Swimming with the Fishes

“Oohh....what’s uh....what’s that?”

These words, said with a slight air of confusion, fear, and aversion, are usually the first words people utter when they’ve seen my aquarium. It was pretty disgusting. After months of neglect, a tepid, unnaturally virescent one inch (or 2.54cm) of ‘water’ remained in the tank, holding my two surviving African cichlids captive.

A shame.

More so because its so cool. Years ago, before my three day sojourn here to the Lone Star state, I stumbled on an old 1950s television in the basement of our Maryland home. Given my mother’s creative clairvoyance, she’d already taken out the cathode-ray tube ages ago. Now it was ready to begin its new life.

As an aquarium.

Given an amazing set of circumstances (the tank was snug, the filter fit, and the light tube was invisible to the casual observer) and my experience as a pimply, fresh and saltwater specialist at Fairfax’s One Stop Pet Shop and Aquarium, the tank looked as amazing. At every party, chai soirée, book swap, casual drop-by, salsa-lesson, or night cap I’d invariably be the recipient of a “Whoa. Nice aquarium.” These words, of course would be scented with Bailey’s, ginger, or Malbec.

In any case, thanks to a glorious several hours of boiling, scraping, and wiping you are now looking at my RCA Radiovision Aquarium back to its former glory. While not on the scale of the Tate Museum, or even Jamiroquai’s last album (they got a new bassist), I still incredibly satisfied with the results.

“Enuaj” and “Teloiv” certainly are.