Wednesday, October 24, 2001
Being attractive can sometimes lead to unwanted results. It feels good tobe loved, but popularity has its downside. Take for instance those annoying little thingies you hardly notice during the day. They very much want me during the night.
They're called mosquitos, and they come after you when you're the most vulnerable: while you're sleeping. Good thinking actually, especially for such little brains (the size of a bacterium thingie). At that time, they use you as their little airport and land on your skin, and while they're there they can just as good take some fuel, right? So they tap some blood out of your vains (I don't have a problem with that: I have enough blood to feed a million mosquitos, and where I come from sacrifying blood is very common practice) and leave a very ugly red dot as a souvenir. I guess mosquitos have their own little competition, where the big challenge is to make a red mark as big as possible. Like catching the biggest fish. I can see them with their little leggies wide open to show the spot size.
They seem to be very fond of me: my face looks like a little mushroom (because of the dots). I know that, 'cause my alter ego in the bathroom behind the closet
also has these spots. By the way, he's quite a cute guy: yesterday he laughed at me, waved at me and tried to hug me.
They also seem to be very fond of mom. I can understand this: mom is an attractive young woman and I inherited all of her beauty-related genes. Now her back is also full of those red pointy dots. The only one dotfree (that is to say: the only real dots are the ones in his e-mail address) is dad: he's just too ugly and unattractive for the little stitching fellows. He uses us as some kind of lightning rod (you know, those iron things that are supposed to keep the lightning away from your head). He's the one saying we don't need anti-mosquito products.
Monday, October 22, 2001
More webcam annoyances
Last saturday, dad seemed very active. He usually just sits behind his computer like a pale plant, staring at the screen and moving the mouse, so I was rather curious to see what was wrong. He was walking from his computer to the box and vice versa, even multiple times. Maybe his legs were sleeping?
Then I saw what was happening: he put the webcam in my park and told some collegue-Nerd about an extension cord he bought for the cam. He could see my playing in my box from behind his computer now! This is the technological revolution! Wow! He and his friend were very busy discussing the subject (with a micro and their computers, wow! This is almost as good as a telephone they invented a century ago! But hey, it's free - except for the purchase of a 2 000 € computer)
Big deal. I'll never really understand the excitement of a nerd... So I got bored from listening to these adult children and took a little nap. They took advantage of the situation to film me during my sleep. The cam was pointing to my ear instead of to my face (dad is not good at controling things without a keyboard), and you could hear me snore. All that was broadcasted live on the internet! In front of billions of people! This was embarrassing. This is how the mass would see me from now on. This is a mental picture that will last for years in the minds of many. To me this was a big humiliation.
First thing I did when I woke up: I managed to move myself out of cam sight and played with my ball. Now people only could see a moving ball, I wasn't there any more. Then finally revenge time again: while mom was talking to dad, I noticed the cam, came closer and if you saw the broadcast, you could see a little head coming closer to the cam, then some hand reaching out, then some very confusing seconds of video material, and finally a cam pointing to the ceiling. Banzai!
Usually, mother puts me into my bathtub on a daily basis. Not this evening. Mom undressed me and herself (I saw dad look up from behind his computer), then went into the bathroom with me. There, you could see a weird thing above us. It was broken: a lot of water was leaking from the top. While mom held me, I was trying to grab the water jets, but it didn't work. Even tried opening and closing my little hands very fast. The only results I got, was a very funny feeling in my hand.
Next thing she did was holding my tummy under the water jets. I liked that, the tingling feeling of the water on my tummy. I could stay there for hours. But nothing lasts forever (especially when grownups notice you enjoy it): next phase in the alternative bathing process was holding my head under the leaking thing. It felt like the under-water-parts of my swimming lessons: confusing, breath-taking, in other words: inhuman. But I didn't cry. Crying is for pussies. I'm tough. Meanwhile daddy was looking with a big smile on his face (what's to laugh, ugly fellow?).
Finally the torturing stopped and I was ready for some 15 minutes belly rain, when daddy took over and dropped me on my cushion. The session was over. Of course, I couldn't let this happen, so I offered him some very loud protest. No crying, but satanic spells.
Sunday, October 21, 2001
Major changes in the consumption of fruit pulp
Fruit Pulp Risk is out. Food is not a game any more. It's about surviving again. This has everything to do with mom altering my diet. In the morning it's ok: the usual bottle of milk is served and gives me all the power I need to start the day alive and kicking. Breakfast is party-time, from the minute I pull the bottle to my mouth until I release a volumetric burp. Between those two moments there's a time of pure extasy: I drink the milk with half closed eyes, enjoying every drip of this synthetic food.
At noon, I get hungry again, and I expect the bottle with the white drug, but this is not true anymore. Mom prepares some solid food for me, all natural and healthy and full of vitamins (these are also invisible thingies, but unlike the bacterium thingies, good ones). Although grownups eat vegetables, meat and potatoes separated from eachother, mom mixes the stuff into a weird looking pulp. Then input is done by a spoon (=way more difficult to navigate food into your mouth this way).
I don't like this kind of food. I eat it, but not always a lot of it. It depends. Today's pulp can taste very different from yesterday's pulp. I hate being surprised by my food. I believe food must be one of the certainties we have. So yesterday I didn't eat a lot of it.
Big mistake. Mom went out and left dad alone with me (I always have the feeling he needs help more than I do at these moments), telling him I don't need the food before 4h30, because I ate my lunch very late. She forgot to mention I didn't eat a lot.
I started to get noisy at 3. Hungeeeeer! Dad obviously didn't understand my signals and tried to give me hugs, toys, love, stress. He's the kind of person that, if he would see a person drowning in the water and desperately crying for help, would ask: "What's the matter? Do you want to talk about your problem?" His knowledge of the human soul is very limited. At 4h00 he finally discovered what was wrong. So he served me fruit pulp. I guess it took me less than 3 minutes to eat the full portion. Happy me, happy daddy.
A little remark about my writing frequency: I do the best I can to share my life experience with you at regular intervals. Due to dad occupying the puter very often (claiming he's very busy), you've noticed the site is not updated every day.
It is my intention to update the site every day during the week, and to rest and build up new energy in weekends (also my pathetic family needs me then). So keep coming back!