Tamagotchi: Collect Them All!

Tamagotchi. How do I even begin to talk about Tamagotchi? When I was about 5, I had a Little Mermaid themed Tamagotchi that was my whole life for about two weeks. I don’t remember if I got him for Christmas or my birthday, but I do remember that digital toy being my life. It was purple and it was shaped like shells unlike the normal egg shaped most of the other Tamagotchis were. This mini digital game started with you raising a fish, which I named Spot and I made sure I took care of it. I fed it, and cleaned up after it, and I made sure that Ursula didn’t eat or kill it.

Spot was such a good little fish. No fresh water required.

One day I came home from school looking for Spot but I couldn’t find him. I looked in my room, downstairs in the kitchen, I looked in the living room, and I even looked near my dog’s food bowl. But Spot was nowhere to be seen. I asked my mom where spot went and she told me that she hadn’t seen spot since she saved him from Ursula earlier that day. So Spot was lost. I was so sad and lonely. Well not really sad since I had my dog and other toys.

Years later, my grandparents took me to Toys ‘R Us as a congratulations for my good grades. I was in the fourth grade and I got all A’s on my report card. When we were looking around I spotted it. A small Tamagotchi that was pink and white. It was the cutest thing ever. I named my new one Angel and it turned out that Angel was a boy. But that didn’t stop me from loving that little creature with all my heart. For a month I took Angel everywhere until suddenly, the little digital toy died.

I was in the seventh grade when I got a new one. It was the latest edition Tamagotchi and I named my first little alien Fabio. Tamagotchis actually had a story to them that I never understood what it was until I was 13. Aliens need to find a new home so they lay eggs here on earth and we have to take care of them. The little aliens grow up from being a baby, to a child, to an Adult, and then an elderly little alien. You can have you alien play with your friends by pointing the red bean to the other person’s Tamagotchi. I really did enjoy having a Tamagothi and playing with my friends. However I saw that I was getting very obsessive over the game going to my locker almost after class to feed it, bath it, and make sure it was sleeping okay. There was a pause feature, but being the dotting mother I was, I couldn’t bear to leave it alone. Soon Angel’s battery died and I got a new one. However the system didn’t work very well with a new battery so I had to give Angel a funeral where he was lost forever in my dad’s car.

TAMAGOTCHI

It wasn’t until I was 16 when I found Spot again. For her birthday gift, my mom decided to redo our whole kitchen to build her “dream” kitchen. As I was packing up the kitchen knick-knack drawers, I was surprised to find Spot.

“Mom! What was spot doing in here?” I asked her. My mom turned around and laughed.

“Oh! That’s where I placed it!” she said to me.

“What do you mean?”

“Well one night I heard this beeping noise and I couldn’t figure out what it was so I went searching the whole house for the thing. And then when I found your toy, I decided to hide it in this drawer. You never went in here since there were scissors there and you could had cut yourself, so I knew it was safe there.”

Spot was of course dead at this point, if it felt great to have him back in my arms. Tamagotchi’s have sold millions upon millions since the late 1980s. Their little portable digital game was a huge hit that made McDonalds made little keychains out of the different aliens that some adults still have today hanging from their bags. Everyone had a Tamagotchi story. What was yours?

Britney or Christina

One simple question: Britney or Christiana? I have to say that in the second grade I was more of a Spice Girls type of person than I was fighting over which pop diva was better. I could never say I liked both. That was asking for a death wish. Girls would always say, “You can dance to Britney!” or “Christina has more soul.” These two blonds came out at the same time as the two biggest female stars in the 90s. They were young, white, and hip. Yet it was always hard to say who was better. Britney had that southern charm to her that made her “the girl next door”. Christiana had that rebellious sweet girl look that made her look like she was ready to go clubbing. But if you were to ask me who I like more, I would say asdjakafhafha. Did that make sense? Well it shouldn’t have. Trying to make sense on who you like more made you loss friends in the process. That how I learned how to compromise.

The Ultimate Argument

During recess, my friends would play Britney Spears and Christiana Aguilera. They would fight over me to join a side in which I propose to play “Spice Girls vs Spice Girls Zombies”. Of course there was then a fight over who would be “Scary Spice” since she was the only black one in the group and I went to an all black catholic school. But at least they were fighting over something better in my mind than fighting over two perfectly good singers. In a few years time, they would all move on to arguing more over which singer was better or join the debate now on Lil’ Kim vs. Nicki Minaj.

Not as good as Britney vs Christina, but similar...I guess...

Sometimes when I was younger, I wished girls didn’t argue over such things. The boys usually argued about which Pokemon was stronger in a fight. And although I didn’t watch much Pokemon, I know that I much rather be in that discussion than the one over who wore that dress better: Britney or Christiana. Now I am 20 years old and I have to say that I still can’t make up my mind. Britney has a lot of iconic songs that I always dance to where ever I am, while Christiana is on my inspiration playlist on my iPod because her music touches my soul. I guess it depends on the person. But I have to say that when I have children, I’m putting them up to the test just like my mom did with Michael Jackson and James Brown.

 

Furby: A Horror Story

It was a hot summer night when it all happened. In a simple, quiet house on the south side of Chicago. Three people: one mother, her daughter, and her daughter’s friend were having a fun night of games, movies and laughter. The two girls, who were no more than 8, sat in the mother’s room playing “WAR”, a card game they learned at school.

“Okay girls,” the mother said walking into the room. “It’s time for bed. It’s almost midnight!”

“But mom! The game was getting really good!” the daughter said.

“Nope, it’s time for bed girls. Let’s turn off the light and sleep.”

“I-I-I’m afraid of the d-d-d-dark.” The friend said fiddling with her hands.

“It’s okay, we can leave the hall light on, right mom?” the daughter said.

Furby...

“Sure.” The mother smiled and patted the bed for the two girls to start lying down. The daughter curled next to her mom and the friend lied at the other end of the bed with her face towards the hallway light. The house was silent and comforting. Yet it was too dark for the friend. Her brown eyes opened only just 2 hours after closing them and was being greeted by small brown eyes as big as a ping-pong ball sitting on the TV stand.

“Furby.”

“Hello?” The friend asked.

“Furby.”

“Brit, you Furby is awake.” The friend started shaking the girl who was curled up safely in her mother’s arms until her own eyes opened.

“What?” Brit said.

“Your Furby. It’s awake.”

Brit got out of bed and walked over to the small Furbie.

“All you got to do is turn him off. Then he won’t mess with you anymore.” Brit lifted the small robotic toy upside down and switched it off. “There, now let’s go back to sleep.” The friend nodded her head and went back to sleep at the end of the bed. Only minutes later did she hear the word “Furby” start to echo in her head. She switched positions in the bed, thinking it was a dream, until she heard the voice become louder.

“Furby.”

“Brit! It’s on again!” the friend screamed.

Brit and her mother woke up and stared straight where the toy usually stayed but didn’t see it.

“Wait where did it go?” Brit said as she started to get out the bed again.

“Furby, Furby.”

“It couldn’t just walk off!” the mother said. The friend stayed in the bed, refusing to move where she sat. She never understood the true meaning behind the toy. It looked like a cross between an owl and one of those creatures from the movie The Gremlins. The toy ran on batteries and it just said, “Furby” when ever you moved your hand in front of it. But the fact that Brit had turned the toy off and yet it was still on and now missing did not sit well with the friend. There was something more to the Furby.

“Found it!” The mother said. She walked back into the room with Brit right behind her. The mother, with a screwdriver, took the batteries out of the toy and place the toy back at it’s spot by the TV. “Okay girls, let’s go back to sleep now.” The mother and daughter climbed back into the bed and drifted off to sleep. The friend sat quickly on the bed, afraid to close her eyes. She watched the Furby, with it’s eyes now closed and sat quietly eloped in the darkness. Then she saw the toy widen it’s eyes. It’s head turned, which it was not able to do, and said, “Furby likes to eat children.”

Furby is watching you...

The friend screamed and ran out the room and to her friend’s room where her overnight bag stayed. She had to get out and quick. Then she heard Brit’s piercing scream echo throughout the house followed by the mother’s. The friend grabbed her bag and ran down stairs where she found the little monster waiting for her, it’s ears moving up and down.

“Furby likes to eat humans.”

“Please, leave me alone! I have a future ahead of me!”

“Furby.”

“Please stop!”

“Furby.”

“No I beg you!

“Furby.”

And then there was silence.

Furby is your friend...

Dear Monica Lewinsky

Oh look! Someone wrote me a letter!

I guess the best way to start this letter is to say hi and ask how you are doing today. So hi! How are you doing? How is your life in London? I really don’t want to be one of those people who just say “Hey you’re a whore!” because that’s not what this letter is about. Well, I guess in a round about way it is, but no. This letter is about how you changed the name Monica for me when I was in kindergarten and first grade. I figured that life would be simple with a name like Monica. But I was wrong.

See I had no idea who you were when the whole scandal or as you call it “mutual relationship” with President Clinton happened around 1996. I was only about 4 years old at the time and the only thing I knew about politics was that Clinton was the president and that the Mayor of Chicago was a Daley. But that was it. That was all I knew. So think about how shocked I was when the older kids started calling me Monica Lewinsky.

It started when I was Kindergarten in 1997. I was 5 and the new thing about politics I learned was that George Washington was the first President and that Abraham Lincoln was the 16th. At the catholic school I went to, we wore uniforms and went to morning mass every Thursday at 8:15 AM. After mass on one Thursday, something must have been on the news about you, because all of a sudden, the older kids started to say weird things to me.

“You are a home wrecker.”

“Monica Losewinsky.”

“Did you kiss him on the mouth or on the-”

“Wow, who knew he went after younger girls like you.”

“You should ashamed.”

“Why would your parents name you after that whore?”

How would those kids know what a "whore" looks like?

I didn’t quite understand what they were saying or what they meant. And when ever they would ask me why my parents named me after you, I told them they didn’t since they named me after the Saint. The older kids would then laugh and tell me that my parents supported home wreckers. Imagine the reaction my parents had when I told them what happened. I was so young and I was hearing “Whore” and “Home Wrecker”. They marched up to the school and talked to the principal. Then the principal, a older Irish Nun with red-orange hair, talked to the kids in 5-8th grade.. And boy did they get a lecture. And for a while, I didn’t hear people call me Monica Lewinsky. Not until I learned who you were until I was a little older. Out of the age of innocents and into the age of learning about life itself. I learned about what happened and started to understand how stupid the older kids at my Catholic school were. How could they claim that my parents named me after you when I was born before your whole ordeal. I mean that was kinda stupid right?

However the whole point to this letter is to ask you for an apology. Your mistakes hurt me when I was little. Even though I had no clue what you did or who you were, it really hurt me. I just wish things could change, but of course you can’t rewind time. After something has been done, you can’t change it.

Regards,

Monica From Chicago

At least she said it was a mutual relationship...