Now this is how you do (or don’t) start blogging again. You write a post and go to save it only to find your website has gone down and said post falls plunk into the void.
Said post wasn’t about the new bookshelves (yes from IKEA) that we got, which we’ve needed since October for more more books, DVDs, papers and the ever blooming fruits of H.o.p.’s imagination piling up here there and everywhere, which put me vaguely in a mind for Spring (when dead gods are awakened by pink bunnies hopping on their graves) because of the sorting through and cleaning demanded by bookshelves which are supposed to make cleaning easier and instead cause me to look around the apartment and think, “What is missing? There’s something missing.” And I don’t mean clutter, because there’s still plenty of that.
The post wasn’t about those shelves or about Spring, which those shelves almost nudged me into believing in, because of all the sneezing I was doing with the deep cleaning and dusting which actually began with a visit from the Phone Man last week who pronounced our phone line dead (like we didn’t see that coming three years ago but couldn’t get the phone company to believe us) which meant lots of moving around of our old new bookcases while he looked for a short before pronouncing the line dead dead dead (which we’d been telling the phone company for three years) which meant dusting behind what had been moved (more sneezing). The phone man put in a new line and I was gleeful thinking finally finally I’d be able to use the internet again, which for the past couple of months only H.o.p. was able to use much because our connection was slow enough that only one person could be accessing the internet at a time and H.o.p. watching online movies about Helen Keller and Einstein and the Huns and Egyptians took priority. Oh, and taking care of his Neopet. And then there’s all the beautiful old Italian animatoins of folk tales he’s been in love with for months, watching at Cosmeo. Watching over and over and over again. Plus the video on Helen Keller. And the one on Madame Curie. They both really caught his imagination. And ate up a lot of bandwidth which we didn’t have because our phone connection was from hell, as it was essentially dead, and because Earthlink sux but so probably would AT&T.
The post wasn’t about those things but it began with them because Spring Spring Spring put me in a mind for maybe something new, hopefully something that was, uhm, kind of hopeful in a way that’s not all about how death and decay is a good thing, promising I don’t know what but something beyond Spring cleaning and sneezing (sneeze sneeze sneeze go I and I’ve not even been dusting). Put me in a mind for something new that might feel something like a Reward, yeah, a Reward. Everyone needs an occasional big R Reward for something, whatever. So when the Discovery.com email touting the New Spring Arrivals in their store popped up in my inbox with its yellows and purples, that’s where my head was. Spring and a Springy Reward for whatever, I don’t know what, but even some kind of big E Educational toy for H.o.p. sounded good because a big E Educational toy would come with the same aura of Springy Promise, the dead gods pushing up from beneath the earth, awakened by those pink hoppy bunnies. No, not a personal Reward but a box with touted Educational promise can be a little ray of rising sun in a homeschooling family’s world after a prolonged field trip in Winter doldrums.
My luck is I’m also a skeptic and trust nothing from Discovery.com to bring me anything elevating or worth the expenditure. Except the big blow-up T Rex we bought from them when H.o.p. was three years old, which is why they hope that we’ll purchase something again, eventually. Which we have. Some DVDs. And Cosmeo is a Discovery thing.
What was Discovery.com hoping I might buy this time? There was the Praying Mantis set-up where you can watch them eat each other. There was the vacuum gun with which you can capture bugs and look at them up close under a built-in magnifier. There was the UV canopy chair (shouldn’t that be anti-UV) in which Nanny McPhee can sit outside (or inside if you prefer) while the ravaging hoard ravages.
I clicked to look at the Praying Mantis set-up, with no intention of spending money, not on bringing bugs into the apartment.
Then over on the side bar I saw…
Raise your very own prehistoric creature – the amazing Aquasaur. Also known by its scientific name, Triops Launcaudrtus, this ancient creature grows up to 2″ in length and swims in its own special prehistoric environment. Once you set up the environment, the live eggs will hatch within 24 hours. Simply feed your Aquasaur according to directions, then watch it grow and swim.
* Aquatic habitat with glowing underwater volcano
* Aquasaur eggs
* Aquasaur food
* Informative manual and instructions
* 2 month manufacturer’s warranty
“Sea monkeys?” I thought.
It said nothing about sea monkeys but it sure sounded like them with updated, repackaged promises of grandeur. When I was a kid, for virtually pennies sea monkeys promised love and adventure on the back pages of comic books. “Own a bowlfull of happiness! Instant pets! So eager to please, they can even be trained. Always clowning around, these frolicsome pets swim, stunt and play games with each other. Because they are so full of tricks, you’ll never tire of watching them!”
Even before I knew they were brine shrimp I knew they wouldn’t be what they were advertized so I never had the experience of sea monkeys as a child.
Were Aquasaurs repackaged Sea Monkeys or not?
I looked up Triops Launcaudrtus on Google.
Nothing. Despite that being the scientific name for Aquasaur. Apparently science isn’t that interested in these grand Ancient! creatures.
I went to my handy-dandy online Encyclopedia Britannica (which H.o.p. never uses but I keep trusting he will, some day, and until then I use it) and I did a search for Triops Launcaudrtus.
Finally, finally I found some pictures of them elsewhere and learned they are not Sea Monkeys. Not by a long shot. No, they are Tadpole Shrimp that look like miniature horseshoe crabs and are larger members of the family that includes brine shrimp. That’s all. Not the same thing. Not at all. Can’t accuse a Triops of being a lowly Sea Monkey.
They’re kind of cool looking, actually.
I wanted one because it kind of looked like I felt. Not that I’m cool looking, because I’m not. But if you go take a look at the above pic of Triops you’ll see what I mean.
I called H.o.p. in to look at it. He was impressed enough to say that he wanted a toy of it, not the real thing.
I want an Aquasaur.
No I don’t.
Just for a day, not in any commitment kind of way. Not even a 90 day commitment, which is their life span.
(Several hours later.)
OK. I’m over it. I don’t want an Aquasaur.
No, I do. I went to look at its picture again. I want an Aquasaur.
No, I don’t.
I wonder if an Aquasaur would be fun for the full 90 days or just sort of fun the first few.
When I think about other things I’d like to have, a pic of the Aquasaur suffices.
Go here for bad Sea Monkey poetry. Amazing, the glimpses of other lives lived to which the internet exposes you.
P.S. I find elsewhere the scientific name of Aquasaur is Triops longicaudatus, and that does yield results other than “Buy me here!” in internet searches.