After living for a couple of months now with two active Tamagotchi toys, and three youngling human “parents” who are fickle about their nurturing skills, I think I may have reached the end of the magic. The spell seems to be lifting.
It first showed signs of dispersal when the battery abruptly died in one of the Tamagotchis. I think it may have been Blarz, who apparently exerted extra battery power when “visiting” with the other Tamagotchi. During one of these virtual visits, a flashing X suddenly appeared in the little view screen, and Blarz was no more. We all were very sad. But then I bought a new battery.
The resurrected Tamagotchi went to Council and she gave it a name and loved it—until she let it die, too, from neglect. That’s when I set up my Tamagotchi day care service, asking the kids to leave the toys on the dining room table before they left for school in the morning. I went about cleaning up virtual poops, doling out virtual meals and snacks, and giving the toys virtual exercise, in between the other things I do with my time (which used to be very much about those same activities, but for actual human beings). Weeks went by where I tried my best to offer the babysitting service, but the kids had a habit of cruelly pressing the “reset” button on the backs of each other’s Tamagotchis, thereby ending its little virtual life.
If I used a PC I might know by now how to upload a Tamagotchi character and thus download it again once a reset has been inflicted, or if a new battery is installed. Something tells me they work with PCs, and not with a Mac, which is what I have. But whatever. Our underlying problem, like I said, is fickle nurturing and occasional neglect and abuse.
Recently Paolo’s Tamagotchi “died” with a flashing X. The battery’s done. We can press the reset and have his little guy back—Goldo is his name—but we’d have to start over from scratch, and we already know that the battery is fading. So goes the magic as well.
Then there’s Council’s toy, which she seems to have lost somewhere in the house, not long after we got that new battery—back when the toy was mine, Blarz in my pocket. A few days ago, Council paused in the hallway, and cocked her head to the side.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I thought I heard my Tamagotchi! What if Ally’s hungry?” she said.
“You heard it beep? Where was it coming from?”
“I don’t know. I thought it was coming from downstairs but maybe it was upstairs,” she sighed.
When the kids were all away at school, I tried my best to find the lost toy, but it’s not in any of the usual places. It’s probably buried under a pillow somewhere. When Tamagotchis are neglected, their waste piles up right next to them, and then they get sick, and then they eventually “fly away,” or turn into ghost-like silhouettes with wings, floating statically in the view screen. In other words, they croak, but we can call it “fly away” if Tamagotchi-speak demands it, lest the children (who give time-outs for no reason) be too traumatized by the concept of Virtual Death.
Paolo’s Tamagotchi-in-limbo is being held indefinitely captive on my desk shelf. When one of my kids asks me, “When are we going to reset Goldo?” my response is, “When we get a new battery.” So far they have not gotten to the point of asking me when we are going to get a new battery, which is probably for the best, because the answer would only disappoint them. As for the lost one, I am learning to let go.