Clambaneva’s magical greek turtle May 12, 2008

This true story comes all the way from Greece where my friend Catherine Clambaneva is proudly from. I did not have the pleasure of meeting Catherine’s magical pet, hence no cartoon for you to look at. You are going to have to use your imagination on this one. She says her magical greek turtle was, in actuality, a baby land tortoise.

For those of you who do not have the pleasure of knowing Catherine Clambaneva, she is awesome. Essentially, she is a singing cultural ambassadress from Greece. Check her out at: www.katerinaki.com

Before I retell this tale, let me clarify the “magical” power of this particular turtle. Catherine claims her turtle was “magical” due to the fact that it was found, in a plant, on a third story patio garden. It “magically” appeared. In short, it was not related to Gamera as I had hoped. We have had some discussion about how the turtle could have gotten to the third story on its own (Catherine suggests it was dropped by a cat, I suggested it was tossed up there by some kid) but nothing has been confirmed.

Catherine kept this magical turtle in a shoe box with some grass thrown in there, and she would take it out from time to time, to play with it and possibly sing to. On one particularly generous day, Catherine decided to take her turtle down to the yard of her apartment building complex to let her turtle graze ‘en plein air’ and to soak up some of the gorgeous sunshine greece is known for.

She carefully placed him in the grass which aroused the interest of a neighbor boy who was, in fact, a great turtle aficionado.

“Is that your turtle?” (he asked)

“Yes.” (her reply)

He picked the turtle up and looked at it. One second passes.

“It’s all fucked up”. (he declares)

“WHAT?!” (total shock)

(Pointing at the head) “Look at it’s eyes. They’re all fucked up.”

“WHAT?!” (total disbelief) “That’s im..possible…”

“Your turtle is DEAD.”

On the word “DEAD” he flings the turtle up across the yard and into the sky. He flung it so far, and so fast that she could not even follow it’s trajectory. A healthy discuss throw into oblivion.

One minute she was happily out grazing her turtle and the next she was dazed, petless and humiliated, standing there clutching an old, empty shoebox.

She was so angry at that boy for whipping her turtle into the cosmos, she didnt even have a body to bury! She spent all day searching the entire neighborhood for the turtles body, but she never did find it.

Pee-Wee, Beloved Guinea Pig May 1, 2008

Pee-Wee was my first Guinea Pig and was adorable, crafty and fun. I got him from a bin in the backyard of some lady’s garage sale in Baraboo, Wisconsin. Yes, there is such a place. Maren Berge’s Mom drove us up there to see Barnum & Bailey’s Circus World Museum. (yes, there is such a place.) Baraboo sold T-shirts that had “See Yoo, in Baraboo” written on them on them in a font very similar to “Rage Italic”. Stopping at this random garage sale in the middle of nowhere was a little unfornseen perk for Mrs. Berge. It was also a great chance for me to collect a pet that had not been officially consecrated by my own Mother, but consecrated by proxy via Mrs. Berge. I carefully held him on my lap the whole drive home (55 min) and was even more careful to collect all the poop he had dropped during that time before leaving the car.

Ah, goodtimes.

Pee-Wee was shorthaired, small, fearless and the best colors of calico. I used to put him in my bike basket and cruise around the ‘hood. For those of you who aren’t in the know, guinea pigs make this terrifying, shrieking sound that sounds somehow like a cross between a buzz and a whistle. Having this sonic accompaniment to my rides, without people knowing where the sound was coming from or what it was, in my mind, helped to build a mysterious allure to my personality.

Summer got hot and humid in Wisconsin. 90 degrees with 95 percent humidity sort of hot. I found Pee-Wee passed out in his cage and he would not respond to my gentle poking and prodding. I filled up the sink with cool water and slipped him into the refreshing pool. He popped up in the air, thrashing his arms and legs wildly like he was being electrocuted or fighting a great white shark. I scooped him up in a fluffy towl and patted him dry. His whole body was pounding a fast heart beat and I figured out then that he was suffering from heat stroke.

My Mom’s room was the only room in the house that had an air conditioner. I took him in there, turned the air conditioner on, making sure the control knob was set to “cold” and “high”. I layed him on top, still wrapped in his towel, and left him there to cool down.

I came back later that night and he was as rock hard like as an ice cube. I could pick his whole body up by his little rat foot, a rodent popsicle. I can’t say if he died from heatstroke or from being frozen by the air conditioner.