the fish has a name! sort of.

You've got to be kidding me.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Before I announce the long-anticipated results of the First and Last Annual Name My Goldfish Competition of 2013, I would like to note that my kitchen is apparently not the steaming incubator of democratic spirit that I assumed it to be. I had approached my kids with this pet-nomer undertaking before floating it on the blog, and they agreed in principle, but the realpolitik proved thornier than anticipated; as we learned from the collapse of the Soviet Union, democracy is easier said than done. When they heard the results, they rebeled.

But a deal is a deal. A poll is a poll. A dumbass idea is a dumbass idea. And so, with no more ado, if any of this qualifies as ado, the winner of our thunderously important exercise is: “Sushi.”

For this my kids and I have no one to blame but ourselves, as the four of us selected it as a finalist despite the fact that it is, truly, vicious bordering on abusive: How is naming a pet after a foodstuff derived from its flesh any less cruel than not naming it at all? It’s like deciding to call a pony “horse meat.”

But the people have spoken. A tiny number of people with an especially morbid sense of humor, but all the same. They are people. And they have spoken. Now, whether this means we actually call the poor creature “sushi” is a matter only history, and my children, can decide.

vote here! goldfish poll!

After deep linguistic analysis and months, I mean seconds, of rigorous and discerning discussion with my three children, I am pleased to announce finalists in the First and Last Annual Name My Goldfish Competition of 2013.

Some of these names, “Sushi” included, were suggested in comments right here on the blog. Others, such as “Chunk,” were suggested in a thread on my Facebook page. “Pudge” is my daughter Madeleine’s idea. The idea of highlighting the plight of this sad creature to begin with was suggested by my friend Jane, whom I should have credited from the start but didn’t because I’m an ungrateful and insensitive wretch. If I weren’t, I would have named the fish years ago.

Go ahead and vote. Just once will do. Voting will close same time tomorrow, unless I change my mind and extend it, because I am flighty as well as ungrateful and insensitive, and because, as you are no doubt aware, the First and Last Annual Name My Goldfish Competition of 2013 is bigger news than the Grammys. So you’re all clamoring for the chance to express your opinions on piscine pet monikers. So I’m going to shut up now. So you can vote. Go on. Vote.

you talkin' to me? probably not. No one does.

you talkin’ to me? probably not. no one does.

name my goldfish

Such a sad face.

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.)