Goldfish! A terrifying tale of evolution and television
Back in 19l82, when I was 37, I was living in a room I was renting from a man named Benny, a nuclear physicist working at the University of California at Santa Barbara and on government contracts. Benny's house was located in Goleta, California, about ten miles north of Santa Barbara and not far from Isla Vista, the student slum located on the western side of the UCSB campus.
In his living room, Benny had a large color TV. He also had a big fish tank in the room, located right next to the chair where he sat to watch television. And in that tank he had two large goldfish. I don't remember their names; Benny probably hadn't given them any. At one point I nicknamed them Fester Bestertester and Lurch -- not very nice, but then, the fish weren't very nice.
One day, when Benny was at work, I sat in the chair in front of the TV and turned the set on. I watched a news program, and then changed the channel and got Hee-Haw. Suddenly, about a cup and a half of water landed in my lap. Floop! went the tank. I looked over. The fish were glaring at me. Then they glared at the television. Then they glared at me.
Could it be that they didn't like what was on the TV? Experimentally, I changed the channel, and got I Love Lucy. The fish moved to the front of the tank, staring at the TV. No Floop!. No water in my lap.
I changed the channel again. This time I got a commercial for Cal Worthington Dodge. Floop! This time I got around two cups of water in my lap. The fish were now glaring at me with what for all the world was black hatred.
Very carefully, I returned to the channel with I Love Lucy on it. The fish parked themselves at the front of the tank, happily watching the show.
I got up from the chair and went to my room, leaving the TV on so that the two piscene critics could be happy -- I didn't want mushrooms to start growing out of the chair or the rug the way they had popped up in the rug under Gary Csillaghegyi's window, which he forgot and left open too many times when it rained.
True story.
If there's a moral here, either it's don't let your pet fish get too bored, or don't park your fishtank in front of the TV. Or something.
Damn -- the scaley bastards are evolving on us! You just watch: One of these days they'll take Hollywood over, and then we'll all be in deep, er, fish fewmets.
In his living room, Benny had a large color TV. He also had a big fish tank in the room, located right next to the chair where he sat to watch television. And in that tank he had two large goldfish. I don't remember their names; Benny probably hadn't given them any. At one point I nicknamed them Fester Bestertester and Lurch -- not very nice, but then, the fish weren't very nice.
One day, when Benny was at work, I sat in the chair in front of the TV and turned the set on. I watched a news program, and then changed the channel and got Hee-Haw. Suddenly, about a cup and a half of water landed in my lap. Floop! went the tank. I looked over. The fish were glaring at me. Then they glared at the television. Then they glared at me.
Could it be that they didn't like what was on the TV? Experimentally, I changed the channel, and got I Love Lucy. The fish moved to the front of the tank, staring at the TV. No Floop!. No water in my lap.
I changed the channel again. This time I got a commercial for Cal Worthington Dodge. Floop! This time I got around two cups of water in my lap. The fish were now glaring at me with what for all the world was black hatred.
Very carefully, I returned to the channel with I Love Lucy on it. The fish parked themselves at the front of the tank, happily watching the show.
I got up from the chair and went to my room, leaving the TV on so that the two piscene critics could be happy -- I didn't want mushrooms to start growing out of the chair or the rug the way they had popped up in the rug under Gary Csillaghegyi's window, which he forgot and left open too many times when it rained.
True story.
If there's a moral here, either it's don't let your pet fish get too bored, or don't park your fishtank in front of the TV. Or something.
Damn -- the scaley bastards are evolving on us! You just watch: One of these days they'll take Hollywood over, and then we'll all be in deep, er, fish fewmets.