When I first moved into residence I brought with me a little green goo-lamp. Nothing special; just an hourglass type encasement that held a green gooey substance (no, it wasn't snot you silly people) which would ooze through a hole in the centre every time you flipped it over. I think it would last for about ten minutes before settling at the bottom.

I never thought it was anything to go crazy about. Apparently I was wrong. By the time classes started, news of the goo-lamp in my room had reached the far reaches of the North Side of residence. People I barely knew would knock on my door and sheepishly ask if they could sit and stare at the goo for a few minutes. And I let them. I loved the expressions on their faces as they watched it ooze into shapes and patterns before their eyes. I loved the different ways they would shake it, trying desperately to spell their names or create a great green gooey tidal wave. Someone even perfected a method of lying on her back and pretending the goo was falling onto her face as they held it up to the light. Well, ok, that was me. My roommate thought I was a big silly.

It was like fire. Something to stare into while you forget about your surroundings. Something to lose yourself in. I think that's why it cast such a spell on people.

Unfortunately, last night I mourned the passing of the goo. I was sitting on my bed flipping the hard plastic case aimlessly, chatting about pumpkins and how my roommate had an unhealthy attraction to orange things in the fall, and it fell from my hands. No big deal, it was plastic. But as I picked it up, the top part came unstuck and a cascade of sticky goo poured out onto my hands. My arms flailed wildly. Goo flew through the air. My roommate screamed (she had a theory that the goo was actually a corrosive biological weapon created by the French government) until she noticed that I was in no pain. We ran to the bathroom and tried desperately to wash the goo from our hands, but to no avail. Our door handle is still sticky, as well as the underside of my left arm.

I almost cried. When word spread the mourners filtered downstairs to our room and gave us gentle hugs. Words like "I heard. I'm sorry." passed, and nothing more. So I let go of the sacred goo (it had been purchased in France and therefore buying another like it was out of the question). I guess when you're not allowed to have pets you create substitutes. Maybe I'll get more work done now.

He was a gift. A gift for the girl who has everything. A gift that most people would give a twelve year old, but here I am, nearly thirty, sitting in the dark, gazing at him. Falling in love a million times with him. Wishing I could live inside of him.

I guess he is technically a Lava Lamp or at very least in the family of cheesy items one calls Lava Lamps. The box he came in says he is a Glitter Light. It works on the same principles of a Lava Lamp, but the shape and contents are different. Instead of that retro rocket shape, my glitter light is a cylinder. It is full of a liquid that is neither blue nor purple, but a wonderful combination of the two. A bit like a stormy sky. There is a color of Manic Panic hair dye called Lagoon Blue that matches it almost exactly.The glitter is silver and shiny and marvelous. His long base is also silver. I have to admit though, that when I first got him, I didn’t like him. On the side of the box, it looked like his base was gold. A purple and gold lamp just seemed so terrible; like something you’d find at Graceland or in someone’s house on MTV’s Cribs. Someone like Carmen Electra or the actress who plays the daughter on the Sopranos. But silver and lagoon blue is much different. If I were a set designer for a movie that takes place in the future, there would be one in Bruce Willis’ apartment. And he’d go there after a hectic day of chasing androids and stare at it while remembering how his dead wife had given it to him for his birthday.

When you first turn him on, the glitter only moves very slowly. Inching it’s way up from the base, like a strand of DNA. Then, after a while, the DNA breaks up as the liquid gets more hot and other patterns appear. “It looks like stars being born,” Scoresby said the other night. Other times, with all the lights off, light from it dances on the walls and it reminds me of this time I was at a pool party in high school. A night pool party where I sat on the diving board and watched the water throw the same dancing lights everywhere. I was a moody teen and I remember finding that those pool lights had an amazing calming ability. As with everything at that age, I remember writing a poem about it. I don’t remember much about that poem, except I typed it on a Macintosh at school using the font Avant Garde.

So, this goo lamp has taken over my life. Every chance I get, I turn off all the lights and flip him on. He dances and soothes me.

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