Molly Barnacle's Fishbowl

Permanent Hiatus

2007-05-28T11:27:00.001-07:00

We are saddened to announce that there will be no new posts here at The Fishbowl for the foreseeable future. Click here for the reason why. The posts within the archive will remain.

R. I. P. Little Antonio (How Soon is Too Soon)

2006-07-16T01:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers: Apparently I'll be making my move for Little Ed as Little Antonio passed away recently. We are all saddened by his loss. If I had a truck I would make sure to get the appropriate memorial decal. Does anyone know how to hit on somebody discreatly at a funeral? The following is the article in the LA Times:

Little Antonio Found Dead in Tank

By Steve Hymon, Times Staff Writer

Little Antonio, a goldfish made almost famous by living over 111 days in water from the Los Angeles River, was found dead in his tank in the latimes.com newsroom at 1:58 a.m. Monday. He was believed to be about five months old.

The cause of death was undetermined, according to a website editor who made the sad but perhaps inevitable discovery.

Little Antonio burst to quasi-fame in April when he was purchased by a Times reporter along with another goldfish from a Highland Park pet store. The fish were subsequently taken to City Hall, where they took up residence in a small tank filled with water fetched from the L.A. River in Cypress Park.

Widely presumed to be polluted beyond all measure, the fish thrived in the tank. They were named for two of the politicians — Councilman Ed Reyes and Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa -- who are pushing a massive restoration of the concrete-entombed river to make it appear more natural.

Shortly after arriving at City Hall, the fish aquarium was transferred to The Times, where the fish were available for public viewing on the paper's website. In what can only be viewed as a testimony to a very bored workforce, the so-called "goldfish cam" received tens of thousands of visits from viewers here and abroad.

Both Little Ed and Little Antonio overcame some type of weird and disgusting skin rash in their early days in the tank together and appeared in recent weeks to be very healthy. They also became virtually impossible to distinguish from one another and a coin flip had to be held later Monday at City Hall to determine which fish had died.

Little Antonio lost.

Upon hearing the news of Little Antonio's death, Councilman Reyes said, "I'm really bummed that Little Antonio died. His mere presence brought an international splash to our efforts to renew the city's famous waterway — the Los Angeles River. I only hope Little Ed can swim through his grief long enough to see the results of what he and Little Antonio have worked so hard to create — the L.A. River Revitalization Master Plan."

The mood in the latimes.com newsroom was somber Monday morning as staff learned of their little friend's death. "We'll miss him. He brought a little joy to the otherwise intense news days," said graphic artist Stephanie Ferrell, whose desk is near the fish tank.

"A gimmick like Little Antonio is hard to find," said latimes.com executive editor Joel Sappell as he reviewed the site's traffic numbers. "We'll miss him."

Funeral arrangements have not yet been made, but the fish is expected to receive a burial at sea early this week by way of the Los Angeles sanitation system. The message board will remain open for condolences and remembrances.

The timing of the death left some City Hall observers thinking about the nature of things. On Saturday, city officials announced the five sites on which they intend to focus their river revival efforts.

Hot Fish On The Internet

2006-03-31T23:58:00.000-08:00

I’ll have to tell you all about my thrilling escape from the clutches of Sascha Bogdan at another date. I’m still working out my issues in therapy with Herr Doctor Rashid Kaukab Finkelstein. For now let us just say that the sewers of Lithuania are not as clean as one would hope. Borsht really does a number on the digestive system!

Although my search for my mother has left me empty handed, it has not left me cold hearted. After I made it back to my Westside abode, I discovered this in the L.A. Times. Normally, I prefer the NY Times or one of the British papers, but the story of Little Antonio and Little Ed, made me weak with sympathy so that I couldn’t help but read the whole story.

Apparently, the LA Times is conducting a sick experiment where they’re trying to see if two goldfish can live in water taken from the LA River. Those poor fish! Even after surviving the horrors of Lithuanian plumbing, well, I just don’t think I could stand the waters of the local river. We goldfish are a hearty race, but there’s only so much we can take.

However, they’re bravery has an alluring affect upon my soul and my heart. I think I may be getting over my crush on Mayor Hahn and falling for both Little Antonio and Little Ed! Seeing as we’re all famous fish of the internet I bet we all have a lot in common. Any advice on how I should approach them? Which one do I choose? Readers, I know you normally ask me for advice, but this time I need your help.

Fishnapped!

2006-02-25T23:53:00.000-08:00

Help! Sascha Bogdan has fishnapped me! I think he must have learned that I discovered where he was because I don't view my profiles anonymously. I've been here for weeks. I think I'm in Lithuania. Can't write much more. But please, please send he--

Should I be calling it 'Fiendster' instead

2006-01-29T23:52:00.000-08:00

Not knowing where to go, I have been frantically searching the Internet in order to find my next lead. My search so far has turned up nothing and I am increasingly concerned for my own safety. How much longer can I stay here without any harm coming to me? Although my situation grows desperate, I thought I should share with you what I found on the web. Click here and you shall see the hobbies and interests of the terrible beast, Sascha Bogdan. It seems that just about everyone is on Fiendster these days. Should I be on Myspace instead?

The Phrenology Scandal of 2006

2006-01-21T23:51:00.000-08:00

Apparently, my reference to phrenology in a previous entry has troubled some readers. While I'm not wholly convinced by their evidence, according to them phrenology has been a discredited science for nearly a century. Who knew?

Although I received countless e-mails, by far my favorite correspondence came again from Mary Evertt of the Miami Correctional Facility, located in Peru, Indiana.

Dear Molly,

Like I said last time, nights in lockdown are pretty long and get lonesome. Since you don't ever respond to my last letter (although thanks for posting it), I've got no reason to stay here. I've been seeing a prison lawyer to try to find a way out of the joint. I've been saying for years that it was the cops who put that knife in my husband's back, but she said ain't nobody ever going to believe that I guess. Anyway, we were looking at phrenology for awhile on account that I got a pretty, good-shaped head, but we looked it up and apparently that won't fly for an appeal because it ain't a real science no more. I never did do so well in school.

Anyway, you are right though. That b*****d does look pretty filthy. I know some people on the outside and I'm sure they could give him a, ahm, "good talkin' too" . . .

Thanks Marry! I appreciate your offer to talk to your friends and help me find him, but at this point in my quest, I feel like I have to do it on my own. As of now the trail has gone, but I'm scrambling to make arrangements to get away from here. While I haven't heard anything new, I still feel like my life is in danger.

Alas! I knew her

2006-01-14T23:50:00.000-08:00

I'm afraid I have more bad news.

Last night I was stirred from my sleep by the sounds of violence. The eel that had showed me Sascha Bogdan's vile picture was murdered last night. Assassinado!

"You should have never have talked, Esmeralda," a human voice came from inside the Medical Center.

"They turned on me! They turned on me!" she screamed. "Why do you think I'm even here to begin with? Those no good piranhas! They put me here! They put me here!" At the end of this repetition her voice went out and broke down into a hysterical whimper.

"The boss says that there are no excuses."

The man approached the tank in what looked like a slightly stilted goose step.

"If you take one step closer, I swear I'll shoot you full of juice."

The man held out his hands; he was wearing rubber gloves. Esmeralda shrieked in terror. However, despite her cry she was not paralyzed in fear. She quickly turned around and after gaining momentum charged the glass, pressing herself hard against the wall of her tank in an attempt to push it off the ledge, hoping that the sound of shattering glass would alert the night watchman. But alas to no avail! The man reached into the tank and pulled out the eel, tossing her to the floor. She flopped and struggled for air in an ungodly fashion for several minutes.

The man walked over to me. I hid behind the castle in my tank. The man stood there for several minutes, breathing loudly but not saying a word. After my heart stopped beating so frantically, he bent over and, nearly putting his head in the water, said in a very calm voice, "Listen, little Barnacle. This is what happens when you become a Carderas. You sure you want to make the change?" The then walked out of the Medical Center undetected.

My life is danger! I must leave here soon if I am to escape this place with my soul and my body joined at the fin.

The Picture of Sascha Bogdan

2006-01-02T23:49:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately, something awful has happened to me. No, nobody has tried to eat me again, but regrettably my corporate sponsors have decided to take away my funding. Apparently, they felt I was not subtle enough for their guerrilla marketing campaign.

The real tragedy of this is not the loss of funds - I've always considered myself more an aristocrat of the mind anyway - but that my private room must be shared in order to spare my beleaguered pocket book any more worry. They have been rotating patients in and out of here like it was some sort of cheap floozy hotel. The indignity of it all!

However, all of this calamity has not been for nothing. I have gotten closer to finding out more about Sascha Bogdan, the mysterious stranger who has some connection to my mother. Last night, my roommate was that old gnarled toothed eel from South America who killed that valiant salmon.

Why, when I think of the cruelty that eel was responsible for it makes it impossible for me to forgive her in spite of her most recent kindness. When they brought her into the hospital room, she was a mess. Not only was she her usual unattractive self, but her eye was bruised and damaged. Those scales she had remaining were flaky and dull. After they put her in her tank, she plopped down to the bottom gravel, looked at me, and then grimaced. My first reaction was to hide in the corner of my tank, but after seeing Oz, I knew that I needed to stand my ground.

This ultimately was the best thing I could have done for in her despondency she could not keep up her vida loca facade up for very long. She sighed, looked me over once, and she asked me in a faint voice, "You wanna know what Sascha Bogdan looks like?"

"Y-y-yes," I answered nervously.

Sticking her tail out of the water she zapped the computer across the room two times - once to turn it on, the second to activate the Aquarium's personnel files. She shot out an electrical current a few more times, until she pulled up Bogdan's file. She then turned away from me and hid in the corner, muttering to herself.

From where I was, I could not see any of the file's relevant details save for his photo. He was an ugly lout; that much I could tell. He was, at his name suggested, an Eastern European type. I could not tell his exact origin, but I knew he was of some mongrel race. He was probably a descendant of a gypsy, if not one himself. I have provided the photo here so you can gaze upon the ungainly creature. Look at his protruding hawkish nose. Consider his over sized ears, no doubt to hear the falling of lost silver. Behold his unkempt face, gone unshaven for days as he prowled the night streets for unfortunates to prey upon. Finally, observe his deviant smile, betraying his malevolent intentions towards my saintly mother, Florentina Carderas. Indeed, upon reflection I referenced my book on physiognomy and after consulting the experts, I knew right away that he had the face of a criminal.

Hospital Food

2005-12-21T23:47:00.000-08:00

Hello, my adoring public!

I am happy to inform you that the doctors have told me that I am making a full recovery. They are taking good care of me here at the Aquarium Medical Center and the doctors are very accommodating to the needs of a celebrity like myself. Because of my fame and the danger that I am in, the doctors have put me in my own private bowl.

It is here that I have felt my first sense of true freedom and luxury since beginning this tour back in July. My tank is gorgeously furnished with HBH Enterprises' lovely Aqua Gems. Sparkling colors across the rainbow, the decorating possibilities are only limited by the medical staff's imagination. Swimming down these gems is the fish equivalent of a stroll down the red carpet at a fancy movie premiere. At 90ct for less than 4 dollars these gems are a steal and will make a fine addition to your aquarium or fishbowl. However, when my fins get tired of my fans and all that glitters, I simply adore the privacy that HBH Enterprises Lava Katima Habitat 2 provides. Katima is a metamorphic African rock that is squeezed and folded by pressure and heat, making the rock change in shape, color, and texture. The small cave like structure of the Lava Katima Habitat 2 is the perfect place to recuperate and take a break when I need to get away from the world. Regularly priced at 29 dollars, the HBH Lava Katima Habitat 2 is a real bargain at only 10 dollars. However, everyone knows that even famous fishes, regardless of their medical condition, need to stay in shape. That is why the hospital has so graciously supplied me with the HBH Rainbow Rock. About 120 million years ago in the deserts of Utah, volcanic lava flows dominated the landscape. Layer upon layer of lava cooled, was shaped by the wind, and finally tinted by iron oxide laden waters that flowed from the surrounding mountains. Over time, beautiful rainbow patterned stones were created. HBH has painstakingly replicated these rocks, complete with arches that are perfect for swimming in and out of in timed trials. Regularly retailing at 46 dollars, you can more than afford to get your fish in shape now for a limited time, for only 15 dollars. That's a saving of 66 percent! All of this would be naught if the hospital did not use the HBH Aqua Pure High Density Carbon. This product is made of premium grade bituminous coal, which quickly clarifies aquarium water by removing discoloration, odors, and organic waste. At 6 dollars you cannot afford not to have it.

Unfortunately, this luxury hospital care is expensive, and since I need the funds I received from Dr. Liu to continue my whirlwind world tour, I've had to seek outside help. Originally, I considered doing a telethon - something along the lines of Jerry's Kids - but my agent advised me against holding a telethon for myself. Something about it being illegal in Texas and Kentucky. So instead, I've secured corporate sponsorship in order to pay for my medical bills. For legal reasons I'm not at liberty to disclose who my sponsor is (they wanted to do a guerrilla market campaign), but lets just say their generosity has allowed me the privacy and time to fully appreciate all the flavor and fun in HBH Brand Goldfish Nuggets.

Stop # 4: New England Aquarium

2005-12-14T23:46:00.000-08:00

My time at the New England Aquarium has been one of great mystery and intrigue, I kid you not. It really is extremely mortifying and I can barely even write about it now without terrifying myself to death. I fear for my life.

I arrived wearing my makeup from the Oprah show. The tourists, naturally enamored by my beauty, clamored to see just who was being introduced to the Fresh Water Exhibit.

"Hello, it is I, Molly Carderas Barnacle, who has come to wow you with her good looks and wit," I told them. I'm not certain that they heard me over their "Oohs" and "Aws." Once I was placed in the water, every member of the crowd stood there, starring at the beauty of my fins, unable to speak or respond to me as their mouths lay gaping in amazement.

Once the audience calmed down, I felt a chill run up my spine. Oh no, it was not the cool waters that had this effect on me, but the other fish in the tank. Many of them un-famous no doubt, had turned fin and swam away from me. From their hiding spaces I could feel them glaring at me with their emotionless disk-shaped eyes.

A gnarled toothed eel from South America recognized me from my makeup and slinking her way over to me said, "You the Carderas kid we've been hearing about?"

"Do you know my mother?" I asked. My heart was beating in a panic.

"You better not be here by the time the tourists leave."

"Cadela," I called out to her, but I did not take her threat seriously. Certainly not seriously enough.

That night when the tourists and scientists had left for the evening, a gang of six foul mouthed piranhas swarmed around me in a vicious circle. My body was paralyzed with fear.

"You should not have come here, little Carderas," said one of them.

"It will be the death of you," said another.

They swarmed on me in a way that is too terrible to even describe. They nipped at my fins. They swiped at my scales. It's too awful to say any more.

In my crisis, I heard the voice of a mighty salmon cry out, "Stop, this is not even what your leader, Sascha Bogdan would want."

He charged the smaller piranhas and got them away from myself. He fought valiantly, however there were too many of them and they overtook him. The eel that had threatened me earlier electrocuted him, stunning him senseless as the piranhas fiendishly began their feast upon his body.

The only reason why I was saved was because the night watchman noticed the morose carcass of the salmon floating up top. The watchman saw my plight and called the veterinarian. Thanks to him, I am now safe in the Aquarium Medical Center, recovering from my wounds. I am well protected now, segregated from those beasts and under constant surveillance.

I am now driven not only to find my mother, but to find out who Sascha Bogdan is and why he and his associates seek to impede my progress. What is his connection to my mother? Does he know where she is? I must know and I must find this out quickly before any other innocents are harmed.

Oprah is No Longer My Hero

2005-10-01T23:44:00.000-07:00

My apologies for the lengthy delay between postings. Oprah's people needed to talk to my people and since I don't exactly have people at the moment, it took some time to get every thing sorted out. And by the time that had happened, I was already in the midst of traveling on my world tour again.

The Oprah people put me up in the Chicago Hiltion, which is fine, if you can stand chain hotels. I prefer someting a little more individuated, a little bit more swany, but I suppose I am just going to have to slum it if I am ever going to find my dear old mãe. Despite, the cheap floral prints and the lumpy mattress, the help there really went out of their way to make me feel at home. The housekeeper was a fellow Portugese national and she said she really did feel for me. She brought me fresh water every day and told me she would do whatever she could to help find my mother.

Well, then I finally got to the taping things just did not work out for me. The theme of the show was not about me at all as had been promised. In fact, it was really general: "I've Been Through a Horrible Tragedy and Need a New Look" or something like that. I was not very impressed. I mean, all they did was put a fat woman on the television to make Oprah look thin and they they dressed them up so they looked thinner, which only made Oprah look not quite as good as she did before. I suppose they just wanted to keep me off stage for as long as possible so that Oprah could keep her star. It must be horrible to be showed up on your own show.

When they finally did bring me out on stage, they barely told my story and they didn't say anything about my search for my mother. Then the cut to a commercial. All they wanted to do was give me a makeover. As if I needed a makeover, although I did tell one of the PAs that a fin massage would be nice. When I complained to Oprah she just glared at me and said, "Girl I was great in The Color Purple. I know what I'm doing. You'll get a makeover if you don't want me to flush you down the john."

I knew I couldn't argue with that. She really was quite good in The Color Purple. So I just sat back and relaxed as two very extravagant men decided to make me over. I thought that my looks could not be improved, but they certainly did a very good job as you can see. Unfortunately, the people at Oprah ran out of time before my makeover was done so I didn't need to get to go on TV to ask if anyone knew about my mother or where I could find her.

Dejected, I went back to the hotel room. I was still in my new outfit with all my make up on when the housekeeper saw me. She clasped her mouth and for a moment she could not speak. When she became more composed she said, "Meu Deus. Você é a imagem exata de Florentina Carderas. Eu não tive nenhuma idéia que era ela que era sua mãe. Todos sabe que funcionou fora com seu amante, o biólogo marinho principal no aquário de Nova Inglaterra." The housekeeper took me down to her room in the hotel and showed me an old copty of National Geographic. It was filled with pictures of my mother. She even had the same makeup on as I did. I knew that this woman was my mother and that I had to go to New England in order to find her.

Viva Las Vegas!

2005-09-01T23:43:00.000-07:00

My time in Vegas is just about to wrap up. I thought nothing could get tackier then The Aquarium of the Pacific with all its Finding Nemo paraphernalia, but the people of Vegas guarantee that they will deliver the unexpected and they certainly held up their end of the bargain. I stayed in the lobby aquarium of the Mirage Hotel. Unfortunately I did not get to meet Siegfried & Roy, but I was almost eaten by one of their white tigers near the Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat. As for the dolphins themselves, I have no idea why everyone thinks they're so intelligent. Mirror stage, my hind fin. It's just vanity. As far as I am concerned throw them back in the tuna cans.

Other then that, there's not much more that I can tell you (or remember) about Vegas and remain a lady. Looking around my bowl now I see the King of Spades, a few assorted poker chips, and a showgirl's headdress. The headdress, mind you is not so much in the bowl as it is resting comfortably on it. How they get here, I don't remember. The last thing I recall was that at some point the water in my bowl had been replaced with Popov Vodka and it was nearly being sucked dry by James Cahn and Molly Simms. Luckily, someone must have replaced the Vodka with water, otherwise I would have been just another pitiful statistic in this City of Sin. As for what may or may not have happened between me and Josh Duhamel, well, you know what they say. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!

Although I cannot remember how or when I got my lead, my next stop will be in Chicago. I have an aquarium all booked up and I will be going on Oprah in order to tell a broader audience about my quest for my mother. If you know any sights in the Windy City that are a must or if you have any information on the whereabouts of my mother, please e-mail me at molly_barnacle@yahoo.com. Maybe I would get more e-mails if I had a gmail account.

The End of the Affair

2005-08-16T23:43:00.000-07:00

My time here at the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach is nearly over. All that is left to do is to pack my bowl and make my way to the aeroporto. Unfortunately, because I spent all my evenings with Mayor Hahn and not at the aquarium I was not able to get any information on my mãe or her current whereabouts. I felt awful that I was leaving Los Angeles without any tips on how to best pursue my quest.

Well, I felt so awful about this that when Jimmy took me on our last dinner date, I couldn't help but cry about it. Once again, I felt like I was one of those melancholy creatures of the ocean deep. Jimmy was simply marvelous about teh whole affair though. He held my traveling container close to his body, and since he could not comfort me directly through touch, he stroked the contours of my bowl's exterior. "There, there," he intoned in a hushed voice. I cried for awhile, and Jim, being the type of man he is, dropped his usually cold exterior. Not only did he hold me while I was crying, but he began to cry for me as well.

I had not yet told Jim why I was performing in Long Beach or styaing in San Pedro. I was too embarassed. I feard he would think that I didn't come from as reputable a família as he. Once I had calmed down, Jim asked me why I was crying. Well, after all that I couldn't withhold the truth from him any longer. I told Jim about what I was hoping to accomplish at the aquarium. "Eu estou tentando encontrar minha mãe portuegese," I told him. And that's when Jim shocked me, "Eu sei."

Apparently, Mayor Hahn had known all along about my plans and had sent out detectives acorss the nation looking for my mother. The search hadn't produced much, but he did say that there was a lead for me to follow up in Las Vegas if I wanted to follow it. I told him I would.

But what about us? We discussed it and after a long time we realized that we had to call our relationship off. Long term affairs of the coração would get in the way of my quest.

Next stop: Vegas!

First Stop: Long Beach

2005-08-01T23:42:00.000-07:00

Despite Doctor Liu's generous support, my world tour is not off to the best of starts. My travels have begun at the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach. While it's not far from my starting point in Los Angeles, one has to start somewhere. Things here are far from perfect. Not only am I being totally overshadowed by their Whales, a Journey with Giants exhibit, but they haven't even listed me on their current exhibitions list. Furthermore, the living conditions here simply will not do. The aquarium caters to a less sophisticated crowd than I am used to dealing with. On the glass of every tank there are decals for the film Finding Nemo. Not only are these dated but they are tres tacky as well. My living situation was getting so bad, I had to call Herr Doctor Rashid Kaukab Finkelstein just to get a handle on the whole thing. After prescribing me two fish sized Valium, we discussed it, and we came to the conclusion that although I was contractual obligated to be at the aquarium five days a week for two weeks, I was in no way obliged to spend the night there.

Instead I have been commuting from San Pedro, not that far up the coast. The Slovaks who live here have been treating me kindly, and I frequent the restaurants to soak up the local color. I have become a celebrity in this small port town. But unfortunately, my status has attracted the wrong type of attention. No, I'm not talking about my reoccurring problems with the paparazzi; those are still being settled in the courts. I am talking about none other than former Los Angeles Mayor Jim Hahn.

Jimmy, as he has told me to call him, is simply incorrigible. He will not take no for an answer, even from the voters. He keeps on referring to himself as the mayor and telling strangers (who he believes are his aides) to send messages to City Hall or to contact his sister Janice on the City Council. I might not be so adverse to his advances if he was not so obviously a broken man. For the time being, however I suppose it's fine. A former mayor has money and that buys a lot of fish flakes by candlelight!

Good News: I'm Famous!

2005-07-21T23:42:00.000-07:00

I received some very good news the other day: my blog has made me famous in the science community. After announcing my world tour I received the following very kind e-mail at molly_barnacle@yahoo.com:

I am a marine biologist -- I am curator emeritus of fishes at the Oregon Coast Aquarium and former president of the American Society of Ichthyologists. I have been reading your blog with great interest. You are perhaps the first fish to share with the wider world the inner workings of your psyche, and I want to tell you that your writings are of great interest to the marine sciences community.

Though I am no longer an active member of the scientific staff, I still maintain close ties. I would like to cordially invite you to stay at our aquarium here in Oregon as you go on your world tour. I believe your willingness to share your experiences via the Web - particularly, with human beings - is unique, and that the staff and visitors of OCA would be delighted if you could come.

I am reasonably sure that I can arrange for your trip, and likely even, your entire world tour, to be paid by our aquarium. Because your work is unprecedented, it would be a great privilege for us at OCA to sponsor your work and travels. I can also use my extensive connections with my colleagues at other aquariums around the world to ensure that you receive only the best accommodations available. As you know, some of the conditions at certain aquariums (that shall remain, for the moment, unnamed) are spartan at best and downright toxic at worst.

I can imagine that this offer of generosity coming from out of the blue would be a great surprise, even a shock, to you. But please know that, actually, you have given all of us humans a great gift. We at OCA only ask in return that you give a public lecture in Portland. My agent in New York could seek out Terry Gross or any other journalist you prefer to participate in an on-stage conversation with you.

Please write me back directly, or via your blog, if you prefer, if you would like to learn more about all this. I would like to conclude by noting your dream about your mother. If you like, I would be happy to help you trace your genealogy. At OCA I can use the latest technology available to read your genetic profile. You may not be aware of this -- because we have yet to announce it -- the Goldfish Genome Project (GGP) was begun two years ago here and has just been completed. I was the the director and principal investigator (PI) on the project. I also speak fluent Portuguese, a result of my having learned the language during an undergraduate internship in Brazil. My colleague in Lisbon, Senhor João São Vicente, may be able to assist us. I cannot promise any great revelations, but it may be possible to reunite you with your extended family using this new GGP data.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Very truly yours,

Dr. Sam Liu
Curator emeritus of Fishes, Oregon Coast Aquarium

They love me, they really love me. And even better yet, unlike so many who just love me for my body, they love me for my mind. This is just incredible news. It looks like I will be traveling in style on my world tour. I was afraid that I would have to hitchhike all the way to Lisbon.

special thanks to Shine Ling.

Mamma Mia!

2005-07-16T23:41:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I've posted, but I wanted to let all of you readers out there know that my therapy is going swimmingly. I think I am making some very good progress. I've already come to the conclusion that I hate my father and love my mother. My psychoanalyst Herr Doctor Rashid Kaukab Finkelstein (a strict Freudian) says that this is quite an advanced version of the Oedipus complex. Normally, my doctor tells me only men suffer from this particular problem. Nonetheless I seem to have achieved the impossible. Who says there's a glass ceiling?

Most of the time, the good doctor and I talk about my dreams and childhood experiences. I seem to have gotten past the dream I was having about my killer fish food. Herr Doctor Finkelstein and I determined that this was really not about food at all, but about my fears of abandonment. As we've been talking through my problems, we've found that this fear is much more deep seated than my relationship with my owner.

In one dream I've been having I see brightly colored fish and I hear the melodic sounds of Portuguese. I don't know Portuguese, at least during the day. However at night my secret memories of Portuguese are awakened. I believe I must have learned it during my time matriculating at an exclusive French-German School in Switzerland. I was on scholarship. I believe the fish talking to me is my mother. I had always believed that my mother was a common carnival fish, but now I believe my dreams are telling me otherwise. I believe that my mother was a goldfish of Portuguese extraction who was a big performer on the aquarium circuit.

After consulting with my therapist, I have decided to embark on a world tour. I will travel the world, going from aquarium to aquarium in search of my mother. Only when I find my mother will my alienation and troubling dreams cease. Wish me luck. Au revoir.

Franz Kafka of Fishery

2005-07-01T23:39:00.000-07:00

Oh dear readers, I'm in a terrible mess. I have become terrified of sleeping. I keep on having this reoccurring nightmare and I simply do not know what to do about it. While each night brings its own variations, the basics are the same every evening. Every night I dream that my owner has gone on vacation, and like a complete ice queen she has decided not to take me. I cry out to her, "But you're not like this." However all she hears are the water bubbles that come to the surface. She turns her back to me rudely, picks up a leather suitcase covered in international stickers, and walks out the door. In my dream I sulk for a little while. I can hardly work up the energy to swim, and I quickly sink to the bottom, nestled in-between the glass and the pink plastic of my Fairy Odd Parents fish bowl. My abandonment has me so down that I shed tears, the salty water from my disk-like eyes making my bowl a fit home for the more melancholy creatures of the ocean.

My owner's desertion is not the worst of it. Instead of having a friend feed me twice daily, my owner has left in my bowl the whole container of Wardley brand fish food. This leaves me terrified. The cylindrical container has a screw off top, which makes it hard for those species without palms to open it. However if I don't find a way to open it, I'll starve while my owner is gallivanting around Europe, or wherever she has decided to go. Even if I can find a way to open it, I will be putting myself in a dangerous position. As you must know by now, goldfish are cursed with the inability to stop eating. If I open the full container of food now, I'll be dead by morning, totally gorged on fish flakes. It is awful. I wake up every night just as I decide that I will open the container and meet my doom.

Despite Tom Cruise's passionate pleas for me not to, I am afraid that I am going to start seeing a psychiatrist. It may be a pseudo-science according to the beloved star of stage and screen, however not sleeping is making my golden scales lose their shine. And if I can't keep my looks, how am I ever going to make it as a big star on the Internet? Readers, let me know if you can recommend a good therapist. I enjoy Freud, but I don't dig on Jung.

Molly's Mailbag 2

2005-06-21T23:35:00.000-07:00

After a brief absence, I am happy to say that I am ready to resume my blogging activities. I had a spat with my legal representation and that was causing some trouble with my service provider. With that out of the way, I'm ready to answer your questions in this second installment of Molly's Mailbag. If you have questions that you would like me to respond to, e-mail me at molly_barnacle@yahoo.com

I read recently in a supermarket tabloid that you were briefly married once, but that it ended abruptly after you discovered that he was cheating on you. Is this true or should I stop relying on Weekly World News as my primary source for world events? - Kelly Romero, Jersey City, New Jersey

I could never advise someone to turn away from Weekly World News. Where else could I find out about the Nazi UFOs that are set to attack the United States? The Corporate Media? Not a chance. If I left it up to them I would never have the time to prepare. Unfortunately, because the Weekly World does not have the resources of a CNN or a BBC, sometimes they do get it wrong. I was never married, but for a time I was engaged. I thought it would work out, but all he wanted to do was fight. No, things never did become physical, but it definitely was not a positive relationship. I should have known that he would have been like that though. He was after all a Beta fish.

Is Aquaman gay? - Stuart Hansen, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida

I really cannot say if the King of the Seven Seas is light in the flippers. Because he prefers salt water and I prefer fresh, we have not had the pleasure of meeting one another. Besides, even if I did know about Aquaman's sexual orientation, I would not use my blog to out him. Whether or not Aquaman prefers the company of mermen will have to remain one of life's great mysteries. However, I can tell you that Jimmy Hoffa sleeps with the fishes and we love him for it.

Do you think it's right that Sea World keeps on naming killer whales Shamu? - Lisa von Granbagger, San Diego, California

Hardly. Sea World is the George Foreman of aquariums, constantly naming their children the same name. It's not right for the children of boxers and it's not right for these whales. They deserve to have their own identity and should not be forced to live their lives as if it were some renewable trademark.

How much should one pay for their first aquarium? - Samuel Reeves, Austin Texas

After consulting my collection of etiquette books, I have to tell you that there is no set answer. One authority on the matter says that you add up the cost of your fish that you plan on housing and multiply that number by four. Other more traditional etiquette authorities say that an aquarium should cost you about three pay checks. If that's the case you better start saving. However, truth be told the most important thing is that you buy an aquarium that you and your fish are comfortable with and that you can afford to purchase.

What do you think of France's recent rejection of the first European Union constitution? - Ned Chomsky, Boston Massachusetts

While I'd like to say that it came as a surprise, the intensely nationalistic French have always had a problem with the basic tenants of the European Union. Although this is a set back for the E.U., don't be surprised if they pull it together and pass a constitution. Things may move slower in the Europe, but when things come together, it's often with greater consensus than here in the United States.

Book Review: One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish

2005-05-27T23:32:00.000-07:00

Dr. Seuss has for generations been a folk hero to school librarians and educators of the young. He has delighted children with whimsical depictions of cats, hats, and spoiled eggs. However, there is one demographic that the good doctor, has ignored, marginalized, and just made to feel generally crummy. I’m talking about goldfish (who else?).

Traditional critiques of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, are often political in nature. One brilliant reviewer has perhaps best summed up this traditional reading when he writes:

The tension is palpable when the young boy and girl bring home a large, walrus-like pet and wonder how their mother will feel about their deed; no preschooler co uld miss this reference to the Teapot Dome scandal. Similarly, their advice to get a pet Yink simply because of its fondness for pale red india writing product is a sardonic commentary on rampant consumerism. And the camel-like Wump shows his prophetic realization that our demand for oil would force us to deal with the Saudis on a regular basis.

This type of political analysis has its place. There is little doubt that it has found its way into the academy and entrenched itself right next to the best of postcolonial and poststructural thought. However, there is a class and a politics that Dr. Seuss’s text ignores. By limited himself to red fish, blue fish, and whatever a whup is supposed to be, Dr. Seuss pointedly ignores and thus in some way condones the oppression that goldfish suffer everyday.

But how could it be any other way? The book’s child protagonists, whom the narrator forces the world to conform to is purely anthrocentric. Dr. Seuss indoctrinates a child to view the world as their playground, but doesn’t acknowledge that other animals may want to use the monkey bars (perhaps monkeys?). Where are the goldfish that must endure countless hours of depravity as they are given away as prizes at carnivals? Where are the unfortunate fish souls who are swallowed alive by evil frat boys? Where are the goldfish that live their whole lives just to taste some of those sweet, delicious premium fish flake food? Dr. Seuss ignores them, disguises them, and silences them. Aesthetic considerations aside (the book does read well), I cannot endorse this book. It may seem like a delightful romp through meaningless rhymes, but its lack of social purpose is truly appalling. Rating for One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish: Two fins down.

My New Hero

2005-05-16T23:31:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I’m obsessed with Oprah. When my owner is about to clean my bowl, she usually places it on the coffee table in the living room before hand. It’s a kind of staging ground for the cleaning that is to come. But before she does so, she sits down on the couch, puts her feet up, and turns on the television. As many of you know, I am not a big TV watcher. Since I much prefer scripted comedies and dramas (think Will and Grace or The Snorks), I’ve staid away from the tele ever since the ascension of reality programming. However, since my owner places me in front of the television, occasionally I get to have a gander on what’s on the small screen. For whatever reason, my owner likes to move me at three o’clock during the week.

For weeks now, I’ve been a complete mess so that my owner feels obligated to clean my bowl. I find Oprah Winfrey to be very inspiring. She’s a real hero. Not only does she host an extremely popular talk show, but she’s also a magazine publisher, a producer, an actress, and the subject of scorn in Lane Bryant’s everywhere. She’s a savvy businesswoman with a killer instinct – not that she would ever to kill (unless Stedman or Sophie her cocker spaniel was in danger). To be perfectly honest, I want to take Oprah’s place. However, when I wrote her people at Harpo, I only received this discouraging letter:

Dear Molly,

While we at Harpo appreciate your interest in the Oprah Winfrey Show and in Ms. Winfrey as a popular personality, unfortunately we are not able to fulfill your request of firing her and hiring you in her place. We are also sorry to inform you that we are unable to take Ms. Winfrey off the cover of O Magazine. It is our company policy to make sure that Mrs. Winfrey appears on every cover of the magazine. Also she is our boss and we must do as she says. However, we may be able to give you the makeover that you desire. Please contact our line producer at (312) ***-****.

After I got over my initial disappointment (which was great), I decided that I can’t live my life trying take usurp Oprah. I can’t just replace Oprah, I have to forge my own Molly Barnacle brand identity. That is why this month I will be starting my own book club. Unlike Oprah, I will not just discuss books that I liked, but also books that I find challenging, controversial, or just plain bad. In spirit of my new book club, join me next week when I will be discussing Dr. Seus’s most intriguing work, One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. It’s a heroing story and I cannot wait to share my thoughts with you.

Cancel the Protest

2005-05-05T23:30:00.000-07:00

Dear Molly,

The nights in lockdown are pretty long so I’ve been able to do some reading up on anatomy and other s**t. So I know it ain’t possible to kill a man by overeating. Some of the girls here have said that maybe you could do it if you force fed ‘em, but I don’t know about that. A lot of the girls here are just talk. Just thought you should know. You probably don’t want to get people all riled up if you ain’t got to.

I’ve atached my photo in case you want to write me and want to know what I look like. Like I said the nights here in lockdown are real long and it can get real lonely and… -Mary Everett, Miami Correctional Facility, Peru, Indiana

Oh my! I’m just so embarrassed. Apparently human beings cannot die of overeating at buffets. I would like to formally thank Mary of Peru, Indiana for informing me of this fact. It’s good to know that so I can stop worrying about my dear owner. Hopefully I can repair the strain that this has placed on our relationship. I am sure that we can rebuild the trust that we once shared.

For those of you who staged protests at Soup Plantation and at other all you can eat establishments, I am sorry for any embarrassment or hardship that I may have caused. I sincerely hope that you can accept my heart felt apology.

A New Hobby, an Old Problem

2005-05-02T23:29:00.000-07:00

I am proud to say that I have a new hobby! It is simply the most fun that I can ever remember having. It’s an easy enough game, popularized by opossums and cowards the world over. It’s called playing dead. Unlike opossums I don’t play this game in order to escape danger; I do it for its pure entertainment value and its use in emotionally blackmailing my owner. Let me explain.

When my owner returns for the day or has simply been neglecting me, I like to swim up to the top of my bowl and remain perfectly still. I can remain motionless for up to five hours. True, sometimes I fall asleep while doing this, but nonetheless, my feats are impressive. When my owner walks by, my disk-like eyes detect a flash of panic across her face. Fearful, she taps on the glass (apparently she’s never read the signs at an aquarium) or if she’s really scared she touches my tail with the tip of her index finger. At this point, I usually let her on to the fact that I’m only playing dead.

However, occasionally I do my best to remain still and keep up the act.

One time I did this so well that she really thought I was dead for good. “Oh my God,” she said. Tears were running down her cheeks like raging torrents. “Molly’s dead! My wonderful and beautiful fish that I shall always miss and cherish! What can I possibly do now that this tragedy has befallen me?” she exclaimed in a horror that words can barely describe.

Confidentially, dear reader, I can tell you that I had a good laugh when I pulled that one. I was also heartened to know that my loss would mean so much to my owner. It’s not every day that you hear a person valuing a 15 cent pet so much.

Although I must confess that lately, I’ve had to pull this lark off without the same level of self-satisfaction. I’ve been doing it, not so much to get back at my owner (although that has been part of it), but in order to distract her. As faithful readers will no doubt recall, last week I discovered that my owner was going to buffets and I continue to fear for her safety. So lately I’ve found myself playing dead in order to garner my owner’s attention. I feel that if she’s worried about me, concentrating her attention on me and not on herself, she won’t have the time or energy to even think about going to Soup Plantation

I was recently discussing all of this with one of my girlfriends and she told me that playing dead might have the exact opposite effect. She said that my activities could lead her to feel depressed and she could go to buffets to console herself with food. Gasp! I had never thought of it like that. Since then, it’s become clear that while playing dead can still be fun, it’s no way to solve my owner’s emotional crises. While I loathe descending to the vulgar level of politics, it seems clear to me that action is now necessary. Please join me in boycotting Soup Plantation. If you would like to organize a protest in front of your local buffet dining establishment please e-mail me at molly_barnacle@yahoo.com.

The Horrifying Napkin

2005-04-22T23:27:00.000-07:00

Last week I was swimming idly by, reading Camus’s The Stranger, when all of a sudden I noticed something very peculiar. No, I was not distracted by the sunshine like Meursault, but I became unbearably worried about my owner. At first I didn’t notice that she had come home as I was absorbed in Camus’s writing, but I became aware that she had returned when something was placed next to my bowl.

What I saw has horrified me ever since. I fear for my owner’s safety. Placed next to my bowl was a chocolate or bran muffin (I can’t be sure), wrapped in a napkin with the Soup Plantation logo on it. I thought that maybe this was an isolated incident. My owner seemed alright, so I just assumed that everything would be okay. But then, a few days later she came home and again she brought back another muffin wrapped in a Soup Plantation napkin. Since I’ve become aware of my owner’s “problem,” I haven’t been able to sleep, to read, or to do much of anything.

The best I can do so far is to schematize the problem. I think problem number one is that she’s stealing food from buffets. I’ve checked their website and this is clearly against their policies. However, more importantly I’m concerned about her health. If she keeps on going to buffets, I know that some day I’m going to receive a phone call… I’m going to receive a phone call, and – and I know that she’s going to be dead.

No, I’m not talking about the national problem of obesity or anything like that. I’m talking about dying from overeating. I realize that there are those who can competitively eat, but my owner, well she’s no foodlete. I have seen many a fish die of overeating in my day and I don’t want that to happen to her. I don’t want to imagine my owner all bloated, lying belly up on the table. I need to stop her, but how? I’m trapped in a bowl.

need to set up an intervention. If you would like to participate or have any ideas on how to do this appropriately, please e-mail me at molly_barnacle@yahoo.com.

Molly's Mailbag

2005-04-15T23:26:00.000-07:00

After our two part exposé on anti-Poissonism, it is time to answer some of my fan mail. While the five questions here represent only a fraction of the letters that I have received from my adoring public, I assure you that I read every letter. Please continue to write to molly_barnacle@yahoo.com

Dear Molly,

I read in last week’s Parade [3/13] that you are a Scientologist. Is this true? Does that mean you don’t go to the doctor when you’re sick? –Linda Mulvey, Tampa, Florida.

Linda, I think you have made a common mistake. It is Christian Scientists who don’t go to see a physician when they are ill. However, it it true that I was a Scientologist for a little while. I was terribly insulted and quit the religion after the director of the Scientologist Celebrity Center said that I was not yet famous enough to enter. If I can’t meet Tom Cruise, then really, what is the point of joining that nut job congregation?

Dear Molly,

Does the “T” in Mr. T’s name stand for Turtle? I think it does, but a friend of mine claims that it stands for Timothy. We can’t decide and it’s just ruining our friendship. Please answer so that we can resolve our differences. –Mitch Davis, Princeton, New Jersey.

Sorry, Mitch, but you and your friend are both mistaken. Yes, Mr. T. is a turtle and his first name is Timothy however that’s not what the “T” stands for. Turtle nomenclature involves taking your proper title (Mr., Ms., etc.) and taking the first letter of your second language. In Mr. T’s case this is Tagalong. You would not believe the amount of friends he has on Friendster.com.

Dear Molly,

Is it true that fish like to be sung to? -Pietro Wollen, Kansas City, Kansas

I believe you have fish confused with house plants, Pietro. We are very different things you know. However, now that you mention it, I don’t mind being serenaded. My favorite styles of music are gospel and blue grass. Feel free to send audiofiles to molly_barnacle@yahoo.com.

Dear Molly,

When speaking to my mother on the phone last weekend, she told me that you were the fish who posed nude on the cover of Neil Gaiman’s book The Day I Swapped My Dad for 2 Goldfish. She also told me that this was your favorite book. Is any of this true or has my mother become senile? – Sheila Mitchell, Reno, Nevada

Well Sheila, while I can’t speak to your mother’s senility, she is half right. It is true that I did pose nude for the Neil Gaiman cover. I was in college and my roommate and I posed in order to pay our tuition at Northwestern that year. I don’t regret doing it as I still feel that the pictures were artfully done. However, the book is not my favorite work. My favorite is Machavelli’s The Prince. While the text is good, I especially like the 1987 audiotape version of it performed by Prince. His bass lines are amazing! With the help of Machavelli’s words and Prince’s music I’ve been able to rule my fishbowl with an iron thumb. This is a particularly amazing feat as I have neither thumbs nor anyone to rule.

Dear Molly,

My goldfish seems suicidal. Do you have any advice on how to help goldfish depression? –Dina Richman, Los Angeles, California

Ah, a serious question! While this may surprise many of my readers I too once went through a dark period. My glorious golden scales turned an inky gray. I had no interest in eating either my fish flakes or my poop. I sat, not swimming, at the bottom of my bowl. There were times when my owner thought I was dead and to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t have minded being so. However Dina, this problem need not end in fishy self-sacrifice. My depression ceased when I realized that life was more than just swimming endlessly around in my bowl and playing with the air bubbles. When I got an ethernet card I began to see the world that was outside my bowl. I felt a new sense of freedom on the Internet Superhighway and this made my relative isolation seem more bearable. It gave me a new hope. Depression is a serious phenomenon however, and not everyone will be helped by high-speed Internet access. If you believe your fish may be suffering from depression, I recommend seeing your family veterinarian or pet psychologist about it.

Mr. T has stollen my life

2005-03-23T23:23:00.000-08:00

A short post will have to suffice this week as I’m not feeling well. No, faithful reader I am not suffering from any physical aliment. My heart is pumping strong, my gills are functioning properly, and my fins have never looked better if I do say so myself. I am, after all, only three years old and I imagine I have several more months before I get flushed down the john. While I’m not ill, I am feeling down in the dumps.

I found out yesterday that my owner has been keeping a secret from me. When she was cleaning the desk where my bowl normally rests, she placed me on her bookshelf. This is when I discovered that she had been keeping a pet turtle named Mr. T.

There are a lot of emotions that I need to work out about this issue. At first I was scared half to death. I can’t always tell where the glass ends and the world begins and at first I thought we were in the same tank. I don’t know if turtles eat fish, but I thought that I was a goner. After spending ten to fifteen minutes swimming around frantically, I began to pick up on the fact that there was glass between us.

While not dying came as quite a relief, I couldn’t help but feel sad about my discovery. Why did my owner feel she had to have another pet? I think I would have been OK if she would have gotten a something smaller and lower on the evolutionary ladder like a guppy or an ant farm. With the guppy we could have shared a tank and I could have bragged about my superior size, intellect, and fishy skill. But a turtle? Well, trying to show up a turtle just belies your own insecurities and who wants that? I’m more or less fine with being insecure, but no self-respecting fish wants to show it. Particularly to a turtle, who will just keep on reminding you about it.

I’ve been feeling very morose since this happened. I’ve also been really suspicious about my owner since the incident. How long has this been going on? What if she has an entirely separate apartment with another fish there and isn’t telling me about it? Maybe that’s where she goes all day. She goes to her other apartment and feeds her other fish. What if she has a cat that I don’t know about? She could be just keeping him in another room. Then I really have something to be worried about.

When I calmed down and got used to the fact that I was next to my owner’s new favorite pet, I decided that maybe I should try to talk to him. It really was just a bunch of false starts though. Apparently you can’t talk through two lawyers of glass and I think he only speaks Tagalog. It wasn’t long before my owner was done cleaning her desk and put my bowl back in its place. I can only hope that my incredibly short memory will help me forget this painful incident. So if you happen to run into me, please don’t speak of it. I may have already forgotten it

The Passion of the Molly

2005-03-16T12:46:00.000-08:00

Many of my readers have e-mailed me to ask if I am still boycotting last year’s The Passion of the Christ. For those of you not in the know, Mel Gibson has re-released an edited version of last year’s film. Passion Recut, is supposedly a kinder gentler version of the crucifixion of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ – or in deference to Mel, Jesus the Christ. My original boycott did not stem from the film’s violence or from the allegations that the film presented Jews in anti-Semitic fashion. I haven’t seen the film and so feel ill-equipped to comment negatively upon it. I am maintaining my boycott on the film because of Mel Gibson’s personal bias against me.

For those of you who have the privilege of knowing me personally this may come something as a shock. Long time friends have often heard me profess what I thought would be my undying affection for the star of Lethal Weapon 1, 2, 3, and 4. I had even defended my Mel when he starred in the awful Zeffirelli version of Hamlet. Why would anyone want to see Hamlet make out with his mother? That’s disgusting! And this is coming from somebody who eats their own poop.

There is something about Mel Gibson that previously I had found intoxicating. Was it his rugged good looks? His gracefully ageing face – wrinkles showing the wisdom and experience of a dignified leading man? Or was it even the now deeply hidden Aussie accent? I can’t say that these things did not play a part in my infatuation with the man we call Mel Gibson, but it was something more transcendent.

All that changed when I was rudely rejected for a part in last year’s Passion. I did not receive back my audition tape, despite the self-addressed envelope I provided. Nor did I receive any feedback on why they decided to pass on me (a common professional courtesy I am told). The detractors and religious fundamentalists on the Net will say that it is because I have absolutely no acting experience. That is neither here nor there as I was perfect for the role of Jesus Fish. I have been a fish for over two years, giving me far more fish experience then any other actor in Hollywood. In profile I am nearly an identical match for the famous Christian symbol. My acting ability, while not professionally honed, is nonetheless instinctive.

The only conclusion that I can conceive of is that while the film itself may or may not be anti-Semitic, the casting process certainly was. While Barnacle is not as Jewish sounding as ‘Klein’ or ‘Goldberg,’ I assure you I am as Jewish as Gefilte. I have no doubt that my tape was placed on the “don’t call back” pile for this reason alone. There is no other logical explanation for my exclusion from the film and why in the end, they selected a goy tuna for the part. While I would like to imagine that Mel Gibson, normally a true lover of fish the whole world over, was not involved in this decision personally, it’s hard to imagine a world where he did not have some knowledge about the events as they transpired.

What really burns me up is not the fact that I didn’t get to act in the film. True, I would have liked the exposure and the income from the film and its merchandizing would have helped improve the quality of food around here (hint hint owner) and bought a larger, more luxurious fishbowl. While The Passion certainly would have been a big break for me, I know I will have other acting opportunities. I have already hired an agent who is in talks with the producers of Shark Tale 2. I am most upset however, about my lost faith in Mel Gibson. There was a time when I believed that Mel would run to save me, like his character Frank Dunne in Gallipoli, running against across the sand as a cheesy early-80s soundtrack played in the background – running to save me as only he could. Given the present situation, I don’t think I can feel that way anymore. Until I receive a hand written apology from Mr. Gibson himself I will continue to boycott his picture.

Oh! How the Mediocre Have Fallen

2005-03-09T20:22:00.000-08:00

I’m not normally a big television watcher; I prefer to read. In fact, I’m currently taking the 50 book a year challenge. This has proven to be a little difficult. It’s hard to find a really good book to read when you’re stuck in a fishbowl all day. I know there’s always Amazon, but it’s hard to fill out the address form. It’s difficult to say where I live exactly, and the postman in the past has not taken kindly to me filling out the address form with, “The castle near the little plastic fern.”

Despite my disinterest in television, I recently watched a little tube. My owner was cleaning my bowl and she placed me in a small Tupperware™ container near her tele. While watching TV I came across something horrific. Darius Rucker, lead singer of Hootie and the Blowfish was wearing a purple rhinestone cowboy shirt and singing the praises of Burger King’s latest chicken sandwich, the Tendercrip Bacon Cheddar Ranch.

Now, I have never been a big fan of Hootie and the Blowfish. In fact, you could say that I have a mild dislike for the group. However, as a prominent Goldfish-American I believe it’s my duty to take an interest in the representation of fish in the media. I have to say, even though I have an aversion for the group, I was a little disheartened to see Darius shilling products for Burger King. While I am glad to see that it was not for the BK Big Fish, I hadn’t thought things had gotten so bad for the group. I realize that they have not had anything resembling a hit for years, but I thought Darius would have saved a little money. I had always imagined the band fading into obscurity and having to play small bars and county fairs with the likes of Brian Setzer and Flock of Seagulls. “Only Want To Be With You” was never the crowning achievement of pop music, but I fear that we are not far from the day when we will hear “Only Want to Be With You… Chicken Tender!”

At first I did not believe it. After being put back in my bowl, I quickly checked the band’s website and found their message board was all a buzz. I was a little surprised what I found. I wouldn’t have thought 1) that the band would still be able maintain a website and 2) that they still have enough fans to create a buzz. One of the most depressing things I found were the fans claiming that Darius was merely having fun with the commercial – that his smile was ironic, that he didn’t need to do it, and that he was craftily using the ad to promote the band’s new album. These people are obviously delusional. Perhaps more upsetting was a post by someone dubbed “realtoralison” who wrote, “Darius, I love you, but do you need a loan? Come on…really… commercials for BK? This is a sad day for Hootie’s Fans.” I don’t know what the saddest part of this post is. The broken hearted fan who feels that she needs to save her former idol – like the child of a washed up alcoholic seeing his father passed out in the gutter – or the fact that, ten years after their zenith, she realizes that today is the bad day to be a Hootie fan? Where has she been? How could she not realize until last week that she was a fan of a band that had passed into VH1 Behind the Music irrelevance years ago?

However, my natural fish symapthies go out to Hootie and their fans. We fish need to stick together even if our natural instics and our refined taste tells us not to. If we don't have each other, who do we have? That is why I'm encouraging all of my many readers to purchase the latest album. It’s the least we can do. If the star of the band has to do Burger King Advertisements to get by, we can only imagine what the band's lesser tallents, Mark, Jim and Dean have been up to.

First Post

2005-03-02T02:13:00.000-08:00

Hello, my name is Molly and I feel I should take this first entry in my new blog to introduce myself. I’m a goldfish of the common pet store variety, but I mange to get by. For those of you in need of a physical description, I’m a petite little fish with long beautiful fins, big disk-like eyes, and an “O” shaped mouth. I’m about two inches long and weigh about an ounce. Like many fish, I do try to watch my figure.

I’m approximately three years old, but I’m not entirely positive about this. I am told I was born in the back of a pet store among thousands of other goldfish in a dingy bucket. I can’t be exactly sure of this because my memory is limited to about five seconds. My brain is smaller than a pea. In fact, my head isn’t much bigger than a pea either.

This may be why I was denied from the most prestigious fish universities. However, as I have gotten older I have come to understand that just because a fish goes to school doesn’t mean that she’s smart. In fact some of the smartest fish I’ve known have lacked formal schooling. What I may not have in formal training, I make up in observation.

This blog then is dedicated to my observations about what it’s like to be a single female fish in a big city fishbowl and to answer questions my readers have about fish life. Write in with your questions and I’ll try my best to answer them in a thoughtful yet prompt way. Until next week, this is Molly the Goldfish signing off!