldest was, and he really did a number on her. A few months after she turned 14 he told her she could live with his new wife. (I should note she was Nigerian in her mid-20s with a newborn baby who had just moved to New Zealand, so she was very happy to have a live-in babysitter.)

Of course this violated the custody agreement and we went to court but New Zealand has some very strange laws, including that a 16 year old can choose where they want to live, and that 14 is close enough to 16. So she stayed with her step-mom and had no adult supervision. She cut herself off from her peers and her school attendance (and grades) were disastrous, and there wasn't anything we could do except hope that she came to her senses. It took a year and a half, and I think a large part of that was she couldn't figure out a way to admit to herself she'd made a mistake. When her mom got sick, she quietly moved back in. Unfortunately, we quickly discovered she'd been left feral and had forgotten how to be part of a family, and so on top of everything else we were spending a lot of time dealing with her anti-social behaviours. On top of that, the middle child had flourished in her absence and now saw her older sister as an interloper and has suggested--numerous times--that she should go back to her step-mom's.

(I should note that over much of this period their dad was actually in New Zealand and living about 1km away. The kids made almost no effort to see him, and in fact they ran into him accidentally at the supermarket more often than they went to his house.)

But as 2017 dawns, all is right with the world. We've got all the kids at home again, which can sometimes feel like a chore but always feels like a blessing. We feel like we have a "home" again, even if it is a rental (and we're still hopeful we can buy a house in 2017). We went camping for a couple of days over Christmas and now the kids are at summer camp so we have a little time to ourselves. My partner will be finished with the radiation treatment at the end of January and I've told her she's not allowed to be sick again for at least two years. Between house, health and work, we didn't do much entertaining in 2016, but I'm hoping to pick that up again. We have friends here who are moving back to the States so we're looking to buy their car. (It's a 2008 VW to replace our 2004 Toyota.) So all in all, 2016 could have been better, but it could also have been much, much worse, so I'm very grateful. And, as always, I will remain optimistic about 2017...right until it kicks me in the nuts.

* ED=emergency department, which is A&E in the UK and ER in the States.

P.S. I didn't write reviews for 2017, 2018 or 2019, which is disappointing because the whole point of this was to remind me of all the things I'd done! Now all three years are a blur and all I can remember is this: After surgery and radiation, my partner recovered but I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I quit the start-up but it took almost a year to find another job. In the meantime I served on the Board of Directors for our synagogue and got shingles. In 2017, my stepson had his bar mitzvah and while the family was visiting, I proposed to my partner. We were married March 25, 2018 under a chuppah. In July of 2018 I was hired by MetService, New Zealand's weather agency. We did look for houses, and even made an offer on one, but didn't get it and we continue to live in the same rental. In 2019 our eldest daughter went on a gap year program in Israel and in 2020 she started university.

OK, I think you're all caught up now. Please remind me in December to write something.

Tuesday, July 7, 2020

Christmas 2008 newsletter

Money's tight
Times are hard
Here's your naught-eight
Christmas card...

Apologies for only sending an e-card this year, but postage from the UK to the US is astronomical!

2008 started on a sad note: Alex the iguana passed away in February.  She was 17 years old and graced the cover of every Christmas card from 1994 to 2005.


As you're probably aware, 2006 was a low point for me, and most of 2007 was spent recovering.  If you're not aware: I spent my life's savings restoring an historic property that was in my wife's family, with the intent of moving there and opening a bed and breakfast. When it was finished, however, we got divorced instead, and I ended up with no money, no job, no car, and no home.

That's not entirely true: I still had a home because the house in LA had been on the market for over 6 months without a single offer. Unfortunately, I'd already borrowed almost all of its equity--in fact, I was over a million dollars in debt--so I had to sell the house fast. I decided to get rid of the popcorn ceilings, refresh the kitchen and change the carpet -- things that had been on my to do list for about ten years. For the next four months I was living in my own house with no furnishings save for an inflatable bed, two suitcases, and a mini-fridge. My neighbor loaned me a frying pan, a knife, and a can opener so I could cook. 
I had no car, no WiFi, the house was a construction zone, and my life was in limbo. That was the worst part, not being able to move on, and I was really depressed. Even though I had to walk everywhere, I put on 35 pounds.

It got even more bizarre: When the work was finished, I hired someone to “stage” the house, which meant she put in furniture, paintings, decorations, etc.  Now I was living in my own house with somebody else's stuff and--contractually--I couldn't even sit on the sofa! (I did, anyway.)

The house finally sold in February 2007 for $50,000 less than I'd hoped, so when I say I was flat broke I'm not exaggerating. At the age of 37, I was starting over completely, with no money, no home and no job. So I decided to move to London.


I know it sounds crazy (it was), but I figured if I had to start over, I should do it differently. I thought about all the places I could move to and the only US city that appealed to me was San Francisco, and the only English-speaking country that appealed to me was the UK.

However, for the UK work permit I needed proof of employment for the past 12 months, which I couldn't provide because of the bed and breakfast, so I moved in with my mom (at 37!) and looked for a job in San Francisco. About two weeks later a friend offered me a job in LA. I'd already said I was never going to move back to LA, but after two weeks with my mom, I took it.


One of the things that appealed to me was it was working in downtown LA. I hadn't worked there in 12 years, the homeless outnumbered the residents, but for some reason I loved downtown LA. I rented a funky loft with a spectacular view and a 10 minute walk to work and relied on public transportation. All of my friends thought I was crazy to live in LA without a car but I saw more and did more in that one year than I'd ever done. (And Dawn and I were known for doing things!) I got to experience a whole different side of Los Angeles, and while it didn't make me want to stay, it did make me feel like I wasn't running away.

After working for 12 months, I reapplied for a UK work permit and got it. I quit my job, packed everything into three suitcases, reserved a hotel in London for two weeks, and left. I didn't even have a job lined up, but the economy was booming so I wasn't too worried. That was May 2008. By June the UK economy had collapsed in the "Great Financial Crash."


The night before I left, some friends invited me to a group dinner and I mentioned my crazy plans, and someone said her daughter lived in London and worked in IT, and gave me her phone number. I tried calling her before I left but she never returned my call. I called again when I arrived (and had a local phone number) but she again didn't return my call, so I gave up. I started talking to agencies and sending out my CV and getting to know London. About three weeks later, Jess called me back. Feeling guilty, and knowing I was vegetarian, she offered to buy me lunch at a cafe near Primrose Hill. We met on a Sunday afternoon in June and I was immediately smitten. She was about 18 months younger, with a soft South African accent. (She'd move to London as a teenager.) I didn't want to blow it by talking about my ex-wife, my finances or anything that had happened in the last two years. Naturally, she opened the conversation with, “Are you married?” followed by, “Why did you move to London?” Of course I told her everything.

I was very surprised, then, when she agreed to a proper date. I had butterflies all week and felt like a teenager. The thing is, I'd never dated, I just fell into relationships. I had no idea how to behave but I knew how I felt, so I went with that and hoped I didn't scare her off. During the date I held her hand and after the date I kissed it, and it was all over for me.

She was quite shy and didn't want any photos of her, which meant that for six months I was sending emails to friends and family saying, "I've fallen in love, but I don't have any pictures of her!" I'm sure they all thought I was lying, so in December I brought her back to California with me. In eight days, she met most of my family and about 50 of my friends and co-workers.



So I got a girlfriend but not a job. I kept getting interviews but when I'd call a week later, I was told they had a hiring freeze, or they'd gone out of business. In addition, the week after I transferred all of my savings to the UK, the pound fell 25%! So what I thought would see me through four months only saw me through three months. By August I was seriously considered moving back to the States, but that's when the US economy tanked.

Thankfully I was able to get some money from my IRA and, after three months, I moved out of the hotel and subletted a flat from a woman who had a six-month project in Africa. As summer transitioned to winter, I thought I was going to hate it, but in fact I loved London even more. The only remaining step is to find work, no mean feat given that unemployment here is at a 20-year high.

Happy holidays and best wishes for the new year.


Funny I didn't mention I'd proposed to Jessica in November, on Primrose Hill. She turned me down, saying "it's too soon." Between that, lack of employment, lack of money, being so far from my family and knowing I had to move again in February, I started into a real downward spiral....