Such a sad face.
Okay, people. I need a break. Tonight I give you a post that has NOTHING TO DO WITH DEATH, GRIEF and/or SNOT POURING FROM FACIAL ORIFICES.
Instead, I want you to name my fish. This is the ill-appreciated aquatic pet to which I alluded disrespectfully in last night’s post, which also involved DEATH, GRIEF and/or SNOT POURING FROM FACIAL ORIFICES.
Give me your ideas below. I will consider them harshly, weed them out and boil them down (or employ other such violent gardening and cooking methods) until I have a few worthy finalists. Then I’ll post a poll.
I’ll start you off with my son’s nominee: Jesús.
(I’m not enough of an authority on goldfish sexual characteristics, either primary or secondary, to establish its gender.)
Figuring. Shit. Out. 
“Tati” is my suggestion. Not necessarily because the goldfish resembles him so much (well, maybe around the eyes a little), but because it’s from the world of cinema, which is the first thing I think of whenever I see your name, and because Tati was such a great observer of life, which is the second thing I think of.
Esmeralda
Sushi.
Mitt
Joy
Midas
When Syd was three, she was given a Beta and quickly named it Christmas. It was kind of ironic she named it that because it was given to her by a family member that rejects the celebrating of Christmas (well in the commercial sense, anyway)….
So, I’m not suggesting naming it Christmas; I just thought you would get a kick out of the irony of the name she picked.
Maybe you could name it “Liv”; short for the way you are living your life well.
Donald
sushi