Big Apple Bible Camp

On Wednesday I took the early Vamoose up to NYC to visit Allie for the day.

We enjoyed the fall weather by eating a slice of corner-pizzaria pizza, getting cupcakes from Magnolia and enjoying them in the park, shopping, riding the subway with various stinky individuals, playing peek-a-boo with Stella, and playing Smooth Moves and Rock Band all night long.

The perfect New York day.

Thursday I got to Penn Station a bit earlier than I'd expected. So, after grabbing a doughnut from Dunkin, I called Blake.

About 10 minutes into our conversation, I noticed that I was surrounded by a rather large group of adolescent Korean boys in grey suits.

Only moments later, they formed a semi-circle directly in front of me and began to sing.

I attempted to continue my conversation, but got more and more distracted as the boys started to sway and snap their fingers with the music. It was also about this time when I noticed that their leader had set up a booth next to them with informational pamphlets and complementary paper-back bibles, and that the songs they were singing (although poorly accented) were "come to Jesus" songs.

It's not that I don't want to come to Jesus, it's just that I don't want to be led to him by the Korean Von-Trap family. Plus, because I could no longer concentrate on my conversation, and because this kind scene only happens in the well scripted seasons of Gilmore Girls (Lane Kim, I feel your pain), I started walking quickly down the block in a less righteous-looking direction.

I thought I was safe. I was wrong. The further I walked, the more surrounded by young Koreans I became. They piled out of buses like kids at Disneyland, and ran to join their singing colleagues.

Then I saw a sign. A sign in the form of an advertisement on the "Fuse" board. Pastor Soo Something-or-Other is in town for the weekend directing a Bible camp.

I won't be attending.

Social Awareness.

After killing my third fish, my concern grew. What is wrong with me? Maybe I shouldn't buy anymore fish.

So, instead of going to Petco, I went downtown to the National Aquarium. The fish there are behind sturdy plexiglass and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to kill them.

I wandered around the Smithsonians for a bit looking for the aquarium before I finally chacha'd it and was directed to the basement of the National Commerce building. Yes, the National Aquarium is in the basement of the National Commerce building. Go figure.

It's a fairly depressing display. It's about the size and shape of a college classroom. Dark, and rather dreary.

Despite the dismal appearance, I payed the $7.00 entrance fee and headed straight towards the tank with the pacific sea turtle. I like turtles.

There was a couple in front of the tank taking pictures of the turtle, who was happily swimming around the tank. They were oohing and ahhing and holding their 2-month-old baby up to the glass to see it. They took pictures with their cell phones and with two cameras --all while capturing it all on a camcorder.

I waited patiently.

I wanted to see the turtle.

I gave up waiting patiently after 20 minutes.

I started circling closer and closer to the tank.

I stood right next to them.

Right behind them.

Tried to stand in front of them.

It didn't work. They stayed there another 20 minutes.

When they finally left, I rushed over to the tank only to find the turtle fast asleep under a rock.

Just my luck.

I'm never going back there again.

Part of the Unemployment Statistic.

Unfortunately, I don't have much to report.

I'm continuing my job search and crossing my fingers that my most recent interview on the hill pans out.

I killed another fish. The new fish is Mr. Bumby the 2nd. This makes me feel better about flushing the old Mr. Bumby. This one has a prettier tail and is happier now that I found out to provide my fish with spring water. Apparently the water from my tap (even after I'd run it through the filter) had too many chemicals and that's what had kept killing my fish. I'm glad to know it wasn't me. But also sad to know that all that death could have been prevented. Now my fish lives in style in store-bought water.

My dad always complained that we spent too much money on my dog. We even had to get her medicine for her allergies because, apparently, she's allergic to "tall grasses" and would get sneezey and itchy every time she escaped the yard and wandered in the empty lots by our house. What a pampered animal.

And now I'm continuing the tradition by a weekly purchase of pure spring water for my Mr. Bumby (II).

That proves it. I'm not going to be a horrible mom someday. After fish #3 died, I'll admit I was a little worried about my future as a parent, but now I'm feeling better about the prospect. No dead children on my watch...though I'm assuming it's not as simple as bottled spring water.

Life After Death

I got a new fish.

Just one this time. To replace the other two that I killed after only a week.

This one is a betta fish. He's dark blue and his name is Mr. Bumby.

So, there is life for Mr. Bumby after the untimely deaths of Clementine and Orangina.

Betta fish are virtually indestructible and I'm hoping mine follows suit. I don't think I could bear it if I killed another innocent pet.

Wish me luck.

Day of Death

You were lost and gone forever, oh my darlin' Clementine...

Last week Blake and I bought goldfish. They're not just any goldfish either. They're extremely fat, unbalanced goldfish. I named mine Clementine because it was roughly the shape and color of a ripe clementine. Blake named his Orangina because (you guessed it) it was the color of orangina --although, not the shape of orangina.

I was excited to be a pet owner.

Yesterday, I sat down at my computer to write a blog post about my new fish. I had the picture and was about halfway through writing it, when I got on a tangent and decided that I was going to be a good pet owner and change the water in the fish bowl for the first time. So, I put my writing aside and scooped the fishbowl up and headed to the kitchen. I cleaned the bowl, put new water in and put the fish in and brought them back to my room.

I sat down at my desk to continue writing.

Ten minutes later I noticed that Orangina and Clementine were floating, belly-up in their bowl. Not just belly-up, but belly-up-and-out. Their stomachs were so huge that they were floating well-above the water...like little blimps that had tried to do a loop-the-loop and gotten stuck.

I saw that they were still breathing, so for a long while I tried to revive them. I thought the water might be too warm, so I put ice cubes in the water. I thought they might not have enough oxygen, so I took a straw and blew bubbles into the bowl.

Then I gave up.

Then I had to flush them down the toilet.

Then I was very sad.

Then I erased the blog post about how I was such a good pet owner.

**********

A couple hours later, I went out to my balcony to sit on my new chairs and to admire the new lantern and candle that I'd set up. The candle, which was brand new on Monday, had melted in the hot sun. Now it's bent.

Now it looks like this:

I kill fish, and I kill candles too.