Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The fish!

The fish in question
Ever since I was little, I have loved fish.  They were my first pet, the first non-human living thing I loved.  My mother to this day tells stories of planting my bawling infant self in front of the fish tank to finally get some peace and quiet (I was a notoriously cranky child) as I watched the lovely shubunkins and Black Moors waft their way through the water, silky fins flowing in the current.
And now, I have a goldfish all my own.  He is, admittedly, not my first fish, but he is the first fish that requires serious upkeep I have ever owned.  Up till this point I’ve only had Siamese fighting fish, which are considerably less than high maintenance creatures, capable of living in tiny bowls with virtually no care whatsoever, besides feeding and making sure their water doesn’t dry up.  My new goldfish, however, is a step up the care chain.  I have to filter and/or change his water and, at present, am also searching to find him some tankmates before the lonely little thing loses his mind.
As for himself, my goldfish has been subjected to some interesting naming debacles.  Owing to the fact that when I first tried to get him into his tank he swam right back into the emptying plastic bag I was trying to get him out of, my sister named him Stupid.  Initially, I wanted to call him Grell, and name his tank mates after Sebastian and another Black Butler character (probably Agni or Claude) but then other names were suggested and I now find myself in a bit of a pickle.  As such, I’m happy to take suggestions from the peanut gallery.  Be serious, be silly, just toss out ideas.  Post them in the comments or on my twitter.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

The Innsmouth Entry, at long last

Innsmouth by day

The week before the Expo, my mother and I drove to Innsmouth to open our family’s summer home, as well as that of my grandmother, and the various work that entailed was dull and, on occasion, profoundly annoying, but had to be done anyway (one must be careful lest eldritch horrors start nesting in the attic.)  The process has also resulted in some interesting events, such as my nearly getting skewered on a curtain rod, which has at least provided me with some good stories to tell.
As for itself, Innsmouth is a lovely place.  The restaurants out here are some of the best, as is the beer and the wine.  Indeed, during our trip I had to recover from a vicious hangover, courtesy of four glasses of Innsmouth cider that I downed the night before in a fit of bravado.  The people are also great, gills aside.  If you know them and they know you and know that you aren’t going to climb out a window and try to convince people in Newbury Port to drop dynamite in Innsmouth waters, they’ll show you a good time, help you out in a neighborly fashion, and invite you to Esoteric Order of Dagon meetings (go at your own risk).  They also run absolutely awesome stores, which include some of my favorite jewelry boutiques and sources for antiquities. 
Outside of the town itself, the fields and forests in the area are of a vastly different stripe from Dunwich land.  The terrain is often unwelcoming, and it is chock full of mosquitoes who all seem to want to take a bite out of ME (aristocrats apparently taste better than plebeians).  There is one upshot, however:  the woods are home to morel mushrooms, which I, as an intrepid mycophage, pursue with a zeal bordering on the suicidal.  During our time there I spent hours scrambling up hill and down dale, basket in hand, pursuing my elusive quarry.  I also had to fend off the aforementioned bugs, dodge poison ivy, and even face off against other mushroom hunters.  A word to the wise:  If there is one person who you do not want to cross, it is the mushroom hunter.  We HATE other people infringing on what we view as our territory, and though the meeting I had was relatively cordial, all things considered, neither party involved could fully conceal their distrust and abject dislike of the other. 
All good things had to come to an end, however, and I soon had beat a hasty path to the door of the Expo, which I’ve written/am going to write about on my other blog (link forthcoming).  Go have a look!