www.seamonkey-blog.com

Hey, cowboy.

I got an email from Megan yesterday that raised my hopes about my Sea Monkeys again. See, I left them sitting there in their tank in hopes that on the third day they’d rise again. And, well, they did.

Having received the encouraging message, I went back and peered again. There, avoiding giant predators by sticking very close to the fluorescent-yellow plastic Sea Monkey Reef, was a very-much-living Sea Monkey. I looked and looked, and found only him. I was thrilled to see him very active and youthful-looking, no bigger than ‘the period at the end of this sentence’ mentioned in the Sea Monkey Bible. <-- That period right there is a Sea Monkey at about 10x magnification. Only he's white (caucasian?). And squiggly.

I became a little nervous, however. I mean, he was by himself in there. What if he got all lonely and morbid and became that skinny emo kid I see shuffling around the lake all the time? For that reason, I can’t express how happy I was to find more of them in there tonight. I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re a horde or bunch or even a passel, but there’s definitely more than one right now.

So I followed the next set of instructions in the Sea Monkey Bible: aerate the water. It told me if I owned the Sea Monkey Bubbler, I could skip this step. However, I’m more about the Amish-variety Sea Monkey habitat, and therefore we do things the old-fashioned way. I dumped them out into a bowl. I dumped them into their tank. I did this the recommended 4-5 times. I felt a little bad about what must have seemed to them no less than a cataclysm, but then I remembered they live in the ocean, and are accustomed to typhoons, hurricanes, and even the occasional shark attack. I mean, not my Sea Monkeys specifically, but they probably retain some kind of genetic memory or something. Right? Right.

Also, I’d like to point out that there’s a slight discrepancy between the depiction of Sea Monkeys on the box and how they appear in reality. (I’m specifically not linking to a picture of the artist’s rendering from the box, because if you don’t remember what they look like from your childhood, you’re dead to me.) They’re less something from a bad acid trip, more alien bursting from Ian Holm’s stomach. I’m just saying.

Tomorrow they get their first feeding. You will definitely want to stick around for that.

In other very important news, my left foot is giving me some trouble. OK, a lot of trouble. I don’t want to pay to go to the doctor to have them tell me it’s a tendon injury again. It’s either a tendon or ligament; I know nothing’s broken because it gets better when it’s warmed up (well, sometimes), and I know in which manner I arrived at this problem: walking many miles in very bad shoes when I was wandering Our Nation’s Capitol. At that point, I thought it was just a bruise.

So I have done the smart thing, which is use the internet to self-diagnose. My informed opinion is that I have a condition generally known as ‘fucked’. It’ll go away, but not before it’s bothered me for some time, much like the Plight of the Achilles Tendon, and the Hip Flexor Debacle before that. Fun!

You know what’s disgusting? Not just biting your tongue hard and getting a mouthful of blood, but getting it all chewed into your gum. Yeah, you wanted to hear that.

Now it’s time for more recent searches, just to prove that this right here is your website for everything. Everything.

Night!
Jenni