November 8, 2001
  an interview

6,500 words.

43,500 words to go.

I was following a thread on three-way, a discussion forum for online journalers -- there's a community out there. Who knew? -- and came across a hilarious URL to an interview that stee did with his cat.

At any rate, being in the slightly delirious state of mind that comes with being sick, I promptly decided it would be a good idea to hold an interview with the tortoises living in the tupperware container in the living room.

Yes, I was sick again. Yes, it's only been a few weeks since I was sick last. Yes, I get sick a lot. My personal opinion is that this ghetto city I live in, ("Climate Best by Government Test!"), is trying to kill me. Rochester tried to do the same thing, except Rochester did it with snowdrifts that rose over my head and 90-miles-per-hour winds straight from your gusty friends in the North Pole. Oh, and that strange smell. That's right, Rochester had that smell.

Redwood City, on the other hand, tries to get to me through microbes and germy things, and viral contagions customarily found on the festering, pus-ridden corpses of alien ritual mutilation victims. This is the efficient way to go, as it requires less overhead and a heck of a lot less effort on the part of the city. Plus, the medium of death is small, which was what the 20st century was all about, yo. What can I say, we're in Silicon Valley. Silicon Valley's into the high tech scene.

However, we digress from the issue at hand, which is the fact that I thought it would be a clever idea -- remember now, I was sick -- to hold an interview with the tortoises.

Now, ignoring for a moment the fact that tortoises can't talk, and ignoring for the moment that I have absolutely no training in the art of the interview, and also ignoring for the fact that with the state of mind I was in, I would have had absolutely no problem holding an irrational conversation with a potted plant, even one of the bulimic potted plants I always seem to be unfortunate enough to buy, I have to say that it went quite well.

All things considered.

Me: Hullo.

Lucky: (sniffles)

Seven: Hrp?

Me: Sorry to bother you. Wake up. Want to talk?

Lucky: What?

Seven: Hi, god. It's me, Seven. Give me lettuce.

Me: Talk. You know. Want to?

Heisenburg: Just eat them. It'll save time.

Me: Shut up, Heisenburg.

Heisenburg: I'm just saying.

Seven: Talk to who?

Me: Well, amongst yourselves if you want to, but you could talk to me instead. Something new.

Lucky: I was sleeping.

Seven: What did we do?

Me: Do? Nothing. I just wanted to know if you wanted to talk.

Heisenburg: To tortoises. Who talks to tortoises? Why can't I be an imaginary cat to someone who has a grip on reality?

Seven: Are we being punished?

Lucky: It wasn't me.

Me: No, I just wanted to talk. You're not being punished.

Lucky: We're being punished.

Heisenburg: Tortoises are stupid. You should pay more attention to me.

Seven: I don't understand what we're doing wrong.

Lucky: I think god wants us to sacrifice something.

Heisenburg: Tortoise sacrifice. Eenie, meenie, miney . . . .

Seven: No. She can't have our lettuce.

Lucky: (sadly) I liked being asleep.

Heisenburg: Moe. I'll eat that one.

Me: Shut up, Heisenburg. Sorry about that, Lucky.

Lucky: Why are we always being punished?

Me: Look, you're not being punished. I just wanted to talk.

Seven: I itch.

Lucky: I'm sleepy. I used to be asleep. Now I'm awake. It confuses me.

Heisenburg: You see what I'm saying? Tortoises, they aren't too bright. Now, cats, on the other hand. Cats are bright.

Me: You're not all that bright, cat.

Heisenburg: What do you want from me? I'm an imaginary cat.

Seven: I'm yawning. I'm yawning. Oh, look. I yawned.

Lucky: Your tongue is pink. Is it edible?

Heisenburg: I bet it is. Just push it along this way, why don't you?

Seven: God? Were you fuzzy before?

Me: Get away from there, Heisenburg. So, um, how are you guys doing?

Seven: Lettuce tastes better.

Lucky: We're being punished by god. How do you think we should feel?

Seven: I want that piece of lettuce on your other side.

Lucky: I need to dig.

Me: Yes, but you always sleep. I just thought you'd enjoy a little conversation once in a while.

Seven: No, it's okay, don't move. I'll just crawl over you.

Lucky: Ow.

Lucky: Ow ow ow. Dig. I need to dig.

Lucky: I'm dying.

Heisenburg: That's plastic. You can't dig through that.

Lucky: Dig, dig, dig. Ow.

Me: Stop that, Seven. (picks up Seven)

Seven: Help! Help! I'm flying!

Lucky: I wasn't dying. I was only pretending. I'm going to sleep now.

Me: Sorry. You were hurting Lucky.

Seven: (paddles his legs in mid-air) I'm getting away! I'm getting away!

Me: Um, right. (moves to put Seven back.)

Seven: Ooooh. Look how fast I am.

Lucky: Dig, dig, dig, dig, dig.

Seven: I got away from god! Ha ha! I ran and I ran. Did you see me? Did you?

Me: You're awfully cheerful for a tortoise.

Lucky: Dig.

Seven: It's the steroids.

Lucky: I thought it was broccoli?

Heisenburg: You see what I mean about turtles?

Me: Tortoises, Heisenburg. Tortoises.

Heisenburg: I say potato, you say potahtoh, I say soup, you say tortoises. I bet they taste like chicken.

I probably should have popped some aspirin.