The Fish with No Name

I have so much homework to do that the fact I've even typed this much (pause, consider just how little I have typed to this point) is ludicrous. Then consider that I am going to talk about my fish, and all hope for my future (a M.L.A. degree) is lost.

Look, I don't have time to charge my camera and take a picture right now, but I will later; however, I just don't understand my new fish. He is anorexic. Seriously. I've never seen him eat one food pellet. Periodically I drop a few pellets into his bowl just like the food container recommends. Every time, he goes through the same routine. He swims up to smell (do fish smell?)/ consider the food, pauses for a seconds, and swims away.

Scribbles, my last fish, would eat every pellet I dropped into his bowl. I mean, I could drop like six in there and he would eat every one of them. Of course, the container only recommends two to three pellets every few days. I think Scribbles might have died of gluttony.

My new fish doesn't have a name, but I'm not sure he is going to live long enough for it to matter.

Most. Pointless. Blog. Ever.

Anyway, back to the fishbowl of literary criticism.

Comments

Lynne Walker said…

Pointless, but funny. Enjoy your blog and am following it.

May 7, 2010 at 11:40 PM

A Progress Report for January

Sometimes I sit around writing my own obituary in my head. It’s not that I plan on dying, or that I’m that old, but I just wonder what my legacy would be. If my family had to sum up my life to this point, I’m afraid there wouldn’t be a lot to say. Let’s highlight my first twenty-six years. I hit a game-winning shot against Nettleton—truly the type of shot you dream about as a kid shooting hoops in the driveway—to help Paragould High School make it to the state tournament in 2004 (this is the highlight of my short and mostly uneventful athletic career); I won the Citizenship Award my senior year, which my mother says is way more important than any academic or athletic award; I wrote for the Paragould Daily Press for four years, and I still have people say they miss my column (but you guys can quit lying to me already); I married a girl who is way more intelligent and athletic than I ever dreamed of being; I graduated from college, twice; and I have an adorable puppy that takes up all

The Paragould Daily Press: Is Paid Content the Beginning of the End?

Every few days I read the Paragould Daily Press , my hometown newspaper—a newspaper I worked at as a sports writer for four years—online. I’m never looking for anything in particular. It’s just part of my routine: every morning I skim national, state, and local news for a few minutes. However, when I visited the PDP today, a few things were different. First, the website had been redesigned (and not in a good way—it takes talent to clutter what little content the PDP creates). More importantly, you now have to buy a subscription to read the paper online. This isn’t about having to pay for content (I’m sure the PDP has heard plenty of negative feedback from its online readers already); I understand what the PDP is attempting to accomplish with this move. The move to paid content was inevitable (I remember sitting in a staff meeting and discussing this very matter over five years ago when I was writing for the newspaper), as it will be and has been for much larger publications. Ne

Joe the Plumber

( Caption: So Samuel Joseph Wurzelbacher, better known as "Joe the Plumber", can't win an election for you. But I bet he can plunge your toliet, right?) A lot of responsibility comes with marriage, such as taking care of your wife when she’s sick like mine is right now. However, to me that’s an easy one. I can make chicken noodle soup, hot chocolate, and Jell-O. The challenging part of being married, for me, is the Tim-Allen home improvement gig. Growing up, my dad took care of all those things: changing the oil in the vehicles, patching holes in the wall, replacing chipped tiles, repairing damaged furniture, and unclogging toilets and sinks. To this day there isn’t a problem that my dad can’t solve. It’s his calling. A fixing-up vision I didn’t inherit. Last week, the toilet in our apartment started acting up, such as not flushing with full velocity and taking a minute to drain and refill. Eventually, it stopped working at all. Oh, if there isn’t anything more inhumane t

Dribbling Ink

Search This Blog