Go fish

This reminds me a little bit of Edvard Munch's famous painting, The Scream. Except, you know, with a fish.

The goldfish you're looking at above is Kenny. I don't know how long we've had him. All I know is I try to have as little as possible to do with him.

For starters, I'm a dog person not a fish person (or a bird person - saving that for another post). I also went through the fish faze (see what I did there?) when my kids were younger.

We had goldfish won at school fairs. A couple we picked up at the aquarium side of Petco. They lived in big bowls like Kenny. And if they lived long enough to grow larger, which a few of them did, we bought small aquariums with filters and little Diver Dan statues for them to swim through and around.

I was hoping that like Barney and the Wiggles, the kids would eventually outgrow goldfish. After all, they're older now and they don't seem that emotionally attached to him. But the second I mention getting rid of Kenny, I get a firm "No!" from everyone else in the house.

So Kenny swims to see another day.

I can't help feeling bad for him. I keep thinking he must be lonely, all by himself in that big jar. And depending what kind of cooking we're doing and how much of the kitchen counter we're using, his home can get relocated under a cabinet where it doesn't get much sunlight.

Apparently none of this seems to bother him. He just keeps swimming around his jar, recognizing me in my black t-shirt, and giving me those big wide eyes that say, "What's a fish gotta do to get fed around here?".

As predictable as I can be, I know the kind of jokes you're expecting right about now. How he never went to school. How I bought him for a fin. How he's been drinking all day, but it'd kill him to stop. I also had a few Nemo jokes, but I can't find them right now (I'll be here all week. Tip your waitress).

I'm sure at some point, like dozens of goldfish before him, we'll wind up relocating Kenny to a part of the room with more light and counter space.

Or the toilet.

Walt's Wharf

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. Then, sometimes, you want to go where no one knows your name but you want to go there anyway.

I like to think of myself as someone who likes to mix it up every now and again. Who maintains an air of unpredictability. An edge of danger. I keep spontenaity alive.

I also like to think of myself as six-foot three, one eighty, blond and ripped. But that's not happening either.

Come to find out I'm actually a creature of habit. Today we met some friends for lunch at one of my favorite places, Walt's Wharf in Seal Beach. It's been there forever, and it's always great. At least what I always order is. Because despite a wide variety of fresh seafood, and a wine selection second to none, I have the exact same meal every time I eat there.

Cup of clam chowder with Tabasco. Small Walt's salad with a salmon filet on top. Iced tea. I wanted you to know in case you're buying.

It's a sure thing every time. The problem is I feel like I should try something else. Logic would tell me if my usual choice is so good, other items must be just as good if not better. On the heels of that, I think this meal makes me happy and what am I so worried about.

Besides, since when did I start living my life according to logic? Not a Vulcan, hello.

I'm not going to say feeling bad for having the same great meal at a nice seafood restaurant is a first world problem, but, you know, draw your own conclusions.

Here's what I'm trying to say. If you want to meet me for lunch at Walt's, and you happen to be in a hurry, don't worry. I know what I'm having.