My Superhero Lover

I'm not sure I want to comment on this one . . .

And So It Ends . . .

I must say that I did not want a silver car . . . but apparently the Universe had other ideas. Even my autobroker (I finally gave up on dealing with the dealerships directly) called this the "Quest of all time." He had to jump through several amusing hoops just to find three or four cars that fit my description . . . and every car in the color I wanted had 59,999 miles - one mile under the 60,000 limit I had set.

And my car karma didn't change just because I was using an autobroker. He found a lovely little green Honda Element with 5,595 miles within my price range and was within a hair of driving to Colorado Springs to pick it up for me - - - when he found out the administrative assistant at the dealership had picked up the wrong invoice and given him false information. The Honda Element had 59,995 miles . . .

Oddly enough . . . from the very beginning there was a little 2004 silver model that was a manual, priced reasonably, and only had 23,800 miles. But I detest silver. Don't ask me why. My autobroker was certain it would sell the same day he saw it.

It didn't. And after a week of not finding a better deal, I finally wrestled my mind around the color issue. Besides, I can always paint the outside burnt orange later . . . and with the blue accents on the seats, I can always market it as the perfect car for a Denver Broncos fan.

I'm pretty sure my mother would buy it . . .

PRESENTING MY NEW VEHICLE . . .

The Vehicle of Perfect Irony

I finally found the perfect car. I took it for a test drive. Happy vibrations from the car. Happy vibrations from the guy selling the car - he's a mechanic who did all the maintenance. A new windshield, new brakes, new tires, and 100,000 Honda ceritifed warranty added honey to the deal . . .

Only . . . the Seller did such a good job of pointing out the good points about his vehicle that he decided to keep it.

No, I'm not kidding.

::SIGH::

(If anyone knows which god of travel I pissed off and what the atonement is . . . I'm open to suggestions.)

On Betas and Gabe-Fish

All good stories begin with a head injury. Okay, maybe that's not true - but this story does begin with a head injury. A good friend of mine (whom I shall call W.) suffered extensive injuries in highschool that put him in a wheelchair for two years and caused the loss of a significant amount of his highschool memories . . . . Let's just say that if you've ever gone to a play at your local school, then you've seen the rod that holds up the theatre curtains - and you never want to be standing under it when it falls. Doctors told W.'s parents that he would be lucky to regain enough brain function to finish highschool - and to give up all hope that their son would ever attend college.

Not only did W. graduate college. . . he was asked to return as a professor.

But what, you may ask, does this have to do with fish?

A few years ago, I fell in love with a particular kind of fish, known as the Beta or "Chinese Kissing Fish." For those familiar with this critter, pet shops mostly sell the males of the species (as they have long flowing fins) - but if you put two males in a container together, they will promptly ignore all social niceties and fight to the death. Betas are extremely beautiful and popular, particularly because they can be kept in small containers (think champagne glasses) - though I recommend MUCH larger containers if you expect the fish to live for any appreciable length of time.

My first Beta was a beautiful red that promptly developed white spots and died. I discovered the white spots are a fish disease known as Ick. Yes . . . there is an actual disease named Ick. While I tried to treat his water with special drops from the fish store, my little red was not destined to make it. He was given a burial at sea, and I went in search of a new Beta.

Much to my surprise, I noticed that W. kept a Beta as well. One night, while attending a party at W.'s house, I asked about his fishy companion. We had a great conversation about Beta's - including their odd little quirks (he swears his Beta always displayed ultra-aggressive behavior toward his girlfriends) - but when I asked for the fishy's name, W. fell unusually silent.

"Gabe," he finally said. "They're all Gabe."

It took a while to pry the story out of him, but it turned out that his ownership Beta fish coincided with the recovery from his head injury. The fish was an easier pet to keep than most (did I mention Beta's are hardy? I've had one survive a sudden drop of room temperature to 58 degrees - with no heater in the aquarium). However, in those first few months when W. was relearning Life skills and how to function on his own, his doctors recommended that he spare his brain cells as much as possible by doing things like calling similar items by the same name. For example, if you have a Beta, name it Gabe. If it dies, and you get another Beta, name it Gabe. That way you don't waste valuable brain space remembering the names of your past 15 fish.

I don't know why it struck so deeply - perhaps it was the glimpse Gabe gave me into W.'s past, perhaps it was the charming idea that every fish should be named Gabe . . . perhaps I just liked the name. Regardless, I told W. that I would be honored if he would allow me to follow his grand tradition and name my Beta Gabe as well. With his usual sense of humor, W. told me he would be delighted.

And then I found the Gaberfish at Petsmart. The Petsmart near my house gets the most unusual Betas I have ever seen. Most of the time, you come across red betas or blue betas. This Petsmart has everything in the color spectrum - and weird experimental Betas. The one that stole my heart is almost undescribable. It looked like a patchwork Beta. It was bright purple with a yellow face, long flowing red fins edged in white, and a bluish tail base. It was also highly aggressive and would shoot towards the edge of its bowl (okay . . . okay . . . large flower vase) whenever I walked by, gills flared and fins extended to their maximum capacity. I reminded Gabe repeatedly that not only was I larger, but I knew how to operate the garbage disposal. I shared many happy years with Gabe before he went belly-up. I was heartbroken, sure I would never find another Beta with his coloration (and personality).

For the curious - Betas live an average of five years - but you never know how old they are when you buy them. And if they are particularly striking, chances are that the fishy farm kept them as stud fish until they turned three - then sent them off to the petshop - so two years is a pretty decent expectation for Betas at home.

I was in luck. A new shipment of weird experimental betas were in (orange with spots, yellow, "death betas" - white with black gills and fins - very very creepy fishies, greens, purples, red and white with translucent fins . . . ). I took my time carefully looking at each one. Another lady joined me, and we chatted amiably as we searched through the Beta shipment.

"Oh, look at this one!" she exclaimed, holding up a cup.

I swear it was Gabe reincarnated. I had to remind myself forcibly that it was unacceptable to snatch the fish out of her hand - and any body tackling would probably end up with a very irritated security guard and the imposition of a restraining order. "He is beautiful," I agreed. "I had one just like him. And if he's anything like mine, he'll only get prettier as he grows." The woman nodded thoughtfully. She put the Gabe-fish in her shopping cart and wheeled off down another aisle. With a wistful sigh, I turned back to my fishy search.
Not five minutes later, the woman was back.

"I like this one better," she said, with an apologetic smile, as she put the Gabe-fish back on the "for sale" rack. To be fair, I waited for her to select her new fish -giving her plenty of time to renege and take the Gabe-fish, but she didn't. Once she left (this time for good), I grabbed the Gabe-fish and ran.

Insert another two years . . . (with no sighting of Gabe-fishes inbetween, I might add), and my second Gabe-fish expired - which timeline-wise, equates to about one week ago. (Honestly, someone should invent fishy-euthanasia drops . . . I would have used them. It took the poor thing three weeks to finally go belly-up.) Resigned, I returned to Petsmart to look for another Beta. (Note: to those who think environment may affect lifespan, the second Gabe-fish lived in a heated three gallon aquarium with full water filtration and a heater . . . spoiled rotten.)

I'll be damned if there wasn't another Gabe-fish waiting for me. This one in the new "crown tail" variety - which means that their flowing fins are actually spiky - and when they flare, they look like sea-urchins. How could I resist?

INTRODUCING GABE-FISH THE THIRD (OR FOURTH, OR FIFTH . . . I THINK I'VE NAMED OTHER BETAS GABE . . .)


And we can't forget Ed . . . .