Sometimes It Takes A Fish

The Big City

Part 25 of 28

If you have a million people in the Big City, imagine how many fish there's gotta be. I've only have old statistics here -- the last official census of fish took place in 1950 -- but the numbers are undoubtedly close enough to at least get a rough idea. In 1950, though, it was established there were 4 million fish for every million people. Which sounds high, but think how that averages out, something like four fish for every person. I'm just gonna pause and take that in ..... Wow .... Plus, fish die fast but they breed like crazy, often times even eating their young, doing their best to keep overpopulation in check. It follows then, every time four fish die, one person goes too.

I myself was a big expert in fish many years ago when I worked at an aquarium store. Among my takeaways in this field, you should buy whatever life insurance is available because fish drop dead pretty much without warning. And eat their young, as just mentioned. But lots of things happen, something goes wrong with the heater, or there’s the least bit of bacteria, or if you turn the light on at night and interrupt their sleep, that alone can kill off half the colony. Anytime you have fish and the majority of them live to see tomorrow, you’ve succeeded. But don’t get too comfortable, because just because they lived to see tomorrow once doesn’t mean they’ll set any records by doing it again.

So, really, the only way to guarantee that you’ll have any fish at all, is to have ten times more than you want. At the aquarium store we had a supplier who I’m sure would give us a few dying fish just to maintain his business. Because it’s impossible to trace, these shysters will do anything, all with a completely innocent face. It’s definitely true, though, that you’re not going to send the bodies in for post-mortems, because the expense outweighs the profit. And it’s always your word against theirs. Making you stop and think, convincing yourself of the impossible, maybe I was a bad owner and that explains the massacre.

Anyway, fish are a pain in the ass, but they’re also good, and a comfort to dwellers in the Big City who may not have other friends. The Big City, of course, has no paucity of people, which is what makes it big. But in the nameless faceless crowds of people there aren’t that many close friends. They’re speeding by, usually with a bad muffler, making a nuisance of themselves. Why would you want them for a friend even if you could? My biggest obstacle to making new friends is the fear that they’ll eventually rob me blind. Whereas back in the small town, sure there’s criminals, but it’s only a fear, nothing to presume.

That leaves pets. Dogs, you have to go out in public so they can poop. Cats, there’s so many wild cats in the Big City, they’re sure to corrupt your own cats. I had a neighbor guy who was stupid when it came to cats, the cat had kittens, which pissed off his landlord (my friend wasn’t actually paying rent but living free as a kind of caretaker of the house to keep out criminals) who didn’t want cats peeing and pooping all over his place. Which happened when the kittens were unfortunately born: I lost my friend because he vanished one night.

What, though, if he would’ve had fish and not a cat? Obviously everything would’ve been different, a more positive outcome. Are you lonely in the Big City of a million other lonely people? Get a fish, it’ll keep you from being thrown out.

Yuge, Yumbo Problems

 

Chapter 6 (2nd part) of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

The Law of the Forest

Andrade told the Yumboa, a tribe of Indians, the easiest way to get to the mouth of the Yasuni River. But they were very shy about entering a place of ill repute and didn't want to go. Little by little, though, they were persuaded to accompany the expedition. So off they went, 'Yasuni River, Here We Come!' The name Yasuni means long river. It's also sluggish and deep, covered with deep verdure in places, so you feel like you're right in the heart of the forest.

Once there, the Indians enjoyed excellent hunting, getting lots of monkeys from at least 13 different species. Up de Graff even started a collection of monkey skulls that he pulled from the pot as they cooked. Wild turkeys were also numerous and tapirs were seen daily, so there was no shortage of good meat. There was also a lot of fish, including piranha. One was hooked and fell to the bottom of the boat, where thrashing around it made a wound like a miniature shark on Jack's feet. I can imagine the screaming and thrashing around if, say, the boat had tipped over, the churning of the water. Then total quiet except for some last sad gurgling. Fortunately, that didn't happen.   

Among the wildlife was also the anaconda, the largest snake in the world. They can grow up to 50 feet. While bathing one morning, Up de Graff felt something heave under him, which turned out to be an anaconda about 30 feet long. They killed it with a shot that cut it in two, near the head, then dragged it ashore. I myself saw a snake about that big in a missionary meeting when I was a kid. The strangest thing I ever saw in church, except for some of the ladies' hair.

On they went, day by day, deeper into the Unknown. One of their principal sports was hunting the masquisapa, the largest monkey, jet-black with white markings on its face and head, and a long prehensile tail like animated rope with five ends. These are good sport because you can never get a still shot. But the Indians are better at hunting them with various skills they've developed over time. 'Sit still, you big lummox, so I can get a decent shot!' Very uncooperative.

After a while the idea occurred to them to strike inland and build a permanent camp for the area. They left the boat bottom up and followed a long hunting trail. It was so far they were 18 hours from the canoe! They built two shelters, one for Jack and Up de Graff and the other for the Yumbos. But they got a fairly rude awakening in the morning, when they discovered the Yumbos had abandoned them!

It might be fitting to roll the slow motion collage of their time with the Yumbos, with a cloying instrumental of "The Way We Were." The caption at the bottom about them meeting is: "At first they seemed very shy of entering the place of evil repute." Hold it, stop the film. Yes, little by little, they persuaded them, extra pay, a promise of return if there was anything bad awaiting them, etc. And "finally" they consented to go! All page 65. Now a scant 10 pages later they've abandoned them. My verdict around 130 years later, you should've seen it coming.

Fish & Crawdads

No. 11 of 31 -- Thermometer series

Something important to all of us these days is our opinion. We're overcome with opinions, clearly. I'm of the opinion people are wacko crazy, not knowing what's good for them. But just wait. Evolution, and its more immediate cousin, Mortality, will take care of it. Just you wait...

In the meantime, Fish and Crawdads is the answer, keeping the two separate, but knowing they go together. You want Fish, you need Crawdads, you need Crawdads to get Fish. We used to catch Crawdads and keep tubs of them in the shade of our bigger maple tree. They were happy, they couldn't get out, and they did their job, catching Fish. Which we ate.

Fish and Crawdads of course both have the meat of the goodie and the refuse of the baddie. (A term I just coined to have an opposite to goodie.) The meat of the Fish you prepare for meals, the baddie you discard, guts, heads, scales. On the Crawdad, the meat is a small white piece under the tail, big to the Crawdad but small compared to the baddie. And some of them go full King Kong with baddie, enormous claws and heads, then down to, at best, an above average goodie.

Now, these days, your opinion can be the most cantankerous part of yourself. We can stand your loud grating voice, as long as you're paying dues, but if you can't stifle the a-hole opinions, it might get you killed. I personally don’t know very many people who’ve gotten killed for their opinions. If I knew of one, that's someone I wouldn't have had much to do with in the first place. My opinion, Steer clear of certain death!

What we’re concerned with these days is the blog, keeping it healthy, keeping track of it with these great thermometers -- boxes and boxes of beautiful thermometers -- and seeking its survival and prosperity in a world of readers who frankly don’t know their digestion outlet from a hole in the ground. Let alone what to do with it, although I suppose everyone has the basics of that down by simple nature. One important clue, it's not for cucumbers. So we've got that much, but what we haven’t all got is an understanding of the process scientifically. A baby has the diaper strapped on but has no clue what for.

As this great effort goes forth -- filling thermometers, not diapers -- we shall do it in a similar spirit. Doing our best along the way, not worrying too much, and not even trying to understand the steps. Just doing it and worrying about the results when we clean up. But one thing of huge importance is not getting down in the dirt with these bastards and their crazy opinions! Because it'd only spring back on us. So we need a signal. Some bastard shows up, we whistle. That's the signal. Then when we're mostly out of view, twirl your finger by your ear. Meaning he's loopy.

Politics, yes, politics is always in the air at our meetings. But we’ve come this far — I don’t want to ruin it by lambasting too many folks and prematurely driving a wedge between us in spirit. I have to keep telling myself, "Fish and Crawdads," the mission, the goal first. Then someday, after all this is a huge success, only then can our meat of the goodie be openly telling them off and where to get off -- maybe even ceremonially stripping them and attaching Crawdads to the fleshier bits --  then showing them the door.

We used to get rid of fish baddie by dropping it to the turtles, enormous turtles, like a yardstick across. That's a good way to get rid of things. I saw it happen. And no one ever got caught.

Tough Fishing at Silage City

FISH AT BARGAIN PRICES -- I've got an inside line on a great value on fish, if you can manage to get it home. (I have an idea how it could be done, more on that later.)

This is at Dick's Thrifty Econo-Valu Food Smartmart up in Silage City, so not too far from anyone. Not to be confused with Maude's Discount Groceries & Pastries of Walter Falls. Entirely different place. Of course Dick's has the full cash register and moving grocery conveyor and Maude has the cash drawer and table for your things.

Anyway, Dick's has this really sweet special on fish, but only for a limited time -- it's been going on six months now -- at 79 cents a pound. What's it called? I don't know, it's sort of flat bony fish with a spine that doesn't quit. Very flexible, you're not wasting sacks getting it home, it folds up real good.

The big problem -- if that's what you want to call it -- is the game warden in Silage City is on the look out for anyone with fish who doesn't have a valid fishing license. And not just the plain old state license, it needs the Silage City stamp. You haven't got the stamp, it's a $100 fine.

The guy who told me about this special, and 79 cents is a killer price, got stopped right outside of town. Just like the guy knew he was coming. He's leaving Dick's, headed east, when the light comes on and he's stopped. "Are there fish in this car?" the game warden asks, and of course it leads to the sack and the wrapped up fish. The short version of his complaint is this, "How do I know you didn't catch those fish and wrap them up yourself?" Which indeed would be a good way of rigging the system in your favor!

"But it has the price sticker right there and it says "Dick's." "But how do I know you didn't take that off other groceries and paste it there?" Great question, and for that matter how does he know you didn't just print it on your printer? I can see the game warden's point, even if I suspect foul play on his part. "But I don't have a fishing rod with me?" "How do I know you didn't hide it down by the lake?" It's tough to come up with answers, isn't it!

So the guy gets a $100 fine, which takes away, obviously, some of the savings he counted on when he took advantage of the 79 cent special. That's a sad thought.

But I've got a happier thought, which is this, how we could get away with it. One, I show up at Dick's with a very smokin' vehicle and simply outrun the game warden. I think he's still driving the old standard issue green truck he's always had. That's dicey, though, because he might send word ahead and you'd be paying other fines. Probably a better plan would be this, for a bunch of us to show up, buy fish, and all of us just take different roads home. He couldn't catch us all!

Whoever gets caught's a rotten egg.

Here's another issue. Who do I think is alerting the game warden? It's a huge mystery. But my first suspicion has to be someone at Dick's store. Maybe Dick himself, since they're cousins.

Major Spill -- When Walter Comes Marching Home

The life of Walter Spill had elements of the ordinary and the extraordinary. He was a military man, a family man, and a big wheel in the community. He wheeled and dealed himself into a dizzying life as an entrepreneur, making a lot of money and friends along the way. Then, like anyone who lives long enough, he died, with his bones gathered up and laid to rest with honors in Memorial Cemetery.

Was he summa cum laude or magnum cum laude in school? No, he was just an average guy, with, as it turned out, a potential far exceeding average. His nation called and he answered, working his way up, about as far as a man can go, to the office of Major. Major Spill was a leader of men and a friend to all. He was the kind of guy you could count on to not desert you when the going got rough ... as it always does.

I spoke with one of the old-timers of town about Walter Spill, Dr. James Molar. One day they had a newspaper article about Walter in the Daily News, otherwise I probably would have never heard about him. (For copyright purposes, I will not quote from the newspaper account, but will simply do my best to paraphrase the key points of his life story as they come to mind, as well as my poor memory allows.)

The old-timer was a man who served with Major Spill, going back to his war service. The old veterans hate to talk about their military service, like pulling teeth, but if you pry diligently enough, going for all the angles, getting leverage, etc., finally you can loosen up the toughest molar. Anyway, this old boy, now frail and walking with a cane, bent with age, granted me a sit-down. We were at a particular cafe, a neutral site.

"So you served with Major Spill?" "Yes, that's right," his old friend, Dr. Molar, struggled to say, rasping, with each word a struggle. "You were together those years?" "Yes," he said with slight impatience, "That would appear to be what I carefully delineated a moment ago, with no excess verbiage added to the mix that might confuse you." I thought, "OK, I've got it..."

"What kind of leader was Walter Spill?" "A good leader," Dr. Molar managed to say, simply. But I dug deeper. "He was good, you say?" "Yes, good. By that I mean he excelled as a leader of men, prompted by some powerful inner source of fortitude and determination that is rare by any measure. The odds were against us, and as these things go, of course you have no guarantee of tomorrow. But the Major was fearless, prompting all of us to call forth our own bravery, till then an unknown presence."

"The newspaper said there was one battle where next-to-no one came out alive." "Yes, it was bad." "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad was it?" With that, Dr. Molar struggled to his feet and left the room, and that's the last I saw of him. Leaving me to surmise that Major Spill and the others went together into battle with heavy odds against them, no doubt attributable to a larger or stronger contingency arrayed against them, with only one man of this side's force able to reemerge, that man being Major Spill himself.

The newspaper, just summarizing here, also told of Walter's poker-playing skills, Dr. Molar being their likely source. Just briefly, he had one hell of a poker face. Beyond that, quoting, "Of course all the other aspects of poker as a game, and the Major's keen gamesmanship at it, had to factor in, including his ability to read other players, his ability to compute the odds at any particular moment, along with that intangible thing we simply have to call luck."

After the war, Major Spill -- Walter -- came home and settled right here, back in his hometown. It was the post-war years, when new neighborhoods had to be developed. Walter settled into a career combination of city-planning, real estate, and cheap architecture. By now, of course, he was simply Mr. Walter Spill. There was a large profit to be made, with men coming home throughout those boom years.

Again, from the newspaper: "Socially, we were going from a more centralized arrangement of tight traditional neighborhoods toward the city's outskirts and beyond. It wasn't exactly sprawl, with the negative connotations of that word, but a natural widening of the local parameters, a thing of pride at the time. You annex, you pave, you make winding roads through the neighborhoods, you plant the same tree. At first the cheapness of the houses was a virtue, but naturally they quickly go to pot, after many years of hard use." As above, I take it Dr. Molar was the source of this quote as well.

How Easy Do Rabbit Heads Pull Off?

I have a bunch of rabbits in my yard. I see them everyday. They haven't been thinned out now for generations, meaning rabbit generations. Grandpa used to make traps for them, and we'd eat a lot of rabbit. But since his death, I have pretty much given up the old ways. Now I eat store-bought food, and I can't think of the last time the store had rabbit.

I used to go hunting for rabbits. Of course this was an activity that came from my grandpa and the other male members of the family. We'd get up bright and early, between September and February, and head out to the ditches in the country. You needed a .410 shotgun for rabbits. But you couldn't legally have your shotgun already put together in the car, so you needed to stop, get the gun pieces, put it together, and get it loaded, and hope, in all that time, that the rabbit wasn't already gone. Rabbits must be very dumb, because we'd still get lots of them.

As for the skinning of a rabbit, naturally it was the same whether you shot them or caught them in a trap. The first thing you do is pull their head off. And it's remarkable, but there's nothing easier in the world than pulling off a rabbit's head. You put it under your shoe or boot, holding it by the back legs, and pull. You don't even need to strain yourself, because their heads come off like they're held on by a single thread. Nothing easier. Maybe waving hi.

These days, to tell the truth, I hate killing anything. The other day I destroyed the appearance of an iPod player to rescue a gnat. That's how much I hate killing. Although, to be honest, I've killed a few bugs that have suddenly landed on me. It's just an instinctual reaction, happening just that quick, and didn't come from my considered judgment. A small spider was in the sink and I was very considerate of its well-being. But back then, we ate rabbits, squirrels, pheasants, turtles, raccoons, 'possums, and every variety of fish. I was raised by people who lived through the Depression. We ate dandelion plants from the yard! And it was all good, too...

That meant I'd personally get a rabbit every now and then. And it was actually not that disagreeable to pull off their heads. They're obviously designed to come off easily. God knew they'd be way down the food chain, so why give them good neck muscles? Connect them with the sinew equivalent of Scotch tape and be done with it. A rabbit gets up in the middle of the night for a midnight snack and trips over a rock ... whoops, lost his head!

I said that about God and the food chain. That might be the real story on rabbits' heads. But there's other critters down there with them, squirrels and fish come to mind, and their heads are on good and secure. I can't remember what we did with squirrels, but obviously their heads don't come off as easily as rabbits, because that's something I would remember.

Rabbits' heads are barely attached. We can go our whole lives without seeing another human decapitated. Not rabbits.

The Fish I Saved

I just wrote about a fish I saved.

I didn't waste any time getting it back in the water. But later I was thinking about it, that I seemed to remember some mythology, or some fairy tale, about a fish that asks favors or grants favors.

Let's say the fish does a little of each, asks and grants. This might be like a transcendental story, the fish wants to become more than it is, so it seeks a favor, then it becomes a princess. Or it might be one of those depth psychology fish, where it stands for your hidden, repressed qualities, but if you minister to it, you are transformed.

I wasn't going to wait around to find out, because this fish needed to get back into the water, pronto!

Later, then, I'm reflecting on it, and wondering what I would do if the fish had asked me a favor or offered a boon. But my basic psyche is set to do this, to say, "This is no time to be asking favors or grant boons, you need to get back in the water, now!" "But, but!" "No buts about it, back in the water you go!"

Let's say it happened that way. Then, even later, I'm reflecting again, going, "I really screwed up big-time, I could've had a favor!" You remember, Jesus and St. Peter found a coin in a fish's mouth. Look it up in your Jung book!

I'm veering this toward a happy ending for me, in case you can't tell. Despite my later rumination, what I did in the pressure of the moment is what counts, that's where my true character lies. I did the right thing, eschewing any benefits that might have been mine. Because, obviously, the fish needed to be in the water.

Here's what might have happened. A beautiful queen shows up at my door, telling me the incredible story that she had been a fish and had suffered greatly. An evil magician, let's call him Sqerlin, had hexed her, for whatever reason, and the only one who could restore her would be an honorable man. Sqerlin of course doesn't believe in honorable men, so now he's governing her land and doing a piss poor job of it.

So she shows up at my door, decked out in gold, silver, and a long silk train, stretching from my front door all the way to the garage. Telling me a fish story that -- hmm, it's awakening some recognition in me -- and that she now knew an honorable man. I say, "Who is he?", being of course very humble as well.

She touches my forehead, bringing me instant recognition -- a series of flashes gives me the whole truth. She was the catfish on the bank! A parade of dishonorable men had passed her for centuries! She was literally down to her very last minute of life -- after centuries! -- when I showed up, miraculously.

It really is miraculous that I showed up, because I'd never been there before -- it was one in a trillion.

And instead of waiting for a boon, I had selflessly put her back in the water! How honorable I was!

She falls into my arms, we hug and kiss, then we come up for air before falling into one another's arms again, hugging and kissing some more. It goes on like that for a while, until I take her out to Long John Silver's for a nice fish dinner, before retiring back to my ... private quarters. Where she is anything but a dead fish! In fact she's quite feisty, putting up a play fight and making me really work at it to eventually land her. Like anyone, once she's had the best, she's hooked for life...

Then she explains to me there's no time to lose. If we don't get back to the palace before midnight -- and it's five till now -- Sqerlin will officially be king. As if in a dream ship, in no time, we're there in her realm. I pound down the gates, we rush into the palace, I kill Sqerlin, the queen is restored, and I am proclaimed King of the Realm!

All this ... because I was honorable enough to save a fish when I had the chance...

I Take Life, I Give Life

It's forever ago that I've had to kill anything (excluding the occasional mosquito or ants). I don't like killing at all. I'm like the old reflective gunslinger who's simply had enough of bloodshed.

But lately there's been a mouse at my place, terrorizing me, ripping into bags of Oreos and corn chips and who knows what all. One night I was sitting there and heard a noise but just figured it was my dog Underbrush, but when I looked, she wasn't there! That's when I discovered, there's some other life form in the house!

Since then I had been trying to catch it. The first time the trap just set there for several days, nothing. Then, because this is one of the newer mousetraps that don't work as well, the mouse ate the corn chip but didn't get caught. Then a couple days ago I reset it and made it more sensitive, with the mouse finally getting caught this morning.

I got up and looked to where the mousetrap was but it wasn't there. Just a little more looking and I discovered it with a mouse in it that was still alive. His head was under the bar but he wasn't dead -- O crap! There'd surely be no releasing him in the wild, because the bar had to have done severe damage.

This is very unpleasant for me to say, but it was simply out of mercy, that I had to take the thing outside and kill it, as quickly and mercifully as possible. That was a terrible way to start my day, and I could barely think of anything else afterward, feeling very sick.

Later in the morning, then, I went out to the country, taking pictures. I have my iPod camera and I like some of the pictures I get. I was messing around at this bridge, a place I've never actually stopped before. So it was a one in a trillion kind of thing that I happened to be there.

I climbed down the bank, went down below the bridge, saw a cool shot maybe 50 yards to the east, near some dead trees with water way up them. I went over, took my pictures, then headed back. While going, then, I saw a good sized catfish on the ground, some bloodiness on its mouth area, but it was still moving its tail.

There was no one around, yet someone, maybe an hour before, maybe 10 minutes, whatever, had left a catfish behind. How terrible, because a catfish is a desirable fish, nothing to leave to die on the bank. Unlike, say, a carp, or something worse, something that is technically illegal to throw back. A catfish is far from that category!

So I got a hold of its tail and put it back in the water. It started moving and swam slowly away. Of course I have no idea what will become of it, whether it will survive, but you have to admit its odds are better in the water than on the bank!

I don't know why I had this kind of morning. I haven't seen a dead mouse in years and I don't know that I've ever come upon a live catfish on the bank before. Anyway, the bottom line is, I both killed and preserved life, all in one morning...

Residential Industrialists Gaining Dominance

It looks like they don't think it's so funny now!

The major industrial powers, at first taunting and ridiculing the Residential Industrial Movement (RIM) -- "rank amateurs," "pathetic in every way," and "newbies" -- are now reeling from its impact. The combination of unlimited goods and extremely low prices has been too much for the big guys.

Like always, there's a lot more going on behind the scenes than what anyone sees. But because what we see is a lot of panic and resistance, it has to be insane behind the scenes. I can well imagine what's going on, and some of this leaks out to those who are paying attention. Of course the phone lines to the government are burning up, as they seek a renewed advantage. And we're burning them up too, flexing our new muscles for our own interests.

I myself am just at the periphery -- the bigger boys have taken over. But I'm getting the word. It's filtering up to me from a network of cousins in the know, and of course some of the bigger residential manufacturers of my town. What I can say about it exactly is limited because all eyes are on this blog, and, as they say, "Loose lips sink nascent grassroot movements."

I was watching the show on TV, "River Monsters," and it made me think of some of the parallels between that and industrialism. In case you don't know, there's a host who's always off to fish in some exotic location, looking for "river monsters" in the area that are blamed for missing children, missing boats, and missing TV hosts. He does his investigations by spending the entire hour trying to catch one of these gigantic fish. Then he examines it, pronounces it innocent and gently releases it back. Two days later, we hear of an entire village missing but no one sees the connection.

Anyway, one of the themes is that some of these monstrous fish are introduced to a particular area, meaning they upset the natural ecology there and tend to have the upper hand against native species. They eat up the entire habitat and other fish. By the time the TV cameras get there, there's little left except a puddle of water and this one species, looking very innocent and content.

You can see something of what's going on with the RIM. We introduced the concept of "Every Man With An Industry." The 'other species,' the major industrial powers didn't see it coming till it was too late, and now we're on the verge of complete domination in all the fields of manufacturing and industry. Of course they're going to fight back ... with all they've got ... with all they've got left ...

The God Of The Fishes

Time to feed the fish. You ever notice how tough it is when you go out to fish? You throw the line out and the bait hits the water and immediately sinks out of sight. Then it's down there, taking it easy. Not a fish in sight.

I've done that lots of times. Waiting, waiting, waiting, and nothing shows up. At times that's the way it is. So you're sitting there, praying to the God of the fishes that a fish will come along stupid enough to take the bait. But maybe that's why they call him the God of the fishes, because he's on the fishes' side. So nothing.

I used to go out with Grandpa, who was a masterful fisherman. I don't know where he got it. It had to be his nature, that's all. He grew up in the wild, in a tiny speck of a town in Missouri, with a big river in his back yard. So he was probably down there like Huck Finn, communing with the fish, and well acquainted with the God of the fishes. Somehow he got fishing and the success at it in his blood.

By the time I was born, then grew up enough to know what fishing was, he was in his late '50s and early '60s. He had all those years of being a master, and he tried to pass it on to me. Which happened a little bit -- especially when he was with me. He had the idea that farting on your bait was a good thing. I think I mentioned that before.

That of course would make an objective difference to the bait. Unlike other things that would be more in the realm of the superstitious. Like sitting in a particular way, pretending you're ignoring your pole, or praying to the God of the fishes. And it is a well known truth that some fish like "stink bait," so I don't know -- it'd be nice if a present day Grandpa would weigh in on this subject. Mine's dead, but I know that was one of his opinions.

I was checking out the fish in the aquarium. Just passing by. And they're so used to getting fed that they're clustering over by the glass all the time when someone gets near. Especially at feeding time. So they're creatures of habit. And know enough to know when it's feeding time. They're not like they are in the wild, going somewhere else to eat.

Of course they haven't got much choice about what to eat. It's some kind of flaky stuff that lasts forever. Sprinkled out of a can. I think it's dried and flaked worms or some other ex-living creature, plankton maybe. No telling if farting on it would make them like it better. They don't seem to need any additional incentive to take the bait.

That reminds me. And this is a cruel, terrible story. I knew a guy who raised catfish in his pond. He went down there with a bucket of whatever ... to feed them in the morning and maybe in the evening. They came swooping up to the surface and got just like the domestic fish in the tank. It was a sight to see, the swarming. And these were big fish, as big as a newspaper lengthwise.

The cruel part is that whenever he wanted a fish or two to eat, whatever he threw in had a hook in it, and up they came. Never knowing what happened. The God of the fishes in that case must've been on the guy's side. Or the fish themselves had failed their God, not depending on him for their sense, but going off on their own path.

Whatever it is, fish have to eat. Just make sure there isn't a hook in there somewhere. Like fish in the wild do.

Primitive Fish

I happened to see about five minutes of a fish show on Animal Planet. I wish I would have seen the whole thing, since I like fishing, fish, the whole scene.

The first one I saw, some guys hauled in a 200 and some pound gar -- an alligator gar, meaning it's head looks sort of like an alligator's. These are primitive fish, in that they -- I don't know why. They just are. I guess they have features, appendages that other fish have lost over the years. I think they said it had a weird kind of lung system.

The other one, I didn't catch the name of. But it also breathes partially with a lung or two. And the guy fishing for it noticed it was stuck. The fight was suddenly gone. So it was tangled up in some way. But since it needs to come up to breathe once in a while, it was going to suffocate if it were left at the bottom. So another guy wades out and dives down and untangles the whole works. This leaves the fishing guy a new opportunity to pull the fish in.

They have a big net basket they put it in. It's humongous. They look at it for a while, pose with it, then they let it swim off.

Those primitive fish remind me of rough fish. Rough fish can be good to eat, if you prepare them right, like carp. But for the most part, buffalo fish, gar, chubs, all that -- they're not good. Something wrong with them for eating is what Grandpa always told us.

We used to do a lot of fishing. Grandpa knew almost everything about fishing. I learned a lot of it when I was a kid but forgot most of it. A lot of it was just seat-of-the-pants kinds of information. If you went on TV and tried to do some of it, they'd laugh you off. I know Grandpa thought it was helpful to fart on your bait. And I haven't seen a show where they do that!

One interesting bit of fish trivia. My family (Grandpa, etc.) used to make some kind of doughball bait to catch carp with. It was cinnamon, with bread dough, and sugar worked in there. It was actually good to pull a piece out of with your finger and eat. Until you've had fish on your hands and are going back for more bait.

An Aquarium? -- Part 2

I really should get me one of those 10 gallon jobbies at Walmart. I saw it, I had my eye on it, it seems like a good idea.

There are very few downsides to the idea and plenty of positives, just thinking about it for a minute.

The positives include:

1. Nature -- I've always been a lover of nature. Fish belong to nature. There's nothing so pastoral and romantic than natural things. An aquarium is like watching heaven go by.

2. Easy Care -- All you have to do is feed them, clean them once in a while, and squirt in some anti-disease dope every couple months. Other than that, it's nothing but pure enjoyment, sit back and relax.

3. Responsibility -- I'm home all the time anyway, so I could take responsibility for the fishes' welfare with a minimum of failure. Some "responsibility" is actually fun. Plus, it's not like I need a merit badge to do the right thing. I'm disciplined.

4. Size -- A 10 gallon tank is small but not too small. Water is still relatively cheap. And if a 10 gallon tank breaks it doesn't do major damage. But it's enough water that you can tell it's there, not like one of those fish cups at the carnival.

5. Peace of Mind -- I feel that I would be more content watching the peaceful activities of fish swimming lazily through the day. Whatever stress I normally have would melt away by them swimming around without a care in the world.

But that brings me to the negatives, which I will list even though I don't expect them to sway my positive opinions to their negative side:

1. Disturbing My Mind -- I've watched fish and they can be very violent toward each other. They eat their dead, they eat their babies, they eat one another. I saw fish ganging up on a fish one time and eating his fins clean off. That left him spiralling around under the water shoot like a spent torpedo. In short, fish are barbarians and wouldn't contribute entirely to my peace of mind.

2. Size -- 10 gallons may be better for me personally, but the fish might feel very constrained. This could contribute to their violence, as most fish rival even the dog for nasty territorial instincts. Better a carnival cup and the contentment of one fish than a whole ocean of misery. And 10 gallons of water could do a lot of damage were it somehow to be shot full of holes.

3. Responsibility -- Face it, the novelty would wear off pretty fast. When the tank gets darkened from algae and fish crap, the filter's clogged up, the light's burnt out, the motor is rattling, and three or four fish are floating on top and the others are eating those, I'd be tempted to give up.

4. Easy Care -- Who am I kidding? You never know how much food is enough. And fish diseases are like a dozen different plagues. Half the time they're sick, the other half they're dead. Or you look in and they have a poop rope three times their body length hanging under them. It's disgusting. You get a side sucking catfish in there, it blocks the view. The only thing you see front and center is his big sucking mouth. You're revolted. You want to scrub it out with Lysol but without scum he dies.

5. Nature -- If you love nature so much, why are you eating bacon? Pigs are natural too. In fact, now that I think of it, all animals are natural. You don't own a tiger. Fish don't belong in tanks, they belong in the ocean. It's more like a perverse hatred of nature to have fish and animals in captivity.

Just going by the two lists, the negatives actually seem more compelling. Seeing the 10 gallon jobbie at Walmart was one of those serendipity moments. I get those and I get flighty: "I need a 10 gallon aquarium!", even though the thought doesn't usually occur to me. It's like an obsession that doesn't go away till I get one, then I have buyer's remorse (1), and (2) I'm suddenly stuck with the expense and responsibility of keeping it up and acting happy about it.

An Aquarium?

For the most part I feel that I'm living a happy life. I mean, I'm happy, right? Don't I seem happy?

Of course there are times when I'm maybe not perky happy or bubbly happy or jumping up and down. But I'm guessing that everyone feels down at times. The thing for me is simply not to prolong in thought whatever it is that's bugging me. Think of something else. Sidestep it. Do something else.

It's like I said at the top, for the most part, what more could I want in life? I have companionship with Grandma. We have food, a freezer, a pantry. We have a toilet. Running water. A phone. A computer to check out the news, whatever.

And I think I have prospects. People know me, sort of. I see people who act like they've seen me before, and of course they have. The grocery store, Walmart, downtown, the post office. Things could be better in this area. But with age and balding I guess I need to set my sights lower...

Speaking of Walmart, I had my eye on an aquarium last night, thinking maybe one would look good in my room. I think it was a 10 gallon jobbie and seemed to come with enough supplies to get a guy started in a very proper way. I don't know what all was in there. Gravel, a heater, a filter pump, some decorations. Then I'd need fish, and you have to do it all in particular ways so the fish don't get a disease. You want them as happy and healthy as can be.