And, he was a heartbreaker. If the autopsy shows that he was half Greek half Chinese half Russian Orthodox with OCPD and collections of odd and useless things including receipts and pointless facts as well as born under a difficult star sign, I’m not going to be in the least surprised.
For Papaya, may he rest in peace:
Paris Texas –I’ve got a Static Aesthetic - Bombs Away mix and I think and I think and therefore I wanna go grab a shovel so I can dig up the devil so I can ask him why la la
This loss early today put me on a different track for hours than I had planned. I went running as usual, but instead of my customary reveries I spent the time remembering Hammy the Hamster, who at the age of 5 (that’s apx 160 in hamster years) died an unnatural death that I can still barely talk about without getting v’klempt. (No, seriously.) I don’t collect cats (pulease), but a life without the experience of attaching to an animal is incomplete. So I stopped in at the out-of-the-way local pet store to buy some $6 choke-proof bull penises (yes, you heard that right) for Jasper, who is currently in charge of humanizing my home. The pet store isn’t really a pet store, because this is Buffalo. If you need that explained, you’re not going to understand it. Of course, they don’t sell lizards—they don’t sell pets of any kind, not even hamsters. But they can tell you, if you want to know, who the local hamster whisperer is. And of course there is one, THIS IS BUFFALO, where art is very widely defined and ‘artists’ of all kinds can afford grand impractical real estate. So, you guessed it, there is indeed a Buffalo Lizard Man. (I just had to ask.)
No, I didn’t want a lizard. Yes, there is an ice storm raging sideways here today. And I had work to do. So, of course, I spent the afternoon with The Lizard Man, who’s name is John Crocitto Jr. of ‘CroZoo’, a tiny storefront in Black Rock wherein you can get all sorts of lizards and lizard lore, or a chinchilla baby (brand new, just born there, so you’d have to wait) or a rescued kangaroo (no, seriously). His dad was sitting at the register reading a book with a bird perched on his head (seriously). Jr. is a zoologist in a pulled down ski hat and a heavy metal t-shirt who can tell you a buttgillion lizard facts at dizzying speed. No lizards have been truly domesticated (as in milked? dunno), although the orange bearded gecko comes closest. I was attracted to the knight anole (Cuban) babies, which are the ‘starter chameleons’ and who changed from luscious green to brown spotted before my eyes while nose-nudging the glass at me. But they get really big and live a looooong time, so might not be good if you have any “commitment issues”. The albino and other striped geckos were a little hissyfitty. The pygmy chameleon blended so well that I kept having to blink—one of the few kinds that can thrive without cross ventilation because of its natural habitat in undergrowth. Having made the rounds and discussed the drawbacks of water turtle keeping vs tortoise habits at length as an aside, he brought out his prize girl, an adult crested gecko in a lovely shade of chartreuse. The only drawback to this lizard is if you pull its tail it’ll come off, which can be a bit of a shock to you both. Still, this one had been to thousands of kindergarten classes and still had her ass. She also had sticky paws that helped her climb up her tiny indoor repelling wall impressively and that looked like little poker playing hands. I asked what her name was. “Well she’s never told me her name,” he said, “but when we take her on outreach shows, we call her Sarah.”
I’m a one-pet woman generally. I only bought the Crested Gecko book. But you have to admit, that baby-Sarah is fetching. They’ve got little eyelashes and lick their eyes at you, sluuuurpwink.
